Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

We may both call Elijah a brother. But otherwise, our interests and social circles never really overlapped.

That’s because they are completely different. I see the Venn diagram in my head: two circles, Gracie’s interests and friends on the left, mine on the right. The circles do overlap. But only for one thing.

Sex.

Are our bodies, our biological needs, really the only common denominator Gracie and I share? Because that’s the shittiest denominator ever. Everyone has a body. Everyone wants to fuck.

There ain’t nothing special about it.

Doesn’t mean I want Gracie any less.

Just makes me wonder if she could ever want me the same way.

Makes me think that even if she did, maybe we just don’t have enough in common to make a relationship work.

Deep down, I know Gracie and I connect on more than just a physical level. Didn’t we talk forever on the phone last night after the sex was over? Haven’t we trusted each other with truths and confessions and honest conversations?

Still. I’m ashamed to admit that tonight’s got me feeling less than secure. Same as I felt that day watching Gracie speak flawless French with her pastry chef. Twenty-four hours ago, I was so certain about everything. Certain Gracie and I were moving in the right direction. Certain we had something special and real. Certain I was making the right call with my triple-attack plan of adore, worship, conquer.

But now I feel unsteady. The ground constantly shifting beneath my feet.

Gracie said it herself—we are from different worlds.

Maybe too different.

I am ready for fifteen shots and twenty five beers by the time we make it to the bar. But somehow I doubt Lilly serves Jameson or Bud Light at her parties.

Gracie, meanwhile, is buzzing with energy at my elbow, chatting up the bartender.

“I’ll have a white wine, please,” she asks.

“We’ve got a Sancerre, a white Burgundy, and a Napa Valley chardonnay.”

“Ooooh,” Gracie says with a smile, “I’ll go with the Burgundy.”

The guy grins. “Good choice. Very clean minerality in that one.”

“Yeah, I usually prefer unoaked chardonnays, especially during the summer. They’re nice and crisp. I recently discovered Arneis, too, which is very refreshing—something a little different.”

I stare at Gracie. My beer-and-Jamo-shot girl knows wine?

Of course she does.

Of course. Because she can rip shots one night and sip fine wines the next without blinking.

Gracie Jackson in a nutshell.

He sets the glass on the bar. “You’ll like this one, then.”

Gracie picks up the glass by the stem and gives the wine a swirl, sniffing it. Looking like a goddam som—somel—whatever the fuck those wine expert people are called.

She takes a sip and grins. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“And you, sir? What will you be having?”

I cut a glance at the bottles of Heineken and a local IPA lined up beside the wine. For a second I think about just ordering what Gracie did. Pretending to like it. But I’ve never been a wine guy. I’ve tried it, many times. Just not for me.

So I order the IPA instead and take a long ass sip.

It’s delicious. Ice cold and hoppy, just how I like it.

I look down to see Gracie grinning up at me. She reaches out and squeezes my bicep.

“You’re being a trooper. I know it’s not easy coming to something like this when you don’t know anyone. But you’re doing great. Are you feeling okay?”

I sip my beer, resting my elbow on the bar. “You really think I’m doing great?”

“I do, yeah.” Her brows come together. “I just wanted to introduce you to some of my friends. The people I interact with the most. They really like you so far.”

I manage a smile. “I’m glad you invited me, and I’m glad I get to meet your friends, too. I just…I don’t know how much I have to contribute to the conversation, to be honest.”

“That’s all right,” she says, sipping her wine. She lowers her voice. “I get how intense some people can be. We’re in a house full of type-A overachievers. There’s a lot going on in here.”

I level my gaze with hers. Grin. “Are you saying not all overachievers are as cool as you are?”

“Everyone’s cooler than I am,” she says, laughing.

See. This is why I adore this girl so damn much. She’s ambitious, but she has zero ego. She takes herself seriously, but she can make fun of herself, too.

I feel slightly less unsteady. This is familiar territory. A nice reminder just when I needed it that maybe Gracie and I really aren’t so different after all.

I cannot wait to get her alone. I know on some level that’s a cop out. Wasn’t I just stressing about how sex is the only thing Gracie and I have in common?

Whatever. I may not know my way around this party. But the bedroom? I’m the master of that universe, no question. And right now, I need to feel like I’m good at something. I need Gracie to show me her truth.