Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

I want her to keep showing me this vulnerable side of hers. The authentic side.

I like it. Too much.

“I really admire you, Gracie. And I happen to think you’re just right, just as you are.”

She grins. It doesn’t touch her eyes. “You’re sweet.”

“Ever consider that maybe the problem isn’t you, but your list?” I say. “Maybe that list you got in your head just isn’t you, Gracie. Maybe you’re putting too much pressure on yourself to meet these kinda arbitrary deadlines or somethin’.”

She blinks. Like she hasn’t considered that angle.

“Maybe,” she says.

“And honestly, what’s so great about perfect when you can have real instead? I mean, are you findin’ that the stuff on your list is fulfilling you at all?”

Sitting up, I reach behind me to tug on the bill of my baseball hat. Her eyes rove over my lifted arm as she brings her beer to her mouth.

“Professionally? Yes. Those items on the list have been very fulfilling. But personally? Sexually?” She scoffs, bringing her beer to her mouth. “Nope. Maybe you could give me some pointers on that, too. I know you like to have your fun.”

My body—my blood—everything jumps. Jumps again when she teasingly wags her brows at me.

Baby, I wanna give you more than pointers.

So. Much. More.

This guy she’s with—is he not giving her what she wants? What she needs? The thought makes me ragey and horny and hot.

Sweat breaks out along my scalp.

I could give her what she wants and then some.

I could give her forever, too. If we lived in some alternate reality where she was single, I’d make her come a million times and then I’d make her mine.

For good.

I’ve worked hard over the past few years to rebuild my life after baseball. I have had my fun. Enjoyed my freedom. But I’d like to find forever with someone. I’ve started looking for women who want the same.

But Gracie isn’t single. She’s dating a guy who she says could be the one. Whether or not I agree with that assessment—how could she want to marry a guy who doesn’t do it for her in bed?—I promised Elijah I wouldn’t mess with her head.

Whether or not this guy is one of the unfulfilling line items on her list, I won’t mess this up for her. That’s not my call to make.

So I’ll play along. Play the manwhore she thinks I am. I’m not getting between her and this “perfect” life she wants.

Presumptuous? Maybe. But it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

I made a promise to my best friend. The only brother I’ve ever had.

It’s a promise I intend to keep. For Gracie’s sake and for my own, too.

“You know me,” I say half-heartedly, glancing at the bar. I wish I’d gotten a few more shots of whiskey. “I don’t do serious. But I do fun pretty damn well. What do you wanna know?”

I glance back at Gracie to see her dark eyes flash with heat.

Lord have mercy.

“I’m reading this romance novel—Olivia’s new book, My Deal With the Duke—and the heroine is determined to explore her sexuality. Of course the hero is all too happy to help her with said exploring. But it got me thinking that maybe I should do some exploring myself, because clearly the rest of my list isn’t happening.”

Sweat drips down my temples. Rolls down my sides underneath my shirt, making me want to squirm.

And my dick—

Goddamn, my dick is perking right the fuck up at the naked curiosity in Gracie’s eyes. Even as my heart clenches at the idea she’ll be indulging that curiosity with someone else.

I clear my throat. “I’m all for exploring.”

“The sex the hero and heroine have is just so…intense, I guess. Achy and existential. Hell, everything about them is intense. Their connection. The way they feel about each other.” Gracie cradles her beer between her hands. “It hasn’t been intense for me in a long time, Luke.”

My scalp feels like it’s on fire. I adjust my hat again. Put some space between us.

Talking about this shit with Gracie—it feels wrong. Right. Arousing.

All three.

I keep wondering why the fuck she’s staying with this guy. I don’t get it. But I also don’t want to ask. It isn’t my place.

I’ll just stick with my manwhore routine instead. Maybe drive my truck off the Ravenel Bridge when we’re done because it’s so damn painful to talk about sex with this girl I want so damn bad but can’t have.

“Intensity is the key to a good fuck.” I meet her eyes. They’re wide. Wild. “What’s the point if you can’t lose yourself in it? If it doesn’t leave you wrecked and rearranged? So yeah. That part of you—the intense part—it’s essential, Grace.”

Her lips part on a slow, long inhale. “And what’s the key to intensity?”

I think on that for a minute.