Southern Seducer: A Best Friends to Lovers Romance

by Jessica Peterson

  “See?” Beau leans over my shoulder. “You did it.”

  “I did.” I’m grinning like an idiot, but I don’t care. “Holy shit, I did! Although I got an assist, so…not sure if this counts as a solo catch?”

  “Of course it does,” Larry says. “You have the ability to do it yourself. Just took the tiniest bit of guidance to make the catch happen.”

  I laugh. “I wouldn’t say the guidance I needed was all that tiny. But thank y’all.” I let out a breath. “Wow. This is actually kind of fun.”

  “Told you,” Beau says, wagging his eyebrows.

  The sheer joy I feel at witnessing his joy nearly bowls me over.

  This is our friendship at its best.

  “Two whole regular-sized fish,” Beau replies. “Brad Pitt would be proud.”

  “I should’ve been in that movie.”

  His eyes move over my face, and his smile fades a bit. “Nah. You’re too pretty. You’d show him up.”

  Please, I silently pray. Please don’t let this morning ever end.

  “While we’re on the subject of movies. What d’you think this porn would be called? You know, where the guy and girl are fishing,” I say.

  Larry clears his throat.

  But Beau flashes me a smile. “And one thing leads to another and they end up ripping their waders off each other? Hmm. Baited?”

  “I was thinking Hooked. Or A Penis Runs Through It.”

  “Legends of the Fly-Fishing Fellatio.”

  This time Larry laughs and so do I.

  I have to confess that being with Beau like this—trying to keep my feelings friendly—is almost painful in the most delicious, most awful way. Because I can’t help but fantasize about what we’d be doing right now if he’d agreed to try more with me. Would he lean over, kiss my mouth in mock congratulations? Would we have held hands over coffee this morning and had hot, athletic shower sex before heading to the creek?

  Sex with Beau. Lord, the idea is almost too wonderful to contemplate. But I’m thinking about it.

  I’m thinking about it a lot. If his kiss gave me such a sense of freedom, a sense of hope, I can only imagine how incredible sleeping with him would make me feel.

  “Feels good to be out here,” Beau says a bit later when we’re back on our own rods. “One of the reasons I wanted to come back to the farm after I retired was to do stuff like this.”

  I turn my head to look at him. “When was the last time you fished?”

  Beau has to think about this for a minute. “You know, I don’t remember. The first few years up here were a lot about modifying the structures we had and building the ones we didn’t. Lots of strategic planning. Roads, interior design, landscape architecture, permits. That kind of thing. Then getting a marketing team together and coming up with a campaign. Interviewing staff for all the other teams. You know, all the stuff I droned on about in my emails.” He laughs. He’s had a frantic five years, but it’s paid off. “I’ve been so busy getting this place up and running…yeah. It’s been a while since I could kick back like this.”

  “I know the feeling. I was just thinking how it’s been forever since I had fun. Just played.”

  “Good thing you’re friends with me. A guy who literally played for a living.”

  “Hey. Let’s not forget this was my idea.”

  “Your idea. My resort.” He casts his line again. “Came together just right, didn’t it?”

  He turns his head to look at me.

  What if we came together just right, too?

  But before I’m able to gather the courage to say what I’m thinking, Beau looks away, giving his pole a sharp, almost annoyed tug.

  I look away, too, but not before stealing a glimpse of his hand on the rod.

  His knuckles are white. I wonder, wildly, if he’s thinking about it too—what sex would be like. How good and intense and soul-affirming it might be.

  Later, we head back to the resort. At the main house, Mom is waiting for us in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch. She’s got a yummy-looking cocktail on the table beside her and Maisie in her lap.

  Her face breaks into a smile when she sees us.

  “Beau, your mom had to run a little while ago. She said she’ll see you later. How’d the fishing go?”

  “Annabel here netted three whole fish,” Larry replies, smiling back at Mom. He holds out his hand. “I’m Larry, their guide.”

  Mom’s smile grows. She moves to get up, but Larry waves her away, moving closer so they can shake hands.

  “I’m Lizzie, Annabel’s mom.”

  “Really? I would’ve guessed y’all were sisters.”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “Nice try, Larry.”

  “Ma’am, I do my best.” He nods at Mom’s cocktail. “Looks mighty refreshing.”

  “It’s something called a basil vodka smash.”

  “Smash. Will that get you, well, smashed?”

  “Aw,” Beau murmurs. “Larry’s got dad-humor game. It’s cute.”

  Laughing, I reach for my daughter and say to Mom, “Thank you so much for watching her.”

  “Happy to do it. She’s in good spirits today.”

  My baby is in good spirits this afternoon, cuddly and sweet, and I can’t help inhaling her sweet baby smell as she tucks her head into my neck. Almost like she’s missed me.

  I close my eyes and commit the moment to memory. Even if all else fails, I’ll still have this. Her. My own little family.

  As hard as it’s been, right now I’m proud of the risks I’ve taken. I’m proud of making the attempt to do this on my own.

  I look down and see Maisie’s blue eyes studying my face. She’s so damn cute. Is this how it’s meant to feel, holding your baby? The contentment? The pleasure?

  If it is, I want more of it.

  To: John Beauregard (GoBeauYourself@gmail.com)

  From: Annabel Rhodes (Annabel.Rhodes@CGCorp.com)

  February 5, 2011 12:41 AM EST

  Subject: Congrats/Stop the Gun Show/Disney World?

  I know we just talked, but since you had to run, thought I’d shoot you an email. So you’re adding a Super Bowl to your résumé? Jesus Christ, you’re really going to be insufferable now. The stupid gun show thing you did with your biceps after making that play notwithstanding, I’m thrilled for you. I had my heart in my throat the whole game. You’re seriously talented, Beau, and you looked like you were having a great time out there. I wish I loved my job the way you do. You have so much to be proud of.

  Your dad would’ve been really proud, too. I know the anniversary of his passing is coming up, which is always a tough time for you. I’m so, so sorry he didn’t get to see you win this big. But he’s watching from heaven, and I know without a doubt he’d be telling you to quit the gun show thing, too.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t be there, either. This meeting I have first thing tomorrow morning with the World Bank (sounds cooler than it is, trust me) is kind of a big deal, and my boss put a lot of pressure on me to make the best impression we can. Thanks for understanding.

  Also, were you serious about Disney World? I flew into DC earlier for the meeting, but I’m supposed to head back to Charlotte tomorrow PM. I would love to join you at the most magical place on Earth. But no, I am absolutely not taking you up on the jet. I can hop on a flight after the breakfast thing we’re doing and be in Orlando in time for dinner. Ooh or maybe we should do an around-the-world cocktail hour at Epcot? Champagne in France, beer in England, blackout by the time we get back to the hotel? My treat. I can afford this shit now ;)

  I hope Jenny can make it, too. I really like her. Maybe you should consider trying to keep a girl around for more than, like, a week. Dating can be fun if you give it a chance. Then again, my love life is a circus these days, so who am I to talk?

  Anyway, I’m proud of you. Wish I could’ve been there, but when the World Bank calls, you answer.

  Bel

  PS I’m glad we’re still emailing this way. Texting just wouldn�
�t be the same, you know?

  PPS I miss you like crazy and truly do hope a rendezvous at Space Mountain is in order.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beau

  “Nineteen.”

  I let out a hiss. The muscles in my arms—my back and hell, even my ass—are screaming bloody murder.

  I go in for the next rep anyway, egged on by the Meek Mill blasting on the speakers overhead.

  “Twenty.” Above me, Samuel shakes his head. “Damn, dude. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

  “Shut up,” I grunt, going for twenty-one.

  My back arches off the bench. I push up the bar with everything I have, seeing stars as my arms and abs shake. A distinct feeling of yuck swirls in my gut.

  Shit, I hope I don’t puke.

  Then again, it might feel good. Get my mind off Annabel for a minute or two.

  I’m that desperate.

  I can’t stop thinking about this girl, even though I need to stop. Like, yesterday.

  Which is why I’m currently pushing myself to what could be a very literal breaking point in my gym.

  My elbows are just shy of locking when I wheeze, “Take it!”

  Samuel, who’s been spotting for me all morning, grabs the bar and settles it back into the grooves in the top of the bench.

  For several beats I just lie there, utterly spent. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I squeeze them shut.

  And still I see her smile behind my closed lids, that wide, lit up one she gave me at the creek yesterday when she netted that brook trout all on her own. The curve of her lips, the way her ass looked in those leggings she wore underneath the waders…

  Just the memory of it makes my skin spark with electricity. I feel like I’m a teenager again, horny as hell and dying to see the girl I can’t quit crushing on.

  I want to be with her. All the time. Hang out, shoot the shit, make her laugh.

  And yeah, I’d really like to get her naked. I legit can’t stop thinking about fucking Annabel. The fantasies I have in bed and in the shower have gotten intense. I was thinking about it out on the creek, too, and I have a funny feeling Annabel knew it.

  She knew it, and she liked it, because she’s been having those fantasies, too.

  “If you’re trying to break the record you set at the combine, that’s a dumb fucking idea,” Samuel says, jerking me back to the present. “I don’t need to remind you you’re not twenty years old anymore, right?”

  Sitting up—yeah, I’m definitely gonna feel that tomorrow—I shoot him a glare. “I got pretty close, didn’t I? Twenty-three reps at twenty. Twenty-one reps at thirty-six. Remind me again how many you can do?”

  Samuel pops his shoulders, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “At 225? I ain’t even gonna mess with that shit. That’s how you end up in the hospital with a broken face. You wanna talk about it?”

  “Talk about what?” I wipe my eyes with the hem of my shirt. I’ve gone full redneck today: old tee with the sleeves and neck cut off, ratty athletic shorts from my pro days. A beard that’s bordering on Gandalf territory.

  I’m a fucking mess. I’m fighting too hard. Or not enough.

  I don’t know anymore.

  All I know is I rubbed one out in bed this morning thinking about Annabel on all fours, moaning while I hammered into her from behind.

  Samuel nods at the bar. Two 45-pound plates on either end. “Whatever it is you’re trying not to think about by working out like a lunatic.”

  I get up, swiping my water bottle off the floor, and tilt my head back. I squeeze water into my open mouth.

  “I had a really great time at the creek with Annabel yesterday,” I say.

  Samuel grabs two enormous dumbbells. It’s arm day today, and we’re in full beast mode. Well, I am. Samuel’s just Samuel, patiently making his way through his workout. “And that’s a bad thing because?”

  “You know why,” I snap. “I thought she and I could just go back to how we used to be before we—”

  “Gave each other love bites.”

  I roll my eyes, hopping onto a treadmill. “But Samuel, it’s better. Our friendship. Better than ever. Different. But deeper, I guess.”

  “Yep,” Samuel pants as he curls one arm, then the other. “See, I don’t know why you’re making this so complicated. Y’all love each other as friends. Then y’all kissed or humped each other or whatever, and you loved that, too. Why not make it official?”

  “Because.” I turn the treadmill up to 10 MPH. “Maybe I should leave the resort. Fly to, I don’t know, fucking Fiji or something. As far away as I can get.”

  “Fiji’s lame. Plus, if you’re hurtin’ over a girl, you need distraction. Action. Not a quiet beach. What about Vegas? I can give my casino host at Encore a call. He’ll set you up with a suite and some blow. That’ll make you feel better, just like all those reps did.”

  I fling my water bottle across the room. Samuel watches it sail right past his head and smiles. “So close.”

  “You’re really making me regret inviting you over.”

  “Running away from your problems isn’t going to solve them, Beau. C’mon, you’re smarter than that. Tell me what you mean by ‘deeper’.”

  “Leave.”

  “I swear I’m not making any kind of innuendo. Not yet, anyway.”

  My lungs burn as I pump my legs and arms faster to keep up with the increase in speed. “Bel—she’s not afraid to be vulnerable. She’s not in a great place, but she’s not letting that stop her from going after what she wants. I don’t want to say too much, because it’s her call what she shares and who she shares it with.” I’m panting now too. “But it’s made me realize just how afraid I am. Of everything. Makes me wonder…”

  “What would happen if you let yourself believe things just might be okay, too?”

  My heart twists. “Yeah. Something like that. Although I’m not going to get better, so….”

  “You don’t know that. Whatever happens, you still deserve a full life. Same as all of us. We all deserve a shot at happiness, Beau.”

  But that’s just it. How could Annabel be happy caring for me when my brain really starts to go downhill?

  It was really hard on Mama, caring for my dad. Our house was not a happy place back then. In fact, after Daddy died, the first thing I did was build my mom a new one. She needed a fresh start. We all did.

  I don’t want to think about it. So I focus my attention on my brother instead. He’s curling so much weight I can almost feel the pain in my own biceps, watching him.

  He’s been tested for possible CTE, same as me, but he isn’t showing the signs I was at his age. He also played a different position—quarterback—and while he definitely took some nasty hits, he didn’t get pummeled nearly as often or as hard as I did. Thank God.

  The one question I’ve asked myself a thousand times is this: would I have played as hard as I did had I known CTE was in my future? Like Rhett at his age, I thought I was Superman.

  But I knew how and why Daddy had died. I should have retired then and there.

  Should have.

  Could have.

  Didn’t.

  By the time we wrap up arm day, I’m soaked. I shower, skip the shave. Annabel and I don’t have anything planned for the afternoon, so I decide to pop into the office so I can make a few calls and check my email.

  I take the long way to my office at the main house. I’m not sure why. I don’t want to revisit this particular stretch of memory lane. But I drive there in a stupor. Probably tired from the workout. Tired of not sleeping because I’m always thinking about Annabel.

  The road, a single lane of blacktop, takes me by a white farmhouse, the oldest extant building on the property. It’s white, two stories, pretty in a plain way. Nothing like the rambling, fashionable homes my siblings and I inhabit. Mama and Daddy lived simple before he got famous, and they lived simple after, too.

  It’s where I grew up.

  Where Mama brought all five of her babies home.
>
  Where Daddy began and ended his slide into depression, dementia, and eventually death.

  We had an architect draw up plans to develop this part of the mountain into a sprawling spa and sports complex. It’s supposed to be phase two of the property’s general overhaul I began years ago. But I can’t bring myself to touch the house.

  Too much sadness happened there. Too many ghosts haunt it.

  I keep the yard mowed and Mama’s old flower garden tended. Otherwise, I’ve left it alone.

  The house is testament to how easily a man’s glory can turn into his downfall.

  The house is a tomb.

  I hit the gas, my throat and my grip on the wheel tight. It makes me so angry, the memory of it all. What we had before it all went to shit. What I had before the insomnia and the headaches and the depression got too bad to ignore.

  But I needed the reminder. It’s my reality. My future. My sentence. And I hate it. I hate everything about CTE. I hate that it chose me. I hate that seeing a house on a hill with blooming gardens is a reminder of why I can’t pursue Annabel. That house right there—life was so good inside, until it wasn’t.

  A world turned upside down, just like that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Beau

  The next day, I ponder whether or not I should cancel the cooking lesson.

  Annabel’s already texted me, telling me how excited she is.

  Truth is, I’m excited too. Not so much about the lesson.

  I’m excited to see Annabel.

  Which is why I should cancel the fucking thing. That, and my head’s been a little fuzzy today. It took me all morning to proof slides for an advertising presentation because I just couldn’t concentrate. I’m worried the same thing will happen during the lesson. This mental fogginess is a new phenomenon that’s been happening on and off over the past six months. It pops up at the worst times, and it frustrates me to no end.

  My thumb hovers over her number. But no matter what I tell myself, no matter how good my reasons are, I can’t do it.