Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

Greyson: I have twenty minutes before my next meeting

Julia: I have back to back classes until five. Otherwise I would already be outside waiting for you.

Greyson: now I’m gonna have to summon satan to get rid of this hard on. Great.

Julia: #sorrynotsorry

Julia: But besides an orgasm. I could really go for one of Gracie’s pumpkin scones. Like the one we split for breakfast that morning? Random craving, I know. But I’ve suddenly got this sweet tooth now that I can’t have Chardonnay.

Greyson: you mean the scone we ate before I went down on you for the rest of the day?

Julia: Yup, that’s the one. Also, if memory serves, you went down on me for approximately ten minutes, and spent the rest of the day in meetings.

Greyson: But it was a good ten minutes right?

Julia: Ugh the best.

Greyson: Can I take you to dinner tonight? Should wrap up by 8.

Julia: I’d love that.

Greyson: Don’t forget to pack your stretchy pants

Julia: Let’s be real do I even need pants? You’re forgetting your no-clothes policy.

Greyson: touché my dear touché* * *But I can’t wait until eight to see her.

Instead, I get through my meeting, and then I give Elijah Jackson a call. He puts me in touch with Olivia, who tells me Julia’s 4 P.M. class is one on “Sex and Agency in Romance” with about thirty-five or so students.

I call Gracie and order forty pumpkin scones, just in case. I add an extra-large iced coffee, because I am wiped, and I still have a lot of shit to get through before dinner tonight.

Juggling real life and work life is no joke, y’all.

I park in a garage close to campus. Ask about twelve people how to get to the building where Julia is teaching her class.

I arrive breathless and a little sweaty. Gigantic box of freshly baked scones in tow, still so warm from the oven that I have to pass the box from one hand to the other.

Julia hasn’t started class yet, thank God. But the room is already packed with students pulling laptops from bags and cracking open paperbacks with titles like The Duke of Midnight and The Kiss Quotient.

I catch the faintest whiff of weed as I move through the space. Bite back a smile.

College. Miss it. And don’t.

Julia is at the front of the room. Standing behind a table as she sorts through several piles of papers.

My pulse hiccups. I feel my lips curling into an involuntary smile.

She’s so fucking pretty. Full on Stevie Nicks today in a black dress with flowy sleeves and tall leather boots. Blond hair falling over her shoulders in unkempt waves.

She’s also glowing. Color high, eyes bright.

She’s feeling better. And she’s happy.

The idea that I have something to do with that makes my chest swell.

I meant what I said when I told her she made the right call turning down my marriage proposal. Not only because the timing wasn’t right. But also because I don’t feel the need to show off our perfect, shiny relationship—symbolized by the perfect, shiny ring I would’ve bought her—the way I did with Cameron. I don’t need that kind of outside validation when it comes to Julia. Same as I don’t need to check off arbitrary boxes with her. Meet cute, date for two years, elaborate proposal, even more elaborate wedding. That’s not what she’s about.

That’s not what we’re about.

I just adore her. Being around her. I love when she’s with me and miss her when she’s gone.

Our story started with a less than stellar meeting and an unexpected pregnancy. But now it’s just about us. Her and me. And isn’t that how it should be?

I stick out like a sore thumb in my suit and tie.

A fact nobody misses. Immediately students start to whisper as I pass.

“Oh my God, who is that?”

“Did Professor Lassiter hire a cover model to come talk to us? I hope he takes his shirt off. Or at least unbuttons it a little.”

“Bet he’s got his dick in that box.”

That last one makes me laugh. Julia looks up from her papers. She does a double take when she sees me, blue eyes going wide with delight.

“Grey?” she says, smiling. “What in the world are you doing here?”

I open the box.

“You said you were craving a pumpkin scone. Thought I’d bring some over for you and your students. This qualifies as brain food, right?”

“Everything qualifies as brain food!” someone calls out behind me.

Julia just looks at me. Digs her teeth into her bottom lip as she smiles at me with her eyes.

Gracious, this woman.

She does things to me.

Things I like but usually try to avoid when I’m standing in front of forty college students.

I’m not sure what the appropriate greeting here is. I don’t want to embarrass Julia or make her appear unprofessional.

So I just smile back and hold out the box.