Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

She’d be great with my family.

My excitement grows as the pieces continue to click into place. I wouldn’t be violating her just fun rule. It’d be one weekend of incredible sex and fake dating, and then we could go our separate ways. I’d prove to Samuel that I’ve moved on from Emma. Stevie would get orgasms, as many iced almond milk lattes delivered directly to bed as she wants, and whatever else she asked for. That tasting we talked about, maybe?

I shake my head. This is way too fucking wild. I couldn’t ask her. I shouldn’t. The question could offend her. Besides, would she be able to fake that level of interest? Would she want to?

“Samuel, being the fancy as fuck person he is, is making a big deal out of this party,” Rhett is saying. “Fireworks, live music, the whole nine yards. But the one thing he wants most is for you to be there.”

I look down at my hands, excitement dimming. The idea of the party doesn’t hurt. It’s the idea that Samuel cares enough to consider my feelings, even after my betrayal, that kills me.

As if I didn’t feel enough like a piece of shit.

My brother is good people. But me? I’m not so sure.

Exhibit A: this harebrained idea that won’t leave me alone. What the fuck is wrong with me, thinking I can pull off a Bridgerton-esque Hastings and Daphne scam?

“What if I called him?” I ask. “Tried to convince him I’m all right that way?”

Rhett shrugs. “Wouldn’t hurt to try. But I would have a plan B ready, just in case.”

I tap my thumb on Samuel’s name and bring the phone to my ear. I settle my forearms on the balcony railing and look out over the veil of snow that shrouds Aspen Mountain.

It’s freezing out here, but my palms are clammy. My heart races.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hank. Hey.”

I startle at the sound of his voice. We haven’t talked since I wished him and Emma well and boarded a private jet for Nassau nine and a half months ago.

“Hey,” I say, rocking back on my heels. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been all right. You?”

“Same.”

A pause. I hate this. I hate talking to the brother I’ve always been close to like he’s a stranger.

I glance down at my boots. “I hear you have some news. I haven’t congratulated you on the engagement.”

“Rhett told you?”

“Yeah. And I just wanted to say—I’m good with it. You and Emma getting hitched. Y’all deserve to be happy together, and I’m . . . I’m ready to celebrate you guys.”

I’ve rehearsed the words over and over, and it sounds like it.

“I appreciate you saying that, Hank. I do.” Samuel lets out a breath. “But you don’t sound good.”

“I’m good.”

“I thought we agreed not to lie anymore.”

“I’m not—” I shake my head. “I want to do this for you, Samuel. I owe it to y’all after the way I acted. I’m not proud of it, but I am—I’m trying, brother. To do better.”

Samuel’s muffled voice comes through the receiver. He’s speaking to someone in the room with him. Is he at home with Emma? Cooking, maybe, a night of Netflix and chill ahead?

That sounds so fucking nice.

“Sorry.” I hear the quiet click of a door, and he lowers his voice. “I’m trying to do better too, Hank. We all are. But I gotta know you’re really, truly okay with this. You have to prove it. I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but I’m trying to protect us all, you know? I don’t want anyone getting hurt again. You say you’re ready to move on? Great. Show me by coming home and being you again.”

“Being me?” I scoff. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means we want the old Hank back. The one we had before—”

“Right.”

Before I kissed the woman he’s going to marry.

I’ve wondered a million times what the hell I was thinking at that moment.

The thing is, I wasn’t. It was one of the few times in my life where I knew I was making a huge mistake, but I did it anyway.

I remember the whole thing in excruciating detail, starting with my confession: there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she’s doing and what she wants. I’m falling in love with you, Emma.

My stomach twists at the memory of her embarrassment, how she tried to let me down easy. An impossible task, considering she’d just confessed to falling in love with Samuel.

Why him? I’d demanded to know. He was such a dick to you.

I should’ve walked away then. Instead, I let Emma hug me, and when I saw Samuel approaching, I saw red.

Why not me? Nice guys really do finish last.

Shaking with rage, I’d leaned down and kissed her, knowing full well Samuel would see and it’d crush him.