Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

“Ah. Got it. So honey I’m a mess, I’m a mess for you. Honey, we’re a mess, but it’s the sweetest kind of blue. Skip the lies and tell me your truth ‘cause, honey, I like makin’ messes with you.”

The ache intensifies. Sipping my coffee, I bring my bottom and top teeth together with a quiet, bony tap. “That’s good, Hank. Really fucking good.”

He grins, looking handsome as hell. “I know you’re really into beer, but have you ever considered a career in songwriting? You live in the right place for it.”

“I do live in Music City.”

What I’m really saying: I live three hundred miles from everything you are and everyone you love.

“On to the second verse. It all began as a joke, a bet,” he continues.

I think on that for a minute, the heat from the fire burning through my robe. “Didn’t know it’d be my biggest gamble yet.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s it.” He writes the words down. The tip of the pencil breaks, and he curses. I notice there’s another on the mantel, so I grab it and hand it to him, our fingers brushing.

“Now my luck’s run out, time to show my cards,” I say.

“I wasn’t expecting it would be so hard.” Hank pauses when I giggle. “Pun not intended.”

“But most certainly appreciated.”

“Okay,” he continues. “I’m ready, I’m willing, I’m hoping for the best. I adore who you are—“

“And what you’re about.”

He’s scribbling frantically now. “That’s awesome. So we’ll insert another chorus there. And then—”

I bite my lip, mood dimming. “Happy endings aren’t for sinners like me.”

“Unless that’s something you can make me see.”

“You deserve the world. That’s what I want for you. But we’re playing a game that could end in tragedy.”

His pencil goes still.

“Tragedy, huh?” he says, looking up from his notebook.

My heart thumps. “The hardest falls happen from the greatest heights.”

“You read that on a mug?”

I manage a smile. “A key chain, actually.”

“Please,” he says quietly. “Talk to me. I know I said I wouldn’t push you, but . . .”

“But you are.”

“Because I give a shit.” He stares at me. “That’s what this whole thing is about, Stevie. You’re making me give a shit.”

Oh, God, back up. I need to back it up, but a voice in my head says it’s too late. “You gave a shit before.”

“Not about the right things. I gave a shit about money, stats, and other people. That served me for a while. Made me rich, I guess. But like you said—who’s winning? Not me.”

I give him a flirty shove because I don’t know what else to do. “Fuck you, Hank. Being the kind of rich you are is a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal. I recognize that, trust me. Before Daddy made it in the pros, we were poor as all get-out. Even after he started playing, we didn’t roll in the dough. Players back then didn’t make anything remotely close to what we do now. No one appreciates how life-changing that first big paycheck is more than I do.”

I nod, throat swelling all over again. Hank’s had every opportunity to become a douche and take advantage of people like me.

Instead, he’s maintained a sense of honor. Integrity. He’s had a few slips along the way, sure. He’s not perfect, and he knows that, but he still tries really fucking hard to do the right thing.

What if he really is different?

The one-in-a-million guy who’d be a real partner and not some insecure, lazy man-baby?

But even if that were true, it doesn’t change who I am, or what a long-term commitment entails. It also doesn’t change the fact that I became Susie Homemaker Simmering With Rage (yes, she deserves capitalization) when I gave forever a try.

But for the first time, I’m wishing I were different. Because I think Hank and I could actually be happy together if I weren’t jaded.

There’s that heat behind my eyes again. I stand abruptly, my insides mush.

“I need a breather,” I say. “I’m gonna go . . . take a nap. Or something.”

Hank reaches for me, but I dodge his hand, pulling my robe over my legs. Like that will protect me from Hank or the things he makes me feel.

“C’mon, Stevie, don’t shut me out.”

Anger shoots up my sides. I welcome it. It’s so much easier and clearer than all the other things I feel right now.

“I’m not trying to be a dick. But this—whatever’s happening here”—I gesture between us—“it’s not real. This is a fake relationship. We’re pretending to have it bad for each other. And you know full well that’s all I was willing to do. Pretend. If you want more—”

“No fucking way.”

My stomach plummets at the familiar voice by the bedroom door. I turn and see Rhett standing there with his arms crossed and brows pulled together in confusion.