Redneck Romeo (The Culture Blind Book 1) Read online

  Redneck Romeo

  The Culture Blind Series #1

  Xavier Neal

  Copyright © 2018 by Xavier Neal

  Cover by Dana Leah (Designs By Dana)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review without authorization of the Author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in a court of law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated to The Universe...

  Thank you for always allowing me to

  appreciate other cultures in various forms.

  Contents

  Playlist

  1. Carly

  2. Dustin

  3. Carly

  4. Dustin

  5. Carly

  6. Dustin

  7. Carly

  8. Dustin

  9. Carly

  10. Dustin

  11. Carly

  12. Dustin

  13. Carly

  14. Dustin

  15. Carly

  Epilogue

  Did you enjoy this story?

  Stories from the Side Characters

  Also by Xavier Neal

  Acknowledgments

  Stalk Links

  About the Author

  Playlist

  Here are a few songs from the “Redneck Romeo” playlist!

  Feel free to follow the playlist on Spotify to find more songs I felt related to the novel.

  1. Body Like A Backroad - Sam Hunt (Country)

  2. Un-thinkable (I’m Ready) - Alicia Keys (R&B)

  3. Sex On Fire - Kings of Leon (Rock)

  4. It’s Your Love - Tim McGraw & Faith Hill (Country)

  5. Once In A Lifetime - Flo Rida (Rap)

  6. Small Town Boy Like Me - Dustin Lynch (Country)

  7. So Far Away- Staind (Rock)

  8. Signed, Sealed, Delivered- Stevie Wonder (Pop-Soul)

  9. My Love Is Like Wo- Mya (R&B)

  10. She’s With Me- High Valley (Country)

  More songs: http://spoti.fi/2IJPIzI

  Chapter One

  Carly

  “Can you please hold my spot, sweetheart?”

  The combination of his bright green eyes and southern drawl has my bottom lip hiding gleefully between my teeth. I deliver a quick, polite nod before giving him space to squeeze by. Without any care or concern for who may be watching, I allow my eyes to follow his blue jean-framed ass out of sight.

  Huh. In my entire life I have never seen a man look that sexy in jeans….

  “Who the fuck does he think he is?” Cordie, my redheaded best friend, snaps. She stomps her feet angrily in the sand. “Why the fuck should we do him any sort of favor?”

  “He said please,” Audrey, my brunette and shyer best friend, meekly recalls. “At least he was polite. How many men back home have those types of manners? How many times have we been out and-”

  “And why the fuck did you say yes?” Cordie snips again, redirecting my attention back to her displeased expression. “You’re not a fucking bookmark! Or sticky note! Or valet ticket!”

  Audrey tries to calm our friend’s sky rocketing temperament. “Cordie, you’re yelling….You know you hate how your face wrinkles when you yell.”

  “I’m yelling because-”

  “You’re clearly not drunk enough.” I shoot her a teasing smirk. “See, a drunk Cordie is a happy Cordie, and a bitchy Cordie means the shots we did earlier at the pool have finally worn off.”

  She slowly nods at my logic.

  It doesn’t take a mathematician to understand party girls are happiest when they’re partying. Cordie’s constant partying nature is the reason this beach trip even came about. It’s also the reason I know we’re going to have the most fun possible. True party girls like Cordie are always looking to add to the party, never kill it.

  “We should do more shots,” Cordie suggests. “You know, before Cooper comes out.”

  Audrey purses her lips together. “God, what I would do to that man if he’d only let me.”

  “You and the rest of the female population here.” I chuckle.

  Personally, I’m convinced Cooper Copeland’s annual Beers & Babes Beach Bash is just an excuse for him to get drunk with his country buddies and swim in the endless sea of groupies. He’s one of country music’s hottest stars, on the charts and physically speaking. The man looks like he should be ridden in a rodeo. Come to think of it, he also looks great in jeans. Not as good as the cowboy hottie who I almost humped when he passed me, but definitely a distant second. And I mean distant. Green eyes made my teeth hurt at how sweet his behind looked.

  “It is my mission to get us close enough to Cooper for that to be a possibility,” Cordie informs loudly. “But for me to fuck him. Not you.”

  There’s no argument out of Audrey.

  Of course there’s not. Why would there be? Audrey’s comment was casual, the way most people talk about celebrities. Unlike our socialite star, when we mutter that shit, we don’t mean it. We don’t make a living off of spreading gossip or sharing conquests. We have normal jobs. Well…Audrey does. Mine’s a bit...unorthodox.

  “Think he’ll play ‘Midnight Rain’ tonight or his closing night?” Audrey changes the subject.

  The sadness trying not to appear in her brown eyes has me rushing to say, “He might not play it at all.”

  “Of course he’s gonna fucking play it,” Cordie huffs like I’m an idiot. “Fifty bucks says he’ll play it both nights.”

  I hit her with a harsh scowl.

  Drop dead gorgeous, yet drop dead insensitive. Her callousness, I’ve discovered, is a combination of her neglectful parents and never properly being told when to shut the fuck up. This would be a prime example of one of those times. The last thing your recently divorced friend, who you’re here to help forget about her ex who is getting married this weekend, needs is to know without a doubt that she’s going to hear their wedding song. That’s basic friendship 101. That doesn’t even require me to use any of my perfected skillsets.

  All of a sudden, the sexy, sun-kissed skinned stranger returns, though he’s not empty handed or alone.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  Two words. Two words and my heart has made a new home in my throat while my pussy has decided it’s met its new master.

  No. No. No. This is nothing more than a liquor filled reaction. Clearly, I’ve got my booze goggles on.

  The over six feet tall male wets his full lips, successfully erasing my previous proclamation. He motions his head to the waiter at his side, who is holding six plastic cups. “Thought I’d bring you ladies back a round of shots to show my appreciation.”

  This was the big selling point for all of us. Not only is the resort we’re staying at all-inclusive for food and alcohol, but so is the beach bash associated with it. There are waiters everywhere walking around the resort as well as the beach, waiting on you hand and foot. You are treated like royalty without regard to your race, age, or financial situation. To the people serving you everyone’s happiness is equally important. We all paid the price to be here. We all get the five star treatment, and for the next five nights, we’re going to overdose on it. Escaping the endless monotony of my life was the original intention for me. I plan to stick to that.

  �
�Can everybody here hold their whiskey?” he teasingly questions.

  “Probably better than you, cowboy,” I taunt back.

  His laugh is light. Genuine. Full of love and warmth. It’s the type of sound you’d willingly let swallow you whole.

  Interesting….Most men don’t allow themselves to be so open or exposed. Most men save that type of shit for the fifth or sixth date. The ones typically after they’ve had sex. After a woman has proven she can handle what they’re either most proud or ashamed of. True laughter, to many men, is more intimate than sex. They keep it guarded or locked up, terrified of how weak or vulnerable it makes them. It’s the reason so many do more smiling in the beginning of a relationship. It behaves as a viable substitute.

  Okay. My brain is still in work mode. I must not be drunk enough, either.

  The large stranger passes us ladies a drink while the two men beside him each grab a cup. After green eyes grabs his cup, he tips the waiter who promptly asks would we like anything else. Once we all agree on another set of shots, as well as a round of beers, he takes offers from the growing crowd around us, determined to fill the tray to capacity for his next trip.

  Cordie impatiently whines, “What are we toasting to?”

  “We gotta toast to somethin’?” the shorter male green eyes brought back with him questions.

  “It’s basic party rules.” Her smile transitions to flirtatious. “This isn’t your first time at one, is it?”

  “No. This ain’t my first rodeo, little lady.”

  His accent seems to excite her.

  Unlike the green eyed stranger I can’t wait to hear speak again, his is too thick. Too strong. Borderline over the top. It actually makes perfect sense she finds it sexy. She loves the dramatic. I’d be willing to bet their personality analysis would pair them nicely.

  Ugh. Definitely need to get drunk and fast.

  “How about to new friends?” green eyes suggests sweetly at the same time he drops his stare down to me. He steals a brief moment to drink in my light cocoa brown skin and curves cleverly hidden in a soft pink, off the shoulder boho maxi dress before continuing. “Any woman who is kind enough to guard my space when she doesn’t know me from Adam is the type of person I want to be friends with.”

  My smile unconsciously grows.

  “The fact that she’s beautiful is jus’ a bonus.”

  His compliment cracks my jaw.

  “To new friends!” the male eye fucking Cordie announces.

  “To new friends!” we echo and tap our plastic cups.

  A pleased hum escapes as the whiskey soothes my overly stimulated senses.

  How can someone whose name I don’t even know have my entire body on edge? How is it that just casually admiring the way his muscles fill out his white t-shirt has me regretting not hiding a pocket vibrator in my luggage? Am I really this pathetic? Has it really been that long, or is he rocking some sort of new age cologne that puts women in a trance?

  Another wave of his scent invades my system unapologetically.

  Why does he smell so goddamn good? And how does a person get the smell of crisp, clean freshness from the shower with just the lingering hint of fresh wood? Or fresh forest? Is that a real thing? From what research has shown, most men pick certain scents to present their personality without speaking. If a woman’s attracted to their aroma, she is more likely to accept their initial advances. It’s a mindless mating tactic. A very old but still effective one.

  “My apologies,” green eyes states, gaze now locked with mine again. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Carly.”

  “And now the beauty has a name,” he practically whispers.

  I helplessly grin again.

  It’s not like this is the first man on the planet to call me beautiful. Hell, since we’ve been here I’ve had a number of them stop me to declare it. They were clearly intoxicated, so their advances were brushed away by a polite smile, but he’s not. Or at least I don’t think he is. His gaze is glazed in lucidity and his body language is screaming he’s sincere. Regardless if he is or isn’t inebriated, there’s something about the accentuation of the word that brings a new level of intensity to it. He says it like it’s carved in stone. Like it’s an absolute truth he’d risk his entire life to prove….

  Wow. Maybe I am still a little buzzed after all. Clearly, I’m reading too much into this.

  “I’m Dustin.” He swiftly removes the cup from my possession, stacks it with his, and offers me his free hand. Our grips clasp together and the haze in my mind thickens. We shake much too slow for much too long. His touch is rough, calloused fingers and a coarse palm, but the delicateness he demonstrates has my mind reeling over the idea that maybe I’m what’s making the giant gentle. When we finally do drop hands my heart sinks at the emptiness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Why do I wanna say it feels like destiny to meet him?

  Ah, fuck me. Why am I even entertaining the idea of such? I work in the industry of “love”. I know how fleeting the notion is. I know fate is just a fancy word for finding something that fits into your present that you don’t mind seeing a future with. I know how feelings fade, but the idea of financial security doesn’t. Why am I pretending fairytales are real and love is something other than a contract signed by both parties?

  “This is my older brother, Cody.” His head motion towards the individual who is the same height and looks eerily similar to him. Afterwards, he repeats the action the other direction. “That’s his best friend, Sam.”

  Both men extend their hands for me to shake. Once we have, I announce, “The gorgeous redhead is my best friend Cordelia, and the gorgeous brunette is my best friend Audrey.”

  “You boys can call me Cordie.”

  The urge to retort something snarky takes me by surprise.

  Cordie and I have been friends for about five years. She’s never given the false impression she was anyone other than who she is. She’s always sported the page six girl with the cover in mind attitude. First to order the shots and last to finish the bottle. She’s the poster woman for fun, carefreeness, and irresponsibility. She sleeps with who she wants, when she wants, where she wants, with absolutely no concern for any contenders who are interested in the same man she is. If this were our usual girl’s night out, I wouldn’t think twice about the way she’s attempting to dangle herself, so the question is why am I now? Why am I annoyed with the way she’s staring at them too hard? Why am I jealous of the way her porcelain skin looks perfect in the glow of the stage lights? Why am I hating the fact I don’t gorge on brightly colored salads or join trendy diets to lose the extra thickness sitting a little too comfortably on my hips? Why do I loathe knowing I’m in a competition I’m most likely going to lose?

  “This your first time here?” Sam asks our group.

  Audrey instantly looks for clarification. “To South Haven Island or Beers & Babes Beach Bash?”

  It’s clear his initial question wasn’t meant to be more than a conversation starter by his response. “Both?”

  Audrey’s mouth moves to reply when Cordie snakes in front of her to take over the line of communication. “The Bash, yeah. I’m constantly on this island. There are always celebrities that hang out here.”

  My eyes roll of their own accord.

  There’s a gentle, unexpected tug on my hand that darts my attention to Dustin who has eased himself away from typhoon Cordie. I step closer to him, guilt gnawing at me for leaving Audrey on the sidelines to fend for herself.

  “What about you?” Dustin drops the plastic cups in a passing server’s trash bag. “Is this your first time to South Haven Island?”

  “No. I have a few clients here.”

  “Clients,” he repeats the word with lifted eyebrows. “Sounds like you’re an important lady.”

  “Extremely,” I flirt.

  Dustin gives his scruff covered jaw a nervous scratch. “You’re probably out of my league, huh?”

  The racing of m
y words syncs to the one in my chest. “Wouldn’t count you out of the running.”

  He lightly chuckles, the slight shyness, completely unexpected.

  Never in a million years would I guess a big, burly man like him would ever possess a shy bone in his too buff for his own good body. Why on earth would he?! He’s built for durability, not just for model show. He’s got a smile that sets more than my panties on fire and eyes that literally glow. Add those things to the accent and you’ve got a recipe no straight woman can resist. Most men with this powerhouse combination would make a sport of reminding women how amazing they are, yet Dustin is standing here almost desperate to know he even qualifies for a chance. Don’t get me wrong. Confidence is sexy, but unanticipated humility? That’s like hitting the motherlode of attractiveness. At least to me.

  “What about you?” I push a fallen strand behind my ear. “First time to the island?”

  Dustin quickly nods. “Yeah. The Bash, too. It was a Christmas gift from my brother. He scrimped and saved to get us our room and tickets to this thing. I paid for our flights. We’re from Texas.”

  “Explains the sexy accent.”

  A coat of crimson stains his cheeks. “You think it’s sexy?”

  The waiter’s return interrupts my prepared response.

  Probably for the best. It was creeping towards Cordie level of brazen, which shouldn’t be a big deal since we’re on vacation, but something in the pit of my stomach doesn’t want this thing between Dustin and I to end here.

  God, what thing?! We just met, and I’m acting like I’ve already got names for our future children picked out. If I got wind of a client behaving like this, I would give them an earful about rational responses and remind them to read the social cues. He’s friendly flirting, not preparing a proposal.