Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

“Hi. Take one.”

She gathers her hair in one hand to hold it back and leans toward the box. “Hi. This was very sweet of you.”

“I was thinking about how good these things are,” I say, watching as she lifts a scone from the box and brings it to her mouth. “I was also thinking that I’d love to see you in action. Teaching, I mean. Talking romance. Seemed like the perfect opportunity. Is it okay if I stay?”

“You can stay as long as you like,” another student says.

Julia tilts her head to glance over my shoulder. “All right, Priya, don’t make me assign extra reading this week.”

A tingle sneaks its way up my spine. I like it when Professor Lassiter lays down the law.

Maybe she’ll do it with me tonight.

“And of course you can stay,” Julia says, turning back to me. “You’re always welcome.”

“Always.”

“Priya.”

“All right, all right. I’ll stop.”

Julia grins. “Cool if I introduce you? Then you can pass those around and we’ll start class.”

She introduces me as her boyfriend, which makes me smile harder than it should. It just feels so good. Being a part of things again.

Participating fully in life for the first time in years.

I don’t have a ton of time to hang out. My phone vibrates like crazy in my pocket. But I manage to watch Julia teach for a solid half hour from a seat in the front row. The class and I munching on our scones while she lectures passionately—creatively—on how changing social norms have shaped romance and vice versa. She encourages her students to be active participants in the conversation, calling on people by name. I notice that, while the majority of her class is female, there are more than a handful of guys in the room.

Everyone is very engaged.

Julia reads excerpts. Asks questions. Pushes her students to move past clichéd answers. She’s incredibly smart and capable and charismatic.

Competence porn is a real thing.

This is some of the best I’ve seen. Ever.

The class talks about sex positivity in romance. About power dynamics between heroes and heroines. Problematic tropes and the even more problematic lack of diversity in the genre.

One excerpt in particular grabs my attention. In more ways than one. It’s from a book called My Romp With the Rogue, written by our very own Olivia.

Charlotte listened quietly as Callum told the story.

His brother William was a troubled man. Abused as a child, he in turn abused others as he grew into adulthood. He drank heavily. Callum did his best to help William. When those efforts were rebuffed, he settled for staying away from him. But when William turned his hand on their housekeeper—the woman who all but raised them—Callum could stand by no longer.

There was a fight. Mrs. Yardley lay bleeding at the foot of her bed. William drew a pistol, and Callum returned the favor.

He survived. His brother did not.

And that was the story of the murder.

Tears streamed down her face by the time Callum was done talking.

She realized then she didn’t have to defeat the monster, or protect herself from him. She’d merely had to unmask him. See him for the deeply pained, deeply lonely man beneath.

Charlotte reached for him, but he was already climbing out of bed, ducking into his nightshirt.

“Don’t go,” she said.

He looked at her steadily. Eyes no longer hard but soft.

Soft with pain.

“I must. For now you know the truth about your husband. And the truth is an ugly thing.”

No, Charlotte wanted to say. Truth is both ugly and beautiful. Terrible and courageous.

The truth was everything, and it meant more to her than she could say that he’d shared it with her.

But Callum had already stalked out of her chamber.

She had a sinking feeling he would not return.

I walk out of Julia’s class with a whole new appreciation for romance. And for Julia.

Woman is a rockstar.

Scares me a little to think how close I came to keeping her at arm’s length. If I hadn’t gotten her pregnant, would I have risked getting to know her beyond our backseat hookups? Or would I have crushed on her from afar like the scorned scumbag I used to be?

I thought I was doing the world a favor by staying out of the way. Playing it safe.

But now I know better.

Thank God I chose better.* * *The weeks fly by in a whirl of good bad sex and good good sex, too. In meetings and Excel models and many, many episodes of Game of Thrones and The Sopranos. Breakfasts made while listening to Bowie and Queen. Sunday suppers at my parents’ house.

Julia practically lives at my place. I love having her around. How could I not? I go to sleep with the taste of her on my mouth. Wake up with her warm and soft beside me. Juggling my two obsessions—my job and Julia—has left me exhausted to the point of borderline narcolepsy. I’m feeling a new kind of pressure at work now. It’s not just my family on the line anymore—Bryce and Ford.