Southern Attraction (Southern Heart 3)
“Yeah, but I’m currently… unattached,” he says hesitantly.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, but there’s this city girl I’m kind of digging. If I could convince her to be my girl, that status could change.”
“City girl, huh? She must be some kind of special,” I say, flirting with him. It’s fun. Everything with him is fun. It’s exactly as I remember that weekend, except this time there’s touching. Something I hope there’s more of. Of course, I leave tomorrow, so I don’t have much time to make that happen.
“Oh she is. You should see her. My heart skips a beat just being near her.” He looks over quickly before putting his eyes back on the road.
He can’t see me except for the gentle glow of the dashboard lights. Not enough to tell that my face is tomato red from his praise. We’re flirting, joking around, but those words and his sweet southern drawl are intoxicating.
“Say you and this city girl you speak of hit it off. You see happily ever after in your future? Kids?” I bite my bottom lip. I can’t believe I just threw that question out there like that. I mean, this is only the third time I’ve laid eyes on him. Not sure we’re at the point of deep conversation. “Sorry, I shouldn’t pry like that,” I backpedal .
“It’s fine.” He gives my knee a gentle squeeze. “If the right girl were to come along, yes, I’d be down for all of it: kids, dog, white picket fence.”
“The happily ever after,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I can’t help but think about Whitney and the life she’s built here with Aaron. Even Kinley and Evan have their happily ever afters.
“Here we are,” he says.
We’re stopped in front of a brick ranch-style home. It’s neatly landscaped and has green shutters, plus a two-car attached garage. “Will this thing fit in there?” I ask him.
He laughs. “Nope. I park in the detached.” He points out my window. Sure enough, there’s a large building with three tall garage doors. “That’s where this beauty is parked—and all the rest of the toys, of course.”
“Toys?”
“Yeah, the side-by-side, four wheelers, the fun stuff.”
“Okay,” I chuckle. “So what’s in there.” I point in front of us to the two-car attached garage.
“Lawn mower.” I can see his grin from the soft glow of the pole light beside the house. “Sit tight,” he says, grabbing his keys and climbing out of the truck. He runs around the front and stops at my door. “Watch your step,” he says, offering me his hand.
“Does it really need to be this tall?” I ask him, staring at the ground from my perch on the seat.
“Yes.” He grins again. It’s infectious. “It helps my game.” He steps up next to me. “If it were closer to the ground, I couldn’t do this,” he murmurs as his hands land on my hips and he effortlessly lifts me from the truck. He lets my body slide against his as he slowly lowers me to the ground.
“I see,” I say, breathless. Don’t judge me. You would be too if you’d just slid down the hotness that is Michael Alan Wallace.
He takes my hand, laces his fingers through mine and leads me in through the garage. “Can I take your coat?” he asks once we’re in the kitchen.
“Sure.” I go to slide my arms out and he’s already there. He drapes it over one of the stools at the island.
“Are you hungry? I thought we could order pizza or sandwiches.”
“That’s perfect. Do they deliver?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winks. “What do you want?” he asks, handing me a menu.
I push it back at him. “Pizza. I’m not picky as far as toppings go.”
“Meat lovers?”
“Sure.”
He pulls his phone from his back pocket and places our order. “Why don’t we sit in the living room until they get here. You want something to drink?”
“I’m good. I think I’ll wait until the food gets here. Thank you.” I follow him into the living room. It’s a nice open space, with a big-screen TV and a huge sectional couch in the middle. We settle on the couch, Mike sitting close but not too close.
I want him closer.