Chapter 9 #2
Surprised, Willow looks at me with raised brows.
Her eyes swirl like she’s trying to figure something out.
Me? My family? Is this a set-up? I squeeze her hip encouragingly, praying she says yes.
After a second that seems like an eternity, she turns back to Katelyn.
“That sounds great. Let me know when, though I work every day but Monday.”
That answers Shay’s earlier question. I’m busy with Willow all day on Monday, so someone else will have to handle deliveries.
“Six days a week till two a.m.? Nobody’s gonna accuse you of being lazy,” Shayanne teases, then starts singing, “She works hard for that money . . .” She’s horribly off-key and not even following the famous tune, making up her own notes and not even hitting those and getting the lyrics wrong too.
To say that I got the lion’s share of the musical talent in my family is a gross exaggeration.
I got it all, every last drop of musical DNA.
Willow laughs. “Yeah, bartenders’ hours are pretty much the opposite of farmers’ hours, I guess.
I usually crash around four, sleep until ten, then back behind the bar by noon if I’m pulling a lunch shift.
But I don’t mind. I’m happy to help Unc.
” A shadow passes through her eyes, and I sense a slight tension in her when she says that. I hope she’s not overdoing it.
The girls chatter away, talking about this and that, and we guys stay as quiet as church mice.
I’m well aware that they’re testing Willow, checking her out and seeing if she slides into our group easily.
Dynamic is important—like music, it has to flow naturally, and so far, Willow seems to fit right in.
I’m not surprised. Who wouldn’t like a sweetheart like her?
After a bit, she says she needs to get back behind the bar, and I feel the loss of her at my side. Back at her station, she hollers out, “Last call!” and there’s a sudden influx of orders that has her scrambling up and down the bar. But she handles it all with grace and a smile.
Not soon enough, it’s time to close and Willow does the ‘don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here’ spiel. Olivia clears tables left and right, thanking people for their tips and promising to see them tomorrow night.
A drunk guy loudly asks why she’s not kicking our table out, and Olivia laughs as she follows his pointed finger to our group. She dares him, “You want to be the one to tell them?” Toward us, she calls out, “Hey, Brutal, think this guy has something to discuss with you.”
The guy looks over, and Brutal glowers back, squaring up and clenching his jaw. He doesn’t even need to say anything as Drunk Dude pales, gets up unsteadily, and heads for the door with the help of what I assume is his designated driver.
Brutal relaxes with a smirk. “Must’ve been something I said.” We chuckle because Brutal is the biggest teddy bear of us all, probably the least likely to get in a tussle, but he knows how to work his size and mean mug to his advantage.
“We’d better get going, anyway. Mama Louise is keeping Cindy Lou tonight,” Sophie says, standing up.
Next to her, James confides, “She’s hoping for another grandbaby.”
Allyson laughs. “She’s got Cooper tonight too. Told me that he helps her with Cindy Lou. Hope she’s not dreaming of another one from us. This shop is closed.” She waves her hand around her middle section.
But Brutal growls, “It’d better not be closed.”
Allyson rolls her eyes. “Not for you, but for babies . . . closed indefinitely.”
They all head for the door, leaving me alone at the table. I gather up our trash and glasses, stacking them the way Olivia does and taking them to the back. Ilene doesn’t blink at my being in the kitchen, and Daniel simply takes the glasses with a sound of appreciation and gets back to work.
I help clean up the front of the bar, pushing the broom and mop around after flipping the chairs up on the tabletops, and before long, everything’s done.
Daniel walks behind the bar and says something quietly to Willow.
She looks at me, leaning on the far end of the bar, and I know my eyes are dark as night and promising sin.
Dirty thoughts assail me . . . what I could do to her on the bar, behind the bar, over any table in this place?
I don’t hide a single filthy idea from her.
Slowly, she pries her eyes from mine and turns to Daniel.
With a nod, he waves at me and escorts Ilene and Olivia toward the door.
On her way past, Olivia says quietly, “Fuck this up and you’ll only live long enough to regret it.
Between Hank and me, we’ll put the meat grinder to good use and no one will be the wiser. ”
What is it with women and true crime shit? Do they have lessons on how to get away with murder?
Wait, that’s got the potential to be a good song lyric. Oh, shit, no . . . the Dixie Chicks already did that with Goodbye Earl, Carrie Underwood killed her dad in Blown Away and her husband in Two Black Cadillacs, and Garth Brooks did Papa Loved Mama too. Maybe I’ll skip the murder music for now.
Once Willow and I are finally alone, murder is the last thing on my mind. Unless it’s little deaths . . . fuck, I could make her come all night. Make her sing with pleasure for me. That’s the music I’d love to hear. It’d be my new favorite song for sure.
Needing to hold her, I walk to the jukebox and hit J14. Hank keeps this thing pretty updated, keeping classics but adding new tunes regularly. Chris Jansen’s Done pours through the speakers, saying what I can’t to Willow.
She’s it for me.
I’m done for, no doubt about it.
I hold out my hand, and from across the bar, she takes it.
I walk her down to the end and around, finally holding her in my arms again.
We don’t do any fancy footwork. This isn’t the time for that.
For now, I just sway her back and forth, feeling her body pressed to mine.
She feels so right, so mine, and I want to soak her up, slide into her soul, and fuse us into one.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to hold you all night,” I confess quietly. I’m acutely aware of her weight shifting from side to side, her skin which is now covered in fine goosebumps, and the hitch in her breathing at my throaty admission.
She gives me one of those smiles that drives me wild and lays her head against my chest. Her arms go around my waist and mine drop over her shoulders in the tightest, sexiest hug I’ve ever had. She even squeezes me a bit.
“I like this,” she whispers against my T-shirt.
“I like you,” I tell her. Weak words for the thunder raging through my veins, but my racing heart is doing its best to get blood to flow north to my brain.
We sway quietly and I breathe her in. She smells like she’s been working, lemons and beer and bleach, but underneath is her own unique scent, and I take it into my lungs. I sing softly, a grittier, rougher version of the sweet song, and the jukebox plays on, serenading us.
After a few songs, Willow pulls back and looks up at me. Her eyes are begging for something she won’t say. “Bobby—”
I don’t make her ask. I’ve waited long enough already.
My mouth is instantly on hers, exploring and possessing.
I trace her sides, brushing along the sides of her breasts before reaching back to firmly grab her ass.
She whimpers in response to my tight grip, and I hungrily swallow the sweet sound.
I pull her toward me, grinding against her, and a groan of pure bliss vibrates through my chest. I lower my hands to the backs of her thighs, encouraging her up, and lift her to straddle my waist, needing more, wanting to give her more.
Walking backward without breaking our kiss, I find the bar and set her on it. She pulls back long enough to warn, “I am not having sex on my uncle’s bar.”
Devilishly, I grin. “Not tonight, you’re not.”
Her mouth drops open in surprise, and I can’t help but laugh a little. But when she pushes at my chest in protest, I don’t move an inch. “Tonight, I’m going to kiss you, get you drunk on me, and make you so needy that you want me deep inside you. Then we’re going to go home . . . alone.”
Her face falls a bit, which gives me a twisted bit of reassured joy. She does want me.
“Don’t pout. Know that I’m going to be fucking my hand and wishing it were your sweet little pussy taking my cum.
” Behind those big, black frames, she blinks at my words, and I wonder if anyone has ever talked dirty to her before.
Softening a bit, I tell her, “I’m not going to rush this, Willow.
We only get to do this buildup for the first time once, and when I get inside you, I’m going to want to stay there forever, so I’m going to enjoy this part and drive us both crazy until we can’t stand it anymore.
Make me earn it, make me work for you. Don’t give in to me too fast because as soon as you do, I won’t be able to stop. ”
Her smile returns in increments. “How do you make it sweet that you don’t want to have sex with me? Most guys would take the easy lay.”
“I’m not most guys,” I tell her. “And you’re not an easy lay. You’re . . . everything.”
Shit. Cat’s out of the bag now.
I watch her carefully, hoping she doesn’t bolt. To my delight, her smile grows to the point where her eyes crinkle at the edges in true happiness.
Relief washes through me, and before she can think on it too much more, I dive back into her for another kiss, returning us to the crazy beauty of this madness.
Her tongue thrashes against mine, and I moan at the power of her hunger.
Weaving my fingers into her hair, I tilt her head to the side and trace down the line of her neck, nipping and kissing my way to her collarbone, which I lave with my tongue.
She tastes like salt and sweetness, and I lap at her skin for more.