Southern Player

by Jessica Peterson

  She’s laughing at a melon joke Mama made.

  Maybe I don’t deserve her.

  Can’t help but think it as I watch her move.

  I have never been mesmerized by the way someone moves in the world before.

  But here I am, transfixed. Standing like an idiot with my flowers and my stupid scrunchy hair.

  My fingers itch for my hat.

  Gracie comes to stand beside me, reaching down to twine those fingers with hers.

  “Y’all mind if I steal him for a minute?” She looks up at me. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

  “Go on,” Mama says, waving us off. “We won’t notice if you disappear into the bathroom.”

  “Together.”

  “In the same stall.”

  “Mama.”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m tryin’ to behave, I just—it makes me so happy seeing you two together.”

  Gracie grins, still looking at me. “Long time coming, no?”

  “Oh, I bet there’s coming allr—”

  “Goodbye,” I say, steering Gracie away from my mamas and their pervy jokes. “Sorry about that. They promised to quit with the jokes, but—”

  “You know I don’t mind it,” Gracie replies easily.

  I hold out the flowers. “For you. From Mama’s garden. We agreed you were a peony kinda girl.”

  “I am a peony kinda girl. I love them. They’re beautiful.” She takes them in her free hand and gives ’em a sniff. “And they smell delicious. Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Dang do I love when she calls me that.

  She passes the flowers off to a woman in an apron, telling her to put them in water. Then Gracie gives my hand a tug. “C’mon. I’ve been sitting on this secret all week, and I can’t wait to share it with you.”

  I arch a brow. “Secret? What kinda secret?”

  “One you’re gonna like.”

  She’s got this twinkle in her eye now. Like she’s bubbling over with excitement.

  Gracie leads me toward the kitchen door. She stops in front of the buffet table. A chef comes through the door and sets down a tray of gorgeous food in the last remaining square of space on the table.

  Everything smells divine.

  My pulse skips a beat when I see these little porcelain spoons that are filled with what looks like shrimp and grits. Beside them, there’s bite sized grit cakes topped with chopped tomatoes and a dollop of something creamy. And then shot glasses filled with what looks like some kind of soup—the tented label beside them says Gouda Grits with Creamed Collards and Bacon.

  The grits in all the dishes are a particular shade of rich, earthy yellow.

  A shade I immediately recognize.

  There’s another label in the center of the table. This one is larger, and written in curling blue calligraphy. I pick it up.

  Grits and Produce Provided by Luke Rodgers of Rodgers’ Farms

  I look at Gracie. Look at the label. Look at the food.

  Then look at Gracie again.

  Her smile is so big it makes the edges of her eyes crinkle.

  My insides contract.

  “Gracie.” I keep my voice low. “What did you do?”

  “I made a grits bar with your grits. Well. Eli really made the grits. But I came up with the idea.”

  I blink. My pulse is thundering so loudly in my ears I feel like I’m going to pass the fuck out.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Don’t say anything. Your goods will speak for themselves.”

  I turn my head to look at her. “Pervy girl.”

  I’m in love with you, and I think I’m gonna die from it.

  “Learned it from your mamas,” she replies.

  Always so quick.

  Leaning in to kiss her, I say, “Thank you. This is way too thoughtful. Way too generous, too. Y’all outdid yourselves.”

  “You’re welcome,” Gracie says. “I do have one request.”

  “Anything.”

  Her gaze flicks to the front of my jeans. “Show me the other goods later. After the party. Maybe in the alley behind—”

  “Jesus Christ. For real, y’all—I’m gonna go play in traffic if you don’t stop saying shit like that while eye fuckin’ each other in front of me. I know you’re together, but this kinda dirty talkin’ in public is above and beyond.”

  Eli has appeared behind the table. Arms crossed. Glowering at us.

  “Coming from the guy who’s always pawing his girlfriend in front of everyone,” Gracie teases. Dimples more charming than ever.

  I look at Elijah. “You made all this? With my grits?”

  “I did. But now you’re making me regret it,” he growls. Nods at Grace. “We’re hopin’ to spread the word about what you’re doing over at Rodgers’ Farms. There’s gonna be a lot of people here tonight. We know you got big plans for your grits. Maybe some of those people can help you make those plans happen.”

  My heart pounds. Once. Twice. Emotion rising up in me, clogging my throat.

  “I’m overwhelmed,” I manage.

  Eli’s expression softens. “You been workin’ hard, brother. Gracie and I really believe in what you’re doin’. I don’t think you’ll have any problem catching some attention with these grits tonight.”

  “My biggest investor is going to be here,” Gracie says. “And then a few people from the restaurant group that helped Eli fund the The Pearl. We’ll make sure they get a taste of your goods.”

  “Grace,” Eli says.

  “Sorry,” she says. Not sounding sorry at all.

  “Anyway.” Eli turns back to me. “When you got all these restaurants like mine clamorin’ for locally grown, small batch produce and the like, your plan makes sense. There’s a huge untapped market for grains like yours. No doubt you’ll have investors handin’ you money left and right to make it happen.”

  I have Gracie’s hand in a death grip. I feel dizzy.

  “Thank y’all,” I say at last. “From the bottom of my heart. You didn’t have to do this.”

  Gracie leans her head on my shoulder. “Of course we did.”

  “I love you, brother,” Eli says, extending his hand.

  I take it, allow him to pull me across the table into a hug.

  “But I’m serious about the dirty talkin’,” he says in my ear. “Keep it behind closed doors, you hear?”

  I laugh, feeling my eyes prick with tears. “I hear you.”

  Emotions running high tonight, that’s for damn sure.

  Olivia appears at my elbow, eyes glittering as they move over Gracie and me.

  “Look at you love birds!” she says, giving us each a hug. “Elijah told me you guys made it official.”

  “We did,” Gracie says, turning her head to smile at me. “We should probably thank Olivia. It was Max the Duke and Lady Jane who brought us together.”

  “Thank you,” I blurt. “Romance rocks.”

  Olivia wags her eyebrows. “You’re welcome. And it does, doesn’t it? Have you read My Deal With the Duke?”

  “I haven’t. But all things considered, I should probably grab a copy.”

  “I got a signed paperback with your name on it back at the house,” Olivia replies. “I’m so happy for you guys. Congrats. I always knew you two had a spark—I saw this whole thing happening from a mile away.”

  Gracie digs her teeth into her bottom lip. “So that’s why you thought us hooking up was such a good idea.”

  “Yup.” Olivia nods her head. “I knew it wasn’t going to stay casual for very long.”

  Funny how everyone—Mama, Gwen, Olivia—knew the thing Gracie and I had would turn into something serious. Kinda dig how our connection was that obvious.

  Gracie glances over her shoulder. I do the same. Place is really filling up now. Getting loud.

  My stomach dips a little when I see how dressy people are. People are in jeans this time. But this is definitely a fashionable, sophisticated crowd.

  “If
y’all would excuse us, I need to go say hi to some friends before I announce the raffle winners.” Gracie looks at me. “Want to come?”

  I take another deep breath. So many of them already tonight.

  I know Gracie is just being friendly. Trying to include me in her world. But I can’t help but feel like this is some kind of test.

  A test I failed before.

  I try to shove the thought aside. I’m being overly emotional. Overly sensitive. I know how to be charming. I can do friendly.

  That’s all she’s asking of me. And I know the circles in that Venn diagram in my head overlap for more than just sex. Way more.

  I just gotta remember that when I start to feel like I don’t belong.

  “I’d love to,” I say.

  Ignoring the tug of apprehension I feel in my chest as Gracie leads me away from Eli and Olivia.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Luke

  Gracie introduces the good looking couple in front of us as Charlie and Elle.

  “Elle owns the coolest damn clothing store in town,” Gracie says. “She also wins the award for best dressed. Clearly.”

  “And you win the award for best coffee,” Elle says, pulling her in for a hug. “Congrats, friend. We are so excited for you.”

  “How are things?” Grace asks. “Speaking of exciting—I saw that the store was mentioned in Vogue. Bet you got a nice bump in traffic after that.”

  Sweat breaks out along the edges of my scalp.

  “Sales are up twenty percent,” Charlie says. “We’re hoping to keep up the momentum when we roll out the online store.”

  I look at him. “Do you work for Elle?”

  “I don’t,” he says with a smile. “I just provide her with some free consulting and accounting work every so often.”

  “Charlie’s being modest,” Grace says. “He’s a partner in a very prestigious accounting firm downtown.”

  Elle grins at him. “And a total genius with numbers. There’s no way the store would be where it is now without him.”

  Now I’m really sweating.

  Sweating, and feeling a little queasy. Like I was just on the top of a rollercoaster and now it’s plunging down a steep, steep hill.

  Charlie and Elle are a good looking couple. They clearly respect each other. Adore each other.

  All that I can relate to. Well. Gracie at least can relate to the good looking part.

  Even the Vogue thing doesn’t throw me for such a loop.

  But it’s the fact that Charlie can offer Elle such an essential service—that he’s used his degrees and his connections and his money to help make her dreams come true—that fucking gets me.

  I could never provide Gracie with that kind of help. That kind of know-how.

  In fact, she’s the one offering it to me.

  Which I appreciate. So much. But the realization hits me like a ton of bricks—that I could never reciprocate that specific kind of generosity. Not in any meaningful way.

  I am not a numbers guy. I’m a grits guy.

  What if Gracie was with someone like Charlie instead of me? How much further along would she be? How much faster could she go with someone like that at her side?

  Someone who could be involved in her business, and in the business of making her dreams come true, in a meaningful, impactful way?

  My thoughts spin out. Emotions not far behind.

  This world Gracie inhabits—the people in it—the whole thing is a total mind fuck. Maybe I really am just a dumb jock with nothing to say or contribute.

  “Hey.” Gracie squeezes my hand. “That bourbon punch getting to you?”

  I blink. Thoughts on pause for a second as I meet her eyes. They are kind.

  More than that. They’re adoring.

  So what if you don’t know accounting? You know her. That’s what she needs. Someone who worships her for her.

  That’s all she wants.

  She wants you.

  My nausea retreats. I’m in control again. Thank Jesus.

  I manage a smile. “I’m fine. Still a little overwhelmed by your grits bar I think.”

  Gracie turns back to Elle and Charlie. “Did y’all see the food? Eli made it all using produce and grits from Luke’s farm. He’s got thirty gorgeous acres out on Wadmalaw…”

  Nerves retreat a little more when they express real interest in Rodgers’ Farms, and Elle laughs when she says cheesy grits are her kryptonite.

  See? A voice inside my head says. Not so different after all.

  I am determined not to freak the fuck out about this like I did at the alumni party. Gracie and I have come too far. What we have is too good.

  I manage to keep my shit together as we move through the room. But I can’t help but think about Gracie being with every well-dressed schmuck we meet. How they could be the kind of man she should really be with.

  A man who is as educated and successful as she is. Who can contribute something real to her life besides dick and cold beer.

  Stop, I tell myself. Mind over matter. Focus on the good. Becoming a part of Gracie’s world ain’t gonna happen overnight. This is gonna take time. One handshake, one conversation, one event at a time.

  I mean, I got a gorgeous girl introducing me as her boyfriend to her favorite people in the world.

  She chose me.

  She wants me.

  But that’s not the issue, is it? The issue isn’t us wanting each other.

  It’s whether or not I’m good for her.

  Whether or not she’d be better off with someone who lives in this world. More established in a white-collar career.

  Speaking of collars. I am sweating through mine.

  Stop, you’re ruining a good night.

  Maybe I just need another drink. Something to calm me down.

  “Mind if I go grab a beer?” I ask when there’s a lull in arrivals, leaving Gracie and I alone.

  She smiles. This tired, sated smile that makes me forget my hang-ups for a minute. Would she be smiling like this if it were Charlie on her arm? She’s so happy about the opening, obviously. But I can’t help but think there’s this deeper happiness underneath that. A happiness that has something to do with me and how I’m making her more personal dreams come true.

  “Go for it.”

  “Can I get you something? Beer? White Burgundy?”

  Her dimples pop. “I’ll take a glass of champagne if you don’t mind.”

  “Coming right up.”

  There’s a line at the bar. But Eli waves me over to the side.

  “You’re family.” He presses a cold bottle of a local lager into my hand. “Family don’t wait.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that,” I say. I take a long, long swallow. The malty flavor of the beer makes my tongue prickle. “You got any champagne back there? Told Gracie I’d get her a glass.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  While Eli uncorks a fresh bottle, I turn around. Survey the room.

  Even in a crowd of good looking, fashionably dressed people, Gracie stands out. She’s just got this glow about her. This energy.

  And yeah, her looking hot as hell in that skirt and those heels don’t hurt.

  I want her.

  I want to be good for her.

  I watch as a guy approaches Gracie. She’s talking to a woman, but when he cups her elbow in his hand—yeah, don’t like that at all—she immediately turns in his direction.

  My fingers tighten around my beer.

  I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying. But her eyebrows go up and her smile broadens and her mouth falls open when he hands her a bottle wrapped in this orange-looking cellophane stuff. Champagne?

  She goes up on her toes to pull him into a hug.

  I never been possessive over a woman before. I don’t play that game.

  But I sure as hell feel possessive right now.

  Maybe because the two of them—Gracie and this nameless man—look good together.

  Real good. And right. Gra
cie all done up. Him in his slacks and alligator belt and custom button down that actually fits him.

  He’s wearing a gold Rolex and a smug expression. Like he owns this place. This town.

  Maybe he does.

  He’s the kind of guy who fits right into her world. Because it’s the same world he lives in, too.

  The kind of guy who knows numbers and people.

  I feel my control over my thoughts and feelings start to slip again.

  Fuck.

  “Here you go,” Eli says, and I turn to see him holding out a glass of champagne.

  I take it, turning back to look at Gracie and Alligator Belt Asshole.

  “Who is he?” I ask. I don’t need to point to the guy for Eli to know who I’m talking about.

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s a dickhead.”

  “Who is he?” I repeat.

  Eli sighs. “Jealousy ain’t a good look on you.”

  I turn my head. Glare at him.

  “Greyson Montgomery,” he says. “Venture capital guy. He invests in restaurants and bars and shit—focuses on hospitality. His firm gave Gracie money to fund the expansion.”

  A pulse of ice-cold dread lands in my stomach. Seeps into my blood and moves through my skin.

  Do not do not do not do this.

  Oh, but I do it. Because Gracie’s turned me into a masochist, remember?

  I don’t need to think about the ways Greyson could make Gracie’s dreams soar. Because he’s already done that.

  He’s already proved my point.

  I’m holding Gracie back. When a guy like him could push her forward.

  Gracie likes to be pushed.

  “Luke. Talk to me,” Eli is saying. “You’re turnin’ red.”

  Stop.

  I still got control. Which means I can stop this train of thought in its tracks.

  But it’s true. The idea that Greyson is better for Gracie than I am is true.

  Taking a breath, I look at E.

  “Remember everything I told you.” He keeps his voice low. “Decent and big-hearted. That’s what Gracie deserves. That is what you are, Luke.”

  Also true.

  But decent and big-hearted don’t add up to all that much in a world like Gracie’s. She’s so much more than that.

  She deserves so much more than that.