Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

Billy’s also waiting on me at home. I need to let him out.

I roll off the bed and tug on my boxers and jeans. Grab my phone from the nightstand. Wallet. Keys. I leave the handful of condoms I brought with me. There’s already a stash I left here the other night, but you can never have too many of these things lying around.

I hear Olivia turn on the shower.

My gaze catches on the shirt on the floor by the foot of the bed.

My shirt.

The one Olivia stole because it had my smell on it.

I grin, flicking my gaze to the dresser on the opposite wall.

Two can play this game.

Shoving my wallet and keys into my back pocket, I put my phone on the top of the dresser and open the first drawer.

It’s filled to the brim with bits of lace.

“Fuck. Yes,” I murmur, sticking my hand inside.

All kinds of goodness catches on my fingers. I recognize the candy apple red bra. The nude thong. A naughty corset she wore the other night with see through cups and laces I couldn’t get undone fast enough.

I’m more interested in the underwear, though.

I want one of those red thongs. The kinds she wears when she wants me to notice.

I keep digging. She’s got a lot of lingerie. A lot of it looks new. I smile when I think about her buying it just for me.

My knuckles meet with the bottom of the drawer. Only—wait. It’s not the drawer. It’s some kind of box.

A velvet box.

My heart skips when I see that it’s small. Square. Familiar. A jewelry box.

A ring box.

I feel a weird sensation in my ears. The growing roar of an approaching wave.

The velvet is suddenly clammy in my palm. Or maybe it’s my palm that’s clammy.

This box belongs to Olivia. She put it in a drawer for a reason. I have no right to open it. I had no right to be digging through her drawers in the first place.

I can’t help it, though. Blame it on me being crazy for this girl. On wanting to know everything and anything about Olivia Wilson.

Blame it on me being a lovesick, anxious asshole.

Whatever the reason, I open the box.

My stomach drops.

A ring is nestled between the tiny white cushions inside.

No joke, the diamond is the size of a fucking walnut. It’s huge. Sparkly and perfect, set in a simple platinum setting. It’s something straight out of a Tiffany ad.

When I (briefly) considered proposing to an ex-girlfriend years ago, I went to look at rings. Diamonds a quarter of this size cost more than I have in my savings account right now. I imagine a diamond this big costs as much as what one of my sous chefs makes in a year.

Made. Made in a year. I had to let all my sous chefs at The Jam go because my restaurant went bankrupt.

I can’t afford to buy a ring this nice for Olivia. A year ago? Yes. But after taking a major financial hit when I closed The Jam, there’s no way I could swing something like this. Much less a wedding. The kind of big, beautiful wedding Olivia probably wants.

All the panic and doubt and insecurity I’ve tried to shove aside comes rushing at me all at once. It’s like a tidal wave that hits me head on, leaving me reeling. I’m breathing, I’m blinking, but I feel like my mind has separated from my body, and I’m watching from above as the wave pulls me under.

Olivia told me her ex proposed to her. But she didn’t tell me she kept his ring.

Who was this guy who proposed to Olivia with a five figure ring?

And why the hell did she keep the damn thing and bring it all the way from New York?

I wonder if she couldn’t let it go because she wanted it so much. If she still wants it so much. Which kills me, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give her something even half as nice as this.

A surge of white hot jealousy like I’ve never known slams through me. I’m really drowning now.

Olivia dated this guy for a reason. He’s clearly successful. Probably has a cushy, stable corporate job.

Basically the opposite of me.

What if she starts missing the things he gave her that I can’t? When the excitement wears off and she gets sick of the hours I work, my small house, my smaller bank account?

You’re a fun fuck buddy, I imagine her saying after she falls for him all over again when she goes back to Ithaca to quit her job. But you’re clearly not long term material. Ted is.

In some distant corner of my mind, I know I need to take a breath. Calm down and come up with a plan so I can have a productive conversation with Olivia about how this ring is stoking the feeling of inadequacy I haven’t talked about much but I’ve been grappling with all month.