Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

“Cheeseball.” But she leans in and kisses me.

I lick my tongue into her mouth. “Did you know dad humor turned you on before you met me?”

“I did not.”

She sucks on my bottom lip, and I let her take what she needs. Only when the kiss becomes messy and my dick gets hard do I gently push her away, resting my forehead on hers.

We sit like that for several heartbeats, breath coming in hot pants.

It’s now or never.

The last time I put myself out there with Emma, I got unceremoniously shot down. I should be more scared because chances are I’m about to be shot down again.

But you can’t win if you don’t have cards on the table. I’ve already lost more than I bargained for to this woman. Why not add my pride to the pile?

I can’t ask her to stay. She’s got her own life in Nashville, a business too, one she fought hard for after that prick of an ex pushed her to give it all up.

I’ll be damned if I do the same. And what would she be giving it up for? I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about my future at the Farm.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if there’s some way we could make a long-distance relationship work.

“I have to ask because there’s nothing else I can do at this point.” I suck in a breath through my nose. “Would you consider making this more than a weekend thing? I’m not gonna beg, but I know I’m gonna regret letting you go if I don’t ask you about working an us into our lives somehow. You’re a confident, accomplished, sexy as fuck woman, honey, and I don’t want to say goodbye to you today.”

She blinks, eyelashes fluttering against my own. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“I know what I want, and I want you.”

“But deep down.” She closes her eyes. “What do you really want? In five, ten years, where do you see yourself? Who are you with? What are you doing? What does your life look like?”

I don’t answer. I don’t need to.

That could all change. I’m tempted to say it. I could change. My dreams could change. I’m still young, and I’ve still got shit to learn.

But this is where my self-preservation kicks in. It’s right to be honest, but it ain’t right to beg. And a mean little voice inside my head wonders why I should have to compromise when Stevie won’t. Especially on big, life-changing stuff like commitment.

We’ve got different dreams. But the stuff we’re made of—that doesn’t feel so different.

I don’t know what to do. Except attempt to swallow the fact that this really is a tragedy. Right place, wrong time type shit.

Falling back in my seat, I nod. “You’re right. I understand.”

She pauses. “This is awful.”

“I know.” The silence becomes excruciating, so I put the car in drive. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

I head to the terminal and park curbside. When I pop the trunk, Stevie and I push open our doors at the same time as though neither of us can get out of the car fast enough.

It feels all wrong.

This whole thing feels wrong. Even though we’re doing what’s right.

I lift her suitcase out of the trunk and set it on the sidewalk, popping up the handle with a neat click. Our hands brush when she takes it from me, hiking her tote bag over her shoulder.

We stand there, her on the sidewalk, me on the other side of the curb. We’re the same height like this, our gazes level.

“It was a pleasure, Hank,” she says. “The whole weekend. Thank you again for having me.”

“Thank you for coming.” We’ve said these words before. They sound hollow and stupid. Is this how our final scene is going to go down? Poorly written? Terribly acted?

I look at her. She looks at me, offering a watery smile, and goddamn, am I ever gonna get over how pretty this girl is?

“I wasn’t prepared for you,” she whispers at last and holds up her arms for a hug.

Something inside my chest cracks. I grab her and hold her and bury my face in her neck. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“I hate that this is the last time—”

Last time touching, last time talking, last time living this beautiful lie.

“Me too. But we’ll be all right, okay? Let’s think about the fun stuff.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Listen.” I pull back to look her in the eye. “If you ever need to talk, you know you can—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, shaking her head. “As much as it’s going to suck, I think a clean break”—she chops her hand through the air, the edge of her palm meeting the flat plane of the other—“is the way to go. If we keep talking, we’re just going to fuck each other up more.”