Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

“Oh my goodness!” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Spain drinking too much sangria and dancing at the discotecas or something?”

Julia pulls back. Her smile dims a little.

“Yeah, about that…”

I slide my hands down her arms and give them a squeeze.

“Everything okay?”

She licks her lips. “Kind of. I had to cut my semester in Spain short, unfortunately. My dad isn’t doing so well.”

My heart skips a beat.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I know how close you two are. What can I do?”

Julia shakes her head. “Nothing we can do at this point. He’s pretty uncomfortable, but he seems to feel better when I’m around. So I’m going to stay with him for a while. Do what I can to keep him happy.”

I pull her into another hug.

“I’m here if you need anything, okay? Selfishly, though, I’m glad you’ll be in town. You sure you don’t want to stay here? I’m sure I could find someplace else—”

“Don’t even think about it. I want you to stay right here and finish that fucking book you told me about. How’s it going, by the way?”

Julia is one of the few people in whom I confided about my secret steamy writing tendencies. For so long I regretted it, because she always brought it up when we visited each other. But now I’m kind of glad I told her. Maybe I need a little push. A little moral support.

I nod at my laptop. “I just got here yesterday. I wrote one and a half pages, which I deleted because they were garbage. So far, writing romance is not as magical as I thought it would be.”

“Bless your dirty book loving heart. Of course it’s not magical. Eighty percent of the time, writing is the fucking pits, whether you’re writing a dissertation on the birth of aspirational middle class values in Jane Austen’s work, or steamy, graphic, delicious sex in a romance novel,” Julia says. “Speaking of graphic sex—I cannot wait to read yours. I’ll actually be back at the College of Charleston this semester doing some admin stuff in the English department if you want to swing by. We’ve got some great fiction writers on staff. Can’t hurt to pick their brains.”

I grin. “I’d love to. Thank you. So you won’t be teaching?”

“Not until next semester,” Julia replies, shaking her head again. “Then I’ll have my usual course load.”

Julia’s been teaching undergraduate English down here for years now. Unlike me, she loves it. Then again, that could have something to do with the fact that she’s got a trust fund, which allows her to split her time between teaching and indulging in her true passion—antiquing across Europe.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. Why don’t you stay for a bit?” I nod my head toward the fridge. “I picked up a bottle of Chardonnay I’d love to open. I am a writer now. Probably means I should have a glass of wine in the middle of the day. You know, for my muse,” I say, using air quotes.

Julia grins. “I am so here for this.”

“By the way,” I call over my shoulder as I grab the wine and a corkscrew. “I wish you would’ve told me you had a cute neighbor who walks around half-naked all the time.”

She leans into her forearms on the counter and wags her eyebrows. “C’mon, Olivia, we both know Eli’s not cute. He’s smoking hot. You think you two might…you know?”

“Absolutely not,” I reply. “What about you? Have you ever…”

“Nope.” Julia takes the glass of Chardonnay I hand her. “Not my type.”

“He’s not my type either,” I say, sipping my wine. “Totally not my type.”

Julia eyes me. “You never know until you try it.”

“Absolutely not,” I repeat.

“The lady doth protest too much,” Julia says, still grinning.

I look away. All the while thinking about how stupid I was to go over to Eli’s this morning.

Because now I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to get back to writing my book if only so I can hang out with my hazel-eyed, broad-shouldered hero.

The one who looks and sounds an awful lot like my hot new neighbor.Chapter SixOliviaI make Julia promise to call me tomorrow before I let her leave. Then I grab my laptop and try to write for the rest of the afternoon.

I wake up early and write the next morning, too.

By ten A.M., I’m ready to tear my hair out. My shoulders and neck ache from being hunched over my computer.

I wonder if that yoga studio Eli mentioned has morning classes.

I wonder if Eli takes them.

Ignoring the jolt that idea gives me, I Google the studio and see that they have an eleven o’clock class.

Perfect. I’ll even have enough time to bike there. Eli said that’s how he likes to get around town. Figure I’ll give it a try.