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“Okay,” I say slowly, feeling like I might’ve been danced into something I didn’t intend. “Do you need my number?”
She laughs heartily at that. “Nah, I already swiped it out of Bobby’s phone. Dumb fuck’s password is Betty. As if we don’t all know that.” I can definitely hear the eye roll. “I’ll be by to grab the food, but this conversation . . . it never happened, capiche?”
“Yeah, got it,” I say, feeling like I don’t get it at all. But the idea of seeing where Bobby lives and works, the land he talks and sings about with such affection, is a damn good dangling carrot. It’s more like a dangling cupcake, drawing me near. Hopefully, he’ll be happy to see me there. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.
Fewer than fifteen minutes later, Shayanne and Brody come in. Shay wanders up to the bar, beaming like the Cheshire Cat. “Hey, Willow, good to talk to you again. I mean, see you again.” She winks, likely thinking she’s being subtle, but she’s not. Not at all.
Brody looks from her to me and back, then grunts. He’s on to her, I’m sure of it. But he doesn’t say a word. Literally.
“Yeah, good to see you too, Shayanne,” I mimic, knowing I’m a bad liar too.
I make them huge sweet iced teas in Styrofoam cups to go with their fried box of heart attack snacks and send them on their way. As they head toward the door, Shay waves her fingers at me, also not discreet at all. Brody’s dark eyebrow raises, then he looks to the ceiling as though praying for the patience to get through another day with Shayanne.
The Saturday night rush is decent, not too bad but not killer either. The jukebox plays song after song nonstop and most folks order beers, making my job easy. Ilene and Daniel crank out food, and Olivia doesn’t even need my help to serve her tables. We’re a well-oiled machine until nine o’clock, when Bobby comes in.
Every cell in my body knows the second he walks in, like they’re in tune to his presence.
Bobby! they shout.
My heart stops in my chest. My hands freeze too, which means this draft is a bit overfull, but the guy at the bar doesn’t seem to mind when I set it down, spilling a bit over the edge of the mug. He even offers me a smile like he thinks I did it intentionally for him.
But my eyes are all for the man crossing the room toward me. Bobby looks good, like sinful sex personified in naturally faded jeans that are molded to his thighs, a red T-shirt stretched across his chest but loose at the waist where it’s lazily half-tucked behind a big buckle, brown boots, and a ball cap. He’s even got the scruff of yesterday’s beard on his cheeks and chin, so he must not have even taken time to shave before coming to see me.
Those dark eyes meet mine and lock me in place as he comes over to the bar, sitting down right in front of me. I love that he doesn’t have a preferred barstool but rather sits down wherever will put him closest to me.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls out. I swear to God, it sounded like ‘wanna have sex in my truck?’ Or that’s what my vagina heard, anyway, and the answer’s a resounding yes, even though he didn’t really ask.
“Hey there yourself,” I reply, going for smooth and chill but sounding a bit breathless. He hears the difference, judging by the purse of his lips as he fights a cocky grin. “Beer?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, sweet tea.”
I quickly pour him a tea and set it in front of him, a little off to the side because I know what’s coming next. Or I hope I do.
He doesn’t disappoint, leaning far across and holding around the back of my neck to guide me to meet him halfway. God, I love the way he kisses. Like there’s nothing more that he needs or wants—not oxygen, not sex, nothing more important than claiming my mouth with his and that’s enough.
The bar goes silent, or maybe my ears are full of the whoosh of my racing heartbeat, but it’s not until he pulls back that time begins moving again. That smile of his is out in full force now. “Should’ve done that first,” he hums. “Been wanting to all day.”
“Hard day at the office?” I joke.
“No monkey suits for me, thanks. Brutal and I checked two of our biggest fields today, though. Makes for a long day in the sun, and we found some beetles so they’ll have to be treated. Luckily, not on Shay’s heirloom tomatoes or she’d blow a gasket. How about your day?” he asks.
“Yeah, took some of Darla’s doughnuts to Unc this morning, then here by lunch.”
