Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

Even now, dizzy with nerves, those butterflies take flight in my stomach at the memory of his words.

You live fearlessly, and you’ve inspired me to do the same.

What we have is once-in-a-lifetime stuff.

I wanna be inside you without a condom.

My pussy clenches at that last one. When Samuel is real, he’s really fucking sexy.

But I’m not here to see Samuel. I’m here to meet Blue. And I promised myself I’d give this date a real shot.

“You okay?” Lindsey asks. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Em.”

I nod. “No, I’m okay. Thanks again for coming. I appreciate the moral support.”

“I appreciate the chance to hang with you.” She loops her arm through mine and grabs the door handle. She’s been hyper all day, but every time I tried to get her to open up, she closed that shit down fast. “Ready?”

Pulling back my shoulders, I take a deep breath.

“Ready.”

We step inside. A warm gust of air greets us, fragrant with the scents of rosemary and a wood-burning fire. Cucina is famous for its incredible gourmet pizzas and pasta dishes, most of which are cooked in the enormous wood-burning oven custom ordered from Italy, and I wish I was even the tiniest bit hungry because the food here is good.

I resist the urge to pluck at my jeans and smooth my hair. I was kinda sorta able to make the beachy wave thing happen today, so I don’t want to mess it up.

“All righty. I’ll be at the bar.” Lindsey nods in that direction. “You know the mayday signal if you need anything.”

I grin at the memory of our conversation in the car. Linds told me to give her the finger if things went south with Blue. Because that won’t be obvious or anything.

“And you give me the signal if you need me to hold back your hair. You had a lot of sauv blanc today.”

Lindsey shrugs. “I’m practically pickled by this point in my life. Y’all enjoy.”

She sashays to the bar, greeting the bartender with a wide smile and a fifty-dollar bill.

I turn toward the dining room. I pull the green apple out of my pocket, feeling foolish. The idea seemed cute when we were chatting about it, but now the apple just feels silly.

Whatever. Too late to go back now.

I glance around the restaurant. It’s mostly empty, thanks to the weather and the early-ish hour. There’s a couple of chatting at a high-top table next to the open kitchen, and a few groups dining by the steel windows at the back of the restaurant.

And then there’s a guy standing beside a table in a nearby corner. My stomach dips at the vaguely familiar outline of broad biceps and broad shoulders that strain against his blue sweater.

He makes a quarter turn, and the first thing my eyes catch on is the CD case in his hand.

The second thing is his face. Straight nose, square, clean-shaven jaw, full lips. Close-cropped hair that’s a shade lighter than Samuel’s.

Holy shit, it’s Hank.

Hank is here. In a blue sweater. Holding a CD.

Holy shit, Hank is Blue. What the fuck are the chances?

A yawning roar fills my body, gathering in my ears.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. This is bad.

Or is it? My mind races to figure out what the hell this actually means as the saliva thickens in my mouth.

It means I’ve been having cybersex with Samuel’s brother. It means I’ve been sharing intimate truths—and even more intimate body parts—with not one, but two Beauregard brothers. It means I’m in love with Samuel because while Hank is wonderful, we definitely don’t have the same chemistry that Samuel and I do. It means I may have to crush Hank, who could in turn crush my career.

It means I’m fucked.

We are all so, so fucked. Someone’s going to get hurt. Badly. If not all three of us.

Grabbing the nearby hostess stand to steady myself, I try to breathe through the panic whirling through my center.

What if Hank is cool about all this? His feelings for V could very well be casual. Maybe he’ll see me and laugh, and then I’ll laugh, and we can agree over drinks that the universe has a very twisted sense of humor.

But I’ll have to tell him about Samuel. Or will I? What will he say? What will he say to his family? The staff?

I nearly jump at the thunk by my feet. Looking down, I realize I dropped the apple. I look back up to see Hank staring at me.

My pulse seizes. He’s got this look in his eyes—it’s hurt and adoration and anger, and I know that what’s about to go down will hurt. Because he’s hurting.

He’s also looking at me the way Samuel did last night. His eyes sweep down my body and back up again, and when they meet mine, they burn.