Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

Tears spring to my eyes. Unwelcome and hot.

I hold my other hand to my mouth as I fall into the chair behind my desk.

I’m shaking.

What do I do what do I do oh Jesus what the hell do I do here?

Do I make him sweat? The past couple days have been horrible. Horrible. I want him to feel this kind of searing, soaring pain, too.

I want to hurt him the way he’s hurt me.

But then I listen to the voicemail again. And again. My stomach dipping each time at the naked pain in Luke’s voice.

The guy is already hurting. That much is obvious.

Setting my phone down, I stare at it as I fall back against my chair. Do I trust that Luke is for real this time? I mean, sure. Maybe he’s done some thinking. Maybe he’s feeling better about things today.

But he changed his mind so suddenly—so swiftly—two days ago. Who’s to say he won’t change it again? Feel better today only to feel hopeless enough to walk out on me tomorrow?

That’s not him.

Somewhere deep down, I recognize that isn’t Luke. He’s a good man. A steady, stable guy.

But that same guy made me question things about myself I should’ve never had to think about. Like whether or not I was good enough for him.

Whether or not I was enough, period.

I am done playing that game.

I also miss him. So much. I cannot—

I can’t stand to be away from him like this. The violence of this craving I have for him scares me. I feel sick with it. With the need to just be with him. Smell him and touch him and exist in the same room with him.

I miss the way he made me feel. Like everything is going to be all right.

Like I’m all right, just as I am.

I pick up my phone. Tears leaking out of my eyes as I listen to his voicemail again, the sound of his voice making goosebumps break out on my arms.

I’m in love with him.

That was not a choice.

But giving him another chance? That is.

Trusting him again is a choice.

I have to decide. But how can I do that if I don’t talk to him first? If I don’t hear him out? Give him a chance to explain himself?

It’s a risk. I know that if I see Luke again, it’s going to be very, very hard not to cave at first sight.

But I can trust myself. Same as I can trust him to be real. He wouldn’t be asking to meet if he didn’t have something important to say.

Luke would never waste my time. That much I know.

I’m still shaking when I pick my phone back up. Heart throbbing in my ears when I hit his number.

It hardly rings before he picks it up.

“Hey, Gracie.”

Just his voice.

The sound.

My name.

Relief and anguish on both sides of the phone.

“Hi.”

I hear him let out a breath. “How you been?”

“Not great.”

Another breath. “I’m really sorry, Grace. If it makes you feel any better, I been goin’ through hell, too. Haven’t slept. Can’t eat. I just…I guess I just think about you and go for long sad rides on my tractor. When I’m not ridin’, I’m listenin’ to Trisha—just her sad songs, though. And Lordy are they sad.”

I scoff. “Are you shirtless when you’re doing all this?”

“‘Course.”

“What is it with you and my brother never wanting to wear clothes? Y’all, like, make some kind of pact or something to live your lives half naked?”

Luke laughs. This rumbly, delicious, familiar sound that makes my gut contract.

I’d worried I’d never hear that sound again.

“Guess we just like to be free is all. I hear the women in our lives don’t exactly mind it. Olivia said it was the first thing she noticed about your brother when they met—that he never wore a shirt.”

“No surprise there,” I say, smiling. “Worked out all right for them.”

“I hope it works out for us, too, Gracie.”

My heart flips. For a second, I don’t know what to say.

Am I being an idiot for talking to him like this? Like we’re back to who we were before? Eli’s baby sister and his best friend. Flirting like we have nothing to lose.

Or am I doing the right thing, offering this gorgeous, giving man another chance?

“Luke,” I say. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I cannot say that enough to you, Gracie girl. If you’ll let me, I’d like to explain myself. There’s a lot I’d like to say.”

I exhale. It gets caught on the lump in my throat, making more tears spring to my eyes.

“There’s stuff I’d like to say, too,” I manage.

“Aw, baby—you cryin’?”

I nod. Unable to speak.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “You free? I don’t mean to be pushy, I just—I can’t take you hurtin’ like this. Please let me see you tomorrow.”