Southern Attraction (Southern Heart 3)

“Chicken and dumplings.”

“That sounds good.”

“It is. My mom is a great cook. It’s a perk of our Sunday dinners.”

“I?

??m sure, a bachelor like yourself. Do you cook?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I’m a bachelor, I don’t eat?” he laughs.

“No, just not many singles do. Cooking for one isn’t easy and sometimes not worth the effort when you can grab takeout.”

“Uh-huh,” he teases.

“So can you cook?”

“I get by. Nothing gourmet, but I can make Mom’s dumplings, although they never taste like hers.”

“I’ll have to have you make them for me sometime.” Shit, what am I doing?

“You tell me when and I’m all yours.”

“Thanks again for this weekend. It was nice not having to impose on the happy couple the whole time.”

“No thanks needed. That’s not why I wanted to see you, just so you know.”

“Why did you want to see me?”

“I have a million reasons why, but mainly I like you. You’re fun to be around, and I like getting to know you. Holding you and kissing those soft lips were just a bonus.”

See, there are no guys in Chicago like Michael Wallace. None. “I had a great time.”

“Me too, darlin.’ We have to do it again. Soon,” he says as an afterthought.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I say around another yawn.

“Good. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Night, Michael,” I murmur.

“Good night, James.”

I end the call before I beg him to talk to me longer; I could totally be on board with his deep sexy voice talking to me until I fall asleep. I turn off all the lights and head to my room. I’m exhausted from the drive, and I don’t want to do anything but replay every minute of my time with him this weekend over and over again.

Changing into his T-shirt, I plug in my phone and climb into bed. Just as I’m about to burrow deeper under the covers, my phone alerts me to a message.

Mike: Sweet dreams, beautiful.

It takes great effort to not call him—hell, to not get back in the car and drive to him. This is crazy, this attraction I feel for him. How could we make this work? Would it even be possible? I toss and turn for a few hours before falling asleep to the memory of the feel of his lips against mine.

All too soon, my alarm is blaring and it’s time to start another work week. I drag my tired ass to the shower and start the process of getting ready for work. When I’m dressed, I make my way to the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee; coffeemakers with timers are the best damn invention ever.

Grabbing my phone, I look at the last text Mike sent just before I fell asleep. I’m giddy like a schoolgirl just reading his words. Knowing last night was not a late one for him, I decide to text him.

Me: Good morning. Hope you have a great day.

I drop my phone in my purse and lock up my apartment. Hearing a beep on the way to my car, I ignore it. With great effort, I might add. I don’t let myself look at his reply until I pull into the parking lot of the office.