Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

“That’s a bet you’re gonna lose, Gracie girl.”Chapter TwoLukeIt’s a little early for the after work crowd, so The Spotted Wolf is empty. Gracie and I sidle right up to the bar on the back patio. An awning provides some shade. Fans with automatic sprayers are going full throttle, filling the air with mist.

Still hot as all get out.

And yeah. Standing next to Gracie Jackson, her elbow brushing mine when she sets it on the edge of the bar, sure as hell ain’t helping. The way she arched into me when we hugged it out earlier, hungrily, eagerly—made me think she hasn’t been touched in a while. Not properly, anyway.

Not the way she should be touched.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” I ask.

She meets my eyes. Behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, hers are chocolaty. Clever. Warm. A warmth that invades my skin and makes my clothes feel two sizes too small.

She’s cut her blonde hair. It’s short now. A little Meg Ryan, a little mussed as it moves in the breeze of the fans.

A lot sexy.

Goodness is she a gorgeous girl. Tall, with curvy hips and athletic legs. Between the glasses and the wild hair and the sexy little black shorts she’s wearing, she’s straddling the line between fashionable librarian and sophisticated, slightly hipster city girl.

It’s a good look on her.

Then again, Grace could make anything look good.

“Too early for a shot of whiskey and a beer?”

A girl after my own heart.

No wonder I got a thing for Grace. Always have, since the day we met at a barbecue more than a decade ago. She’s got a spitfire mind. A dirty sense of humor.

She’s also got a fancy education—full ride to Vanderbilt, MBA from an Ivy League—and she owns the best damn coffee shop in town. But she’s about as unpretentious as they come. The beer and shot are case in point.

I mean. How could I not have a thing for this girl?

Not like I’d ever act on it. It’s a crush.

A big fucking crush.

But she has a boyfriend. Apparently she told Eli that this guy, Nick I think his name is, or maybe Nathan?, could be the one. I met him a couple times. Wasn’t a fan. Talked nonstop about his daddy’s fishing boat and all the money he was making at his investment firm.

The opposite of big dick energy.

Not nearly good enough for Gracie.

Then again, that’s not my call to make. She’s always dated those preppy types. Clearly they do something for her.

Let’s not forget she’s also my best friend’s sister. A few months back, Elijah told me to keep my distance from her. He didn’t want me messing with her head now that things were getting serious between her and Nick.

Even so. Some guys cross the best-friend’s-baby-sister line. I’m not one of them. Not unless I could do things the right way. Date her all proper and honorable like.

Which clearly isn’t possible, because she’s dating someone else. But if she were single—

I shake the thought from my head. No use torturing myself. If Mr. Khaki Pants Dickhead is the one, then it’s time for me to move on.

“Never too early. Jameson good?”

“Jameson is great.”

I nod at a sofa and pair of chairs in the shade. “Why don’t you go sit down? I got this round. Even though I clearly won the Trisha Yearwood challenge.”

“That’s a lie. You totally fumbled the ‘x’s and o’s’ part of ‘XXX’s and OOO’s’.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. But I’ll let it slide. Just this once.”

Gracie smiles, and her dimples come out to play. Fucking adorable dimples that make her look like she’s on the verge of a big old belly laugh.

My eyes flick to her mouth. Lord, that mouth of hers. It’s smart and it’s quick.

Lips full.

And, I imagine, soft.

I glance back up, and catch her catching me staring.

“Sit,” I say gruffly.

Her dimples deepen. I wanna fill ’em with my thumbs while I fill her—

Stop.

Stop stop stop.

I’m being an animal.

A filthy, sweaty, horny animal that should send Gracie running.

But she doesn’t seem to mind it. The animal. Me. Whatever.

Instead, she’s still smiling up at me like I hung the goddamn moon.

“I see being your own boss has made you bossy,” she teases.

“I always been bossy,” I say. “Now sit, before I call you out for singing Timmy instead of Tommy in ‘She’s in Love with the Boy.’”

Gracie laughs, and I resist the urge to preen. I get the feeling she hasn’t laughed in a while. Something’s bothering her. She’s always had this brightness about her—this shine, like she’s lit up from the inside.

Today that shine is dimmed. Not gone. But not as potent as it usually is.

I’ve still managed to make her laugh, though, despite whatever’s going on inside her head.

I’m proud of a lot of things. Making it in the major leagues. Starting over after my injury ended my baseball career. Building the farm I’ve always dreamed of from the ground up.