Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

What if Gracie was with someone like Charlie instead of me? How much further along would she be? How much faster could she go with someone like that at her side?

Someone who could be involved in her business, and in the business of making her dreams come true, in a meaningful, impactful way?

My thoughts spin out. Emotions not far behind.

This world Gracie inhabits—the people in it—the whole thing is a total mind fuck. Maybe I really am just a dumb jock with nothing to say or contribute.

“Hey.” Gracie squeezes my hand. “That bourbon punch getting to you?”

I blink. Thoughts on pause for a second as I meet her eyes. They are kind.

More than that. They’re adoring.

So what if you don’t know accounting? You know her. That’s what she needs. Someone who worships her for her.

That’s all she wants.

She wants you.

My nausea retreats. I’m in control again. Thank Jesus.

I manage a smile. “I’m fine. Still a little overwhelmed by your grits bar I think.”

Gracie turns back to Elle and Charlie. “Did y’all see the food? Eli made it all using produce and grits from Luke’s farm. He’s got thirty gorgeous acres out on Wadmalaw…”

Nerves retreat a little more when they express real interest in Rodgers’ Farms, and Elle laughs when she says cheesy grits are her kryptonite.

See? A voice inside my head says. Not so different after all.

I am determined not to freak the fuck out about this like I did at the alumni party. Gracie and I have come too far. What we have is too good.

I manage to keep my shit together as we move through the room. But I can’t help but think about Gracie being with every well-dressed schmuck we meet. How they could be the kind of man she should really be with.

A man who is as educated and successful as she is. Who can contribute something real to her life besides dick and cold beer.

Stop, I tell myself. Mind over matter. Focus on the good. Becoming a part of Gracie’s world ain’t gonna happen overnight. This is gonna take time. One handshake, one conversation, one event at a time.

I mean, I got a gorgeous girl introducing me as her boyfriend to her favorite people in the world.

She chose me.

She wants me.

But that’s not the issue, is it? The issue isn’t us wanting each other.

It’s whether or not I’m good for her.

Whether or not she’d be better off with someone who lives in this world. More established in a white-collar career.

Speaking of collars. I am sweating through mine.

Stop, you’re ruining a good night.

Maybe I just need another drink. Something to calm me down.

“Mind if I go grab a beer?” I ask when there’s a lull in arrivals, leaving Gracie and I alone.

She smiles. This tired, sated smile that makes me forget my hang-ups for a minute. Would she be smiling like this if it were Charlie on her arm? She’s so happy about the opening, obviously. But I can’t help but think there’s this deeper happiness underneath that. A happiness that has something to do with me and how I’m making her more personal dreams come true.

“Go for it.”

“Can I get you something? Beer? White Burgundy?”

Her dimples pop. “I’ll take a glass of champagne if you don’t mind.”

“Coming right up.”

There’s a line at the bar. But Eli waves me over to the side.

“You’re family.” He presses a cold bottle of a local lager into my hand. “Family don’t wait.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say. I take a long, long swallow. The malty flavor of the beer makes my tongue prickle. “You got any champagne back there? Told Gracie I’d get her a glass.”

“Comin’ right up.”

While Eli uncorks a fresh bottle, I turn around. Survey the room.

Even in a crowd of good looking, fashionably dressed people, Gracie stands out. She’s just got this glow about her. This energy.

And yeah, her looking hot as hell in that skirt and those heels don’t hurt.

I want her.

I want to be good for her.

I watch as a guy approaches Gracie. She’s talking to a woman, but when he cups her elbow in his hand—yeah, don’t like that at all—she immediately turns in his direction.

My fingers tighten around my beer.

I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying. But her eyebrows go up and her smile broadens and her mouth falls open when he hands her a bottle wrapped in this orange-looking cellophane stuff. Champagne?

She goes up on her toes to pull him into a hug.

I never been possessive over a woman before. I don’t play that game.

But I sure as hell feel possessive right now.

Maybe because the two of them—Gracie and this nameless man—look good together.

Real good. And right. Gracie all done up. Him in his slacks and alligator belt and custom button down that actually fits him.

He’s wearing a gold Rolex and a smug expression. Like he owns this place. This town.