Chapter 13
WILLOW
“You have a perfectly normal sex drive, Willow Parker,” I tell my reflection, but it’s obvious I don’t believe the lie.
Funny thing is, it’s truly never been a lie before.
I’ve never even considered that I might be a bit overactive until Bobby Tannen got me all worked up and then denied me the deep, thorough dicking I wanted.
Dicking? Seriously, Willow?
I’d be embarrassed at my train of thoughts, but I can’t find it in me to blush in the slightest. Last night, I rode him through our clothes, dry humping like we were kids in high school.
I’d seriously doubted my ability to come from that alone, because orgasms are mysterious things that sometimes take geometry, a psychologist, and a wish on a star, but he pulled it out of me easily with those growled words in my ear.
It was so good I’d boldly asked if we were going to his place, like some dick-starved Tinderella, which I am not, by any means.
I press my forehead to the cool mirror, eyes locked on the gray ones looking back at me. After a moment, I start laughing. What else am I going to do? This is crazy, but in the best possible way.
Today will be another first. Bobby is picking me up for our ‘official first date’, as he called it.
I’d tried to argue that the tour had been date one and my showing up at the farm was date two, making today date three.
He’d flashed that cocky smile, scrubbing at the scruff of beard on his sharp jawline as though that would hide it, then said ‘fuck it’ as he cupped my jaw and let that smile shine bright.
Right before he kissed me, he let me in on the joke and whispered, “There’s no three-date rule with us, sweetheart. ”
I blushed. I hadn’t even meant it that way, but maybe somewhere deep inside, I had. A little bit.
But if he’s coming over, I’d better finish getting ready. I don’t put on makeup, knowing what I have in mind, and go for sunscreen along my nose and cheeks instead.
Right as I’m tying my tennis shoes, I hear the rumble of his truck coming down the street and pulling into my drive.
I peek out the blinds, knowing my neighbors are likely doing the same thing.
I let him climb out of his jacked up monster truck, walk to the door, and knock before I let the blinds close and move to let him in.
“Hey!” I greet as the door swings open.
I watch his eyes move leisurely up and down my frame, narrowing incrementally until they reach mine again. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Just like that, I’m a pile of gooey, messy Jell-O for him, nearly melting into a puddle at his feet.
“Can’t wait to see what you have planned today. I’ll admit the girls said my ideas sucked.” I’m not sure his tanned skin would show a true blush, but he looks a little sheepish, which makes me curious as hell.
“Now you have to tell me what your ideas were,” I demand, crossing my arms and smiling.
He cringes, and I think the girls must’ve really given him a hard time if he’s this reluctant to even share.
But he tells me anyway, “Idea one, photo tour. They said it was lame because I’d already done that.
I argued that the wildflowers over on Zion Hill are pretty and that you’d like them, but they reminded me that taking a woman to a cemetery, even a historical one, for flower pictures is weird as hell, and in Shay’s words, ‘is bad bow-chicka-bow-wow juju.’ I told them about your watching crime shit on tv, and they said that only made it worse. ”
He shrugs, and I can’t help but laugh a bit. “Maybe we save the wildflowers for another day so I’m mentally prepared to pull up to a cemetery. A historical one, of course,” I correct myself. “What else?”
“I asked Katelyn if she could get us in at the resort. Do some of that fancy, girly shit like gunk on your face and a massage. I thought it’d be relaxing because you work so much.
” I can hear that he used that argument with Katelyn too.
“She said couples’ massages on a first date might be a bit aggressive.
” He says the word as if it tastes bad on his tongue, while I have to laugh.
Couple’s massage is aggressive, but bad bow-chicka-bow-wow juju isn’t?
I lay my hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscle there and not swooning .
. . nope, not a bit. Fine, I’m like a cover model in a Harlequin romance.
Giving him my most dazzling smile, I reassure him, “That would’ve been amazing.
But I have other plans today if you’re up for it.
” His brow lifts, and I swear his dark eyes get even darker.
“Did you bring the stuff I asked you to?”
His eyes go from sexing me to curious without even blinking. “I did,” he drawls out slowly, “but I’m not sure why.”
“Okay then, let’s go.” I push him out the door and toward his truck. In turn, he lets me lead this show. I don’t think he does that for many people or very often.
“Where to?” he asks, arm stretched out and hand lying over the steering wheel.
“Hank’s,” I answer firmly. “We’ve got work to do.”
He blinks first, shaking his head in confusion, but without a word, he puts the truck in reverse and makes the trip to the bar as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request to take me to work on the one day off I get. And, you know, our third date.
I have him park around back, not wanting Chief Gibson to interrupt again, and use my key to open the back door. “Come on. In here,” I direct him. Once he’s inside, I close and lock the door behind us, flipping on the light switch.
“I know I told you I wasn’t fucking you on the bar before, but I’m still not,” Bobby jokes.
At least I know I’m not the only one thinking sexy thoughts.
“That’s not why we’re here. And I’m still not having sex on the bar.
” At this point, I absolutely would and he damn well knows it.
I am wrapped around his little finger tighter than a spring waiting to be sprung, all this potential sexual energy bound up and begging to be released, and he’s the one with his finger on the trigger.
“Then what are we doing here?” he asks, looking around Ilene’s kitchen as though she might jump out from behind the stove and demand to know what the hell we’re doing in her domain. Actually, that might happen, so we’d best get out of here, especially since the kitchen’s not the issue.
“In here.” I walk through the bar and into Unc’s office, Bobby right behind me.
I point at the stacks of papers—some on the desk, some on the floor, and some restacked on the booth where Bobby and I sat that first night.
“These all need to be sorted and filed. The desk needs to be cleared and cleaned. And I need to bring up some inventory from the storage room.”
Bobby looks at me in confusion. “Why don’t you do this during one of your shifts?” I see a flash of fear on his face and he verbally retreats. “I mean, I’m happy to help with whatever Hank needs. Always am, but what’s up with the sneaking around?”
My brows lift. “Have you met Hank Davis? He would as soon wrestle a greased-up pig as admit he needs me to help him organize this stuff. But he’s not going to do it or he already would’ve. So I am. It’ll be one less thing for him to worry about.”
I look around the room, knowing this mess must weigh on Unc’s shoulders. He’s been carrying this business his whole life and done a really great job at it, but he can’t do that when his paperwork is in utter chaos.
“He’s gonna be pissed as hell. You know that, right?”
I shrug, using a phrase I’ve heard Unc say. “Then he can get glad in the same britches he got mad in. Once it’s done, he can bitch and moan all he wants, but it’ll still be done either way.”
Bobby’s smile is pure gleeful evil. “I like the way you think. Let’s do it.”
And with that, we get to work sorting out the piles of papers into organized stacks, then slotting them into the file cabinet in the corner. “I don’t think this cabinet’s been opened in at least two years,” I tell Bobby, holding up a file folder as I add the latest invoices into it.
“Hank’s been busy. He’s a one-man show, but I know he’s glad to have you here now.” There’s a hitch in his voice that tells me he’s not just talking about Unc.
It takes us a couple of hours, but with some music from the jukebox and some easy conversation, the work goes quickly. We get the paperwork done, the desk cleared, the office cleaned, and the inventory restocked and ready behind the bar.
“Looks good. What else?” Bobby asks, ready to keep working.
“Glad you asked. This next part isn’t as easy,” I say slyly.
“Are you shitting me?” Bobby asks, incredulous. He looks up and down the empty street as though we’re going to get busted any second.
“Nope. Completely serious,” I say. “Doc took Unc fishing today. Said they’d be gone till mid-afternoon, so we can get it done if we hurry.”
“Woman, you are something else.” He’s shaking his head, likely thinking I’ve lost my mind, but we get out of his truck and I walk to the back, where he’s already lowering the tailgate. “This is trespassing, you know? And probably some other misdemeanor charges if we’re lucky.”
“And if we’re not?” I joke, batting my lashes behind my glasses.
Bobby sighs, resigned. “We’ll be lucky if Hank doesn’t come out with a shotgun and pepper our asses.”
“Then we’d better hurry.”
He laughs, and I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. This is a bold move, but I think we can get away with it if we act fast.
“Tell me where I’m going with this thing,” Bobby says, lifting the heavy concrete edging piece and walking through Unc’s yard.
“Right here for the first one,” I tell him, pointing. I turned them around when I was here yesterday, but some of them are pretty crumbled, and I figured I’d take advantage of Unc being gone and Bobby having more muscles than I do to get the new pieces in place.
He quickly moves it into position, wiggling it back and forth to plant it solidly in the dirt.
“Perfect. Four more before we get busted!”