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Bobby and Willow fucking by a tree . . .
F-U-C-K Me-E-E.
I think about that for a second. Would I like to have sex with Bobby outside by a tree? I’ve never done that before. I picture it and decide that like Olivia said, it’s sexy to imagine, but I think I’d be so scared we’d get caught that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself if we tried it for real. Maybe I’m just a behind closed doors sort?
I picture Bobby locking the door, telling me to lie down and spread my legs for him, him climbing over me . . . yeah, I’m a behind closed doors girl for sure because that is sexy as hell.
“So, do I need to kill him?” Bobby asks me after his Wrangler-covered butt meets a barstool. He kissed me hello first, and I swear, the whole place nearly sighed in unison.
At my look of confusion, he explains, “Hank. He go hard on you from yesterday’s escapades?”
Smiling, I shake my head. “No, we actually had a good talk. We’re fine now. Better than fine.”
Bobby glances down the bar and meets Unc’s eyes. He’s stayed on his butt all night, sticking to pulling beers and chatting with Richard while I man the rest of the bar. Just like it should be so he doesn’t wear himself out. The two men glare, hard eyed and harder willed, but Bobby defers first, in a sign of respect, not weakness. He dips his chin, then Unc does the same.
Just like that, they’re solid gold again. Guys are so weird. But I’m glad they’re okay with each other now. Even if I can’t tell Bobby about the c-a-n-c-e-r. I’ll keep my promise to Unc and not blab that, not even to Bobby, though I know he’s trustworthy.
But it’s not my secret.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight? Dinner, close down, and clean up?” he asks.
“Yep.”
I know what he’s asking, but I want him to take the lead here.
“Then what, Willow? Tell me what you want.”
Shit.
He pushes me, encourages me to be bolder, louder. In the past, I’ve hated that, people who thought quiet equaled stupid or shy meant weak. But Bobby isn’t trying to change me. He’s giving me space to walk with him, not behind him, and . . . I like it a lot. It seems safe to do with him, like he won’t judge me no matter what I say, and there’s no pressure to do or say or feel the right thing because there is no right or wrong. He truly wants to know whatever’s in my heart or on my mind.
I search for what I want. Not what I think he wants. So I openly tell him, “And then we go to my house. Can you stay for breakfast?”
He flashes that cocky smirk. “Sweetheart, you know that if my truck is in your driveway in the morning when people get up to drink their first cup of coffee, I might as well stand on your front porch and yell out that we’re together, right? We’ll be the talk of the town before the sun breaks the horizon line.”
I tease at the napkin on top of the stack in front of me, curling it into a roll then releasing it, only to do it again. “So that’s a yes?”
Maybe that’s the wrong thing. Maybe he doesn’t want that?
“Thank fuck. About damn time you catch up to me, woman.” And with that, he reaches across the bar, his palm cupping the back of my neck to pull me toward him, and kisses the hell out of me. I don’t think anyone is going to need to see his truck in my driveway to know that our date went well and that not only am I officially Bobby Tannen’s girl, but he’s officially my man.
He kisses me long and hard and with a self-satisfied smirk, sits back on that barstool. I grab my phone out of my pocket and hold it up.
Bobby smiles for me, the panty-melting grin he flashes when he’s on stage holding the audience in his hand. But right now, it’s for an audience of one. Me. Click.
I hold his hand on the bar, our fingers interwoven together. His are rough and the cuticles cracked—the hands of a man who works every single day of his life. Mine are small, my nails short and bare, adorned with only the silver thumb ring Mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday and the tiny pinky ring that fits to my first knuckle. I frame the shot just the way I want, catching the texture of our skin, the difference in our skin tones, and the way even his grip seems both possessive and tender at the same time. Click.
I don’t alter the picture in any way, posting it straight to my blog with a caption that simply says, Love Is Real with a heart emoji.
