Chapter 9
BOBBY
Imosey over to sit with my family, taking one of the chairs they’ve crowded around the empty edge of the largest booth in the place. We’re a big bunch, both in number and in size, so we take up the whole corner, but there’s plenty of space because people tend to give us a wide berth.
Except for one dumbass woman who comes by and coyly asks if I’m going to play tonight while twirling her hair around her index finger. It’s a proposition if ever I’ve heard one.
“No.” I answer both her question and her question, and the whole crew backs me up with mean glares that communicate clearly ‘get the fuck outta dodge . . . pronto.’
Shot down, she slinks away to look for another horse to ride tonight. It’s not me, it’s never been me, and it certainly isn’t now that I’m with Willow.
I look over to see Willow’s brow lift questioningly and give her a heated look that says ‘you’ve got nothing to worry about, woman.’
“Damn, man, turn the smolder down or you’re gonna get the whole place pregnant,” Rix deadpans. Brody snorts out a laugh, and as I turn around, I can see the whole table is fighting back grins or some version of a chuckle.
“Not me,” Mark decrees, and they lose the battle, the laughs bursting out.
“Fair enough,” Rix agrees. “But every vagina in here just went slicker than snot from Nashville’s Flynn Rider look.
” Rix is not exactly a subtle woman. As a mechanic, she spends all day with the guys in her shop and all evening with us assholes, and she has zero smooth edges.
She’s as rough as the rest of us, maybe more so.
Brody growls, “Quit talking about your vagina and my brother in the same sentence.”
Rix smirks. “Or what?”
Brody doesn’t answer, but Rix suddenly goes quiet and sits up straight. My guess is he’s doing some talking under the table given the smug satisfaction on his usually stoic face.
Olivia appears with a tray of frosty mugs filled to the brim with pink slush and starts to pass them out. “What the hell’s this?” Luke asks.
“Round of Girly Beers, as ordered,” she answers, tipping me a wink. “Don’t worry, boys. It takes more than a little light beer to void your man cards.”
There’s one of us who’s always willing to try anything, literally anything .
. . as in we dare him to do shit all the time just to see if he will, and he always does.
So to no one’s surprise, James grabs his and starts sucking at the straw.
After a few draws, he holds it up, surprised. “That’s delicious. What’s in it?”
I proudly tell them all about Willow’s recipe and how Hank agreed to sell it as the whole table slurps theirs down happily. With it being light beer and sweet, it doesn’t even give me a buzz, but I feel bubbly inside anyway as I watch Willow work.
Bubbly? A rough motherfucker like you can’t be bubbly. It’s downright physically impossible unless you’re talking gas.
Yep, even I can do bubbly, so suck it.
I argue with myself, knowing that it’s the truth. It’s that feeling so many songs have been written about. Hell, I’ve written some myself, thinking I knew what I was talking about. But I didn’t until right now.
Champagne rushing through my veins, but it’s not the liquor. It’s you.
Conversation turns to work stuff, as usual, and we discuss the latest cattle prices, herd health, crop yields, and Shay talks about the planned fall offerings for her homemade goat soap and food goodies business.
“Pumpkin spice soaps again, because of course, those are my best sellers. Pumpkin spice everything!” she says, feigning a basic Starbucks bitch voice and garnering a few smiles.
In her own voice again, she continues, “But I think I want to try a new apple scent. Something brighter and lighter, like a honey crisp and floral combo. I’m not sure, though, because the apple cinnamon set with the soap, apple butter, and candle is such a seasonal favorite. ”
Sophie raises her hand. “If you do the new one, you’ll still make the apple butter, right?
It’s Cindy Lou’s favorite.” James gets real interested in Shay’s plans at that and parrots, “Yeah, it’s Cindy Lou’s favorite.
” Sophie’s brow raises sharply at his emphasis on their baby girl, and I think maybe James is helping his little daughter make the apple butter disappear.
One for you, one for me. One for you, two for me.
“Of course, I’ll still make it. For Cindy Lou.” Shay knows good and well who’s eating it too. “But before all that, we still have next week’s deliveries to discuss.”
We all groan. Shayanne has become quite the entrepreneur, which we support wholeheartedly as her staff.
There are deliveries every week of every season, which we tackle on a rotating schedule.
But for a whole bunch of grumpy assholes, making deliveries to people all over town is basically signing up for a day of hell.
“I need to check with Willow first. I’m not sure what days she’s off, and I want to be sure I can spend those hours with her,” I tell Shay, looking to Brutal for confirmation.
We work together most days, handling the planting and harvesting as a two-man team, though we occasionally have to hire a day worker to help.
He nods that he’ll cover for me whenever I need to step away for the day.
“Whoopsh,” Luke says in his version of a whip sound. With a grin, he adds, “She’s already got you whipped.”
I chuckle at that, shoving his shoulder. “Fucker, have you looked in a mirror lately? My sister has your balls in a jar in the deep freeze with the roasts. You’re the most whipped of us all.”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Hey, if my woman wants to play with my balls and smack my ass a little, I’m game.”
“Enough,” Brody barks out.
We all like Luke. Hell, I’d fight alongside him any day.
But he’s still fucking my sister, which makes our friendship a bit tenuous, no matter what.
I’m not one to share sexual escapade stories, and I definitely don’t need the details of his sex life, especially if Shay is smacking his ass like a damn pony ride. Ugh.
Shay can sense the tension, and used to it, she intervenes easily, changing the subject to the reason they’re all here tonight. “I like her. She seems nice and didn’t shrink when we all swarmed, so she’s got that going for her.”
“You just met her,” Katelyn tells Shayanne, finally joining the conversation instead of making fuck-me eyes at Mark.
“Yeah, but I have a good feeling about her. Like I had with Sophie when I met her.” Shay grins and Sophie cringes.
“Oh, my God, girl. You nearly had me running for the hills. You were like, ‘hi, nice to meet you . . . now, we’re BFFs . . . wanna come over and see my goats?’”
Shay balks. “But you did! And look how it turned out!” She gestures around the table at our whole motley crew.
Sophie smiles back and offers an apologetic high-five to Shay, which she returns begrudgingly.
I want my family to like Willow. More importantly, I want Willow to like my family. These people are my everything. Well, them and music, and now, Willow.
After a while, everyone’s taken a turn on the dance floor, some have had a second drink, Katelyn and Allyson even go for another Girly Beer, and we play a team game of pool.
The whole time, I’m watching Willow work.
She’s at ease behind the bar, handling the whole thing without pause, almost dancing her way from the beer taps to the liquor bottles.
Every once in a while, her eyes will find mine and I’m rewarded with one of those soft smiles that I’m starting to feel possessive of.
Starting? Who am I kidding? I want to gather each one of them and keep them in my pocket so I can have one any time I want.
It’s been hours since I’ve touched her, and that kiss was only a friendly greeting, not what I really need from her.
I’m getting itchy, ready to go visit her at the bar, when I see her heading my way.
Maybe she’s feeling the same way, like she wants to be closer to me the way I need to be closer to her.
She stops by my chair, and I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her in tight. Her arm goes to my shoulders and I welcome its light weight. I squeeze her side, finally settling now that she’s with me.
Home, that’s what she feels like.
And fuck, do I want to go right on in, get cozy and comfortable, and never leave.
Just live buried inside her. At this rate, I might go crazy before I find out what she looks like under these tank tops and cut-off shorts and what she feels like coming on my cock.
But I’m enjoying the journey to finding out, slowly but surely.
A week ago, she wouldn’t do more than have a friendly dinner with me across the bar. Now, she’s damn near claiming me, letting me claim her in her uncle’s bar and hanging with my family.
With a knowing smile, she asks the table, “How were the Girly Beers?”
Allyson and Katelyn hold up their second empty glasses in answer. The rest give her some version of ‘delicious’ or ‘good’. Brutal dryly says, “Better than I expected, that’s for sure.”
I kick his boot under the table. “Told you so.”
Katelyn smiles at Willow. “If I promise not to tell the bartenders at the resort the recipe, can you tell me how to make that? I think it’d be perfect for our next girl’s night in.
” Katelyn runs events at the local resort, and the bar there is known for being our small-town version of swanky, but she’ll keep her promise and stay mum on Willow’s recipe.
Willow automatically and easily offers, “Sure. For a batch, it’s a six-pack of light beer—”
“Better yet, why don’t you come and you can make it!” Katelyn’s gear switch is smooth as silk, just like she is.