Chapter 4 #2
His lips part ever so slightly on an exhale, and I know he was just as primed for that kiss as I was. But he lets me go.
Just in time, too, because Unc comes around the corner calling out, “Last call. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
“Do you even know that song?” My words are too fast, but not as fast as my heart is racing.
“What song?” he grunts, passing me to get back into his sacred space behind the bar. “Would you help Olivia out and do a round of bussing glasses so we can get out of here tonight?”
That’s the first time Unc has asked for my help nicely instead of bossing me around as though my very presence is somehow both welcome and unwelcome at the same time. I’m calling it progress.
“Sure thing.”
I grab a dish tub and start my way around the room, grabbing empties as I go and letting my mind race away.
What was that? What just happened? Oh, my God, I almost kissed Bobby Tannen. It is a well-known fact that hot musicians do not kiss girls like me. Nope, never happens. But it did. Well, almost.
Distracted, I lean over table nine, trying not to interrupt the guys’ conversation. But the blond closest to me runs the back of his hand up my arm and a creepy shiver runs down my spine.
“Hi there.” He’s not drunk, or at least he’s not slurring and his eyes are focused. But he’s clearly lost his ever-loving mind.
“Hello,” I answer coldly, shifting away from him.
I hate to say it, but I’ve been in enough bars that I’m well aware that friendliness can be mistaken for flirting for the lonely-hearted.
And the last thing I need to do is overreact in the middle of Unc’s bar and cause a scene, even if I’m gritting my teeth to keep from telling this guy to keep his hands to himself.
“Chill out, Joe,” one of the other guys says, shaking his head and giving me a look that says Sorry, my friend is an asshole. “Here, thanks.” The guy holds up his empty glass and I reach for it.
As soon as my hands grab the offered glass, Joe grabs my ass and yanks me into his lap, bouncing me with his hips and laughing like he’s having a grand old time. I can feel his dick hardening beneath my thigh.
Scene be damned. The glass shatters on the wood floor as I push against Joe’s chest, yelling loudly, “What the hell?”
Joe starts to say something, his breath smelling like stale beer, but I’m suddenly flying through the air and whirled around. Before I’m even seeing straight, I’m planted almost gently on my feet, a wide, denim-clad back in front of me.
Bobby.
He ripped me out of Joe’s lap and now has Joe’s T-shirt fisted in one hand, his other holding Joe’s arm behind his back.
Joe is stone-cold sober now and pissed as hell.
His toes are barely touching the ground as Bobby holds him up, but he’s yelling at Bobby as he struggles. “What the fuck, man? Put me down!”
A loud bang comes from the bar, and I glance over to see Unc with a baseball bat slammed on the bar top. My uncle might be old, but right now, I have no doubt that he could take someone’s head off with that thing.
“Bobby,” Unc says in warning, though I don’t know why. Bobby is protecting me and not the bad guy here.
“Don’t. Touch.” That’s all Bobby says to Joe, but it has the power of an order. He slowly lowers Joe’s feet to the floor, keeping a careful watch on him. Bobby’s eyes narrow a split second before Joe bellows.
“Motherfucker!”
Joe rears back and punches Bobby clean in the jaw. I gasp in horrified shock, but Bobby grins, his tongue peeking out to test the lip I was so close to kissing just minutes ago. “Hank, you saw that? He threw the first punch.”
All at once, hell breaks loose.
Unc curses and tries to rush around the bar as Bobby hammers Joe’s gut and makes him fold in half before uppercutting Joe’s nose. I hear a crunch, and Joe falls to his knees, holding his nose.
“You broke it.” Joe sounds whiny and stuffy, probably from the blood leaking from between his fingers.
Joe’s friends all push back from the table, and Bobby looks up, glee in his eyes that tells them all to bring it, but they’re not getting up to jump to their friend’s defense.
They’re getting out of Bobby’s way, same as I’m doing, backing away slowly like sudden movements will make them a target too because his hands are still loosely coiled, ready for round two.
“Get out, and don’t come back!” Unc tells Joe and his crew.
The guy who tried to apologize for Joe’s earlier behavior helps him to his feet. Joe splutters out, “Get out? Fuck that! Call the cops! I’m pressing charges!”
Joe glares at Bobby, and my heart races even faster, though it’s pounding away like a hamster’s from the adrenalin of the fight right in front of me.
He’s going to get in so much trouble. For me.
Over nothing. What Joe did was wrong, obviously, but it’s not the first time a customer has gotten a little handsy, and I’ve always handled it just fine and without bloodletting.
Unc grins at that. “Cops? Okay, man, your funeral. Hey, Patrick, this guy wants a police report filled out on this little incident.”
A rotund guy in a plaid snap-front shirt gets up and saunters over, pausing to take in the scene with his hands on his hips. Unc and Bobby seem to know something Joe, his buddies, and I don’t know, because they don’t seem concerned in the least.
“Patrick Gibson, Chief of Police for Great Falls. I hear you want a police report. All right, let’s start with you, Willow.”
It hits me all at once, and I can’t help but feel a little vindicated. There really is a police officer in the right place at the right time for the good guy.
I tell Patrick what happened precisely, and then Bobby does the same.
Joe tries to interrupt, but then Patrick asks Unc, who also confirms it.
Finally, Patrick asks Joe, whose bluster is fading.
His version is more that Bobby is a hothead who came out of nowhere for no reason and beat the shit out of him.
Unc offers, “If you have any doubts, I can pull the video.” I turn to him in surprise because there are no cameras that I know of. Unc winks at me, his straight face giving nothing away.
Patrick summarizes, “Well, it does sound like an open and shut case of sexual assault against Ms. Parker and battery against Mr. Tannen. Bobby, I mean, Mr. Tannen, had every right to defend himself. Willow, you wanna press charges too? I can take our friend down to the station, but it’ll probably be Monday afternoon before he gets arraigned because the judge teaches up at the university in the morning. ”
Joe, though, wants to argue. “No, I’m pressing charges.”
Patrick stares him down. “For what, exactly?”
Joe’s buddies seem to have caught on to just how much trouble their friend is in and are trying to herd him out with promises of ‘no problem, Officer’ and ‘so sorry, ma’am’. I shake my head, telling Patrick, “No, I think we’re good.”
Patrick nods, putting his cowboy hat back on.
He sticks a hand out, which Bobby shakes.
“Good show, son. Like that new one you’re doing.
” To Unc, he says, “Damn tourists, think they can do whatever they want.” Unc flashes a lopsided grin and walks back behind the bar, swinging his bat with every step.
I look to Bobby in shock. “What just happened?”
He steps in close to me, the knuckles of his left hand brushing over my cheekbone. I’m surprised at the gentle touch, lighter than a butterfly’s wings. “Are you okay?” His eyes flash . . . worry, fury, fear, and tenderness.
He’s an exciting blend of intensities.
“I think so. That was just . . . crazy.”
Olivia walks by, serving beers as though nothing happened. “I told you live music nights are the best.”
I blink at her no-big-deal tone and then laugh, though it’s probably a little manic. Bobby’s lips quirk up too, as though my laughter reassures him that I’m okay.
Unc calls out, “Hey, Willow, take an ice pack to my office and get the first aid kit. Bobby’s gonna need some ointment for those knuckles. No telling what that prick had up his nose.” He taps his nostril like Joe was some coke-head druggie rather than a handsy drunk.
Both Bobby and I look at his right hand, where the joints are a little puffy and red. “Oh, my God, let’s get you taken care of.”
He smiles and jokes, “It’s fine. Been there, done that, even got the scars from the other guys’ teeth a time or two.”
Wait, that didn’t sound like a joke.
Bobby heads back to Unc’s office like he knows where he’s going, so I grab a Ziploc bag and fill it with ice. Unc watches me but stops me as I pass him. “You really okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just not used to being up close and personal with UFC fights, you know?”
Unc smiles, though the joke isn’t the least bit funny and my nerves are still shot.
“Looks like you might oughta get used to it if Bobby Tannen is taking a liking to you. You sweet on him too?” His eyes narrow, like he wants to read my answer from my face, not just hear the words.
I think Unc would go meet Bobby with that bat if I said no.
“I just met him.”
“That don’t mean a thing, girl. Take the rest of the night off.
I can handle closing.” I start to argue, but he cuts me off.
“Been doing it myself for damn near thirty years. Once more won’t kill me.
” And with that, he turns back to Richard and continues chatting about the ballgame as though nothing else of interest happened tonight.
Olivia stops me too. “Ooh, girl. I’m so excited I could spit. You have to tell me everything, okay? I want to live vicariously through it all.”
My cheeks heat. “I’m going to put ice and ointment on his knuckles. That’s it.”
She pats my shoulder. “You keep thinking that. I’m already hearing wedding bells. Can I be your maid of honor?”
“What?” My eyebrows climb up my forehead and my jaw drops open. “We’re not—”
“At least you got the nice brother. The other ones are monsters.”
“Olivia, he just beat the shit out of that guy. Broke his nose!” I whisper-scream, not wanting to drag it out if everyone else is acting like it’s no big deal.
Which they are, having returned to their beers and their conversations, though there’s a fresh round of female glares coming my way from the margarita girls.
Olivia looks at me in confusion. “Willow, his brother’s name .
. . his actual name . . . is Brutal. Bobby is just a little wild, a bad boy who needs some sweet, sweet loving from a nice girl.
” She pats my cheek a little too hard and walks off, her tennis shoes squeaking on the wet floor where she’s already cleaned and mopped up the broken glass.
I think I must’ve bumped my head or something because tonight has been crazy, but it seems like I’m the only one who thinks so.