Chapter 15 #2
“Two, you’re a damn good worker and an even better bartender. I might have some days where I’d like to sit on my keister and catch a fish or two, so if that’s what I want to do, I’m gonna, if that’s good with you?”
He means the days he’s too tired or nauseous to come into work, but if he wants to call it ‘fishing’, I’ll happily oblige.
“Of course. Fishing is important. Relaxing on a boat in the sunshine sounds lovely.”
He looks toward the door, and I know he’s trying to escape this next part.
But he digs down for courage and says what’s on his mind.
“Third, there might be some days where I’d like you to go fishing with me, just sit on the boat by my side, you know?
I promise not to be a grumpy asshole and throw screwdrivers around when you’re trying to help me .
. . fish. Sorry about that. It was a bad day. ”
Tears prick at my eyes, hot and burning, but I refuse to let them fall. If he can be this brave, so can I. “I would love to go fishing any time you’d like, Unc.”
He dips his chin once. “Thank you, Willow-girl. You’ve always had the sweetest spirit and you’ve already brought so much sunshine to my days.”
I smile at the kind compliment. Right up until he finishes . . .
“Now get out there and get to work. The lunch crowd ain’t gonna wait for you to get ready for them. They want their drinks and want them now.”
He’s not my kind uncle anymore, down because of a hard situation. Nope, he’s back to my steel-cored, iron-willed boss.
I salute, definitely getting the form wrong, but he cracks a smile, nevertheless. “On it, Unc.”
I get up, beelining for the door, only to have him stop me.
“One last thing.”
I turn around, eyes questioning.
“How’d you know? Who blabbed?”
Oh, shit. There might not be buses in Great Falls, but this is a loaded question, one that’s going to shove someone right in harm’s way. But I’m not going to lie, not when Unc is finally being honest with me.
“Doc Jones called Mom. Told her you needed somebody and we’re the only family you’ve got left. She thought it’d be too hard on you to see her, so she sent me instead.”
“Asshole. Doc, not your mom. Carrie’s sweet to care after so long. Doc, on the other hand, I’ll rip ’im a new one for nosing around in my business when it ain’t none of his concern.”
“If he had something going on, you’d take care of him.
Or Richard. You three are thick as thieves.
The Three Musketeers of Great Falls. He did what he thought was right.
And it got me here, so it’s not all bad.
” I think my case is pretty strong that Doc did right by Unc, but who knows if he’ll feel the same way?
“Mmm, we’ll see. Maybe I’ll just lord it over his head a little. Get him to feel sorry for me a bit so I can win a few hands at Sunday’s game.” His smile is tinged with ornery devilment.
“Well, you two work it out however you need to. I’m going to get to work, if that’s okay?”
His eyes refocus on mine, likely leaving the fantasy world where he wipes out Doc Jones’s entire piggy bank without telling him that the cat’s out of the bag. “Yeah, thanks. And tell your Mom to come visit soon. I’d like to see Carrie before . . .”
His voice trails off, and I let him leave that possibility on the tip of his tongue. No need to speak it into existence. Instead, I nod. “She’d like that. I’ll let her know.”
“Willow Parker! You’d best get your boo-tay behind that bar and start slinging drinks like your life depends on it!
Or you can act like we’ve been bought out by Coyote Ugly and climb up there to shake your moneymaker so these heathens don’t realize how long it’s been since they ordered a Coke! I’m in the weeds, girl!”
Olivia’s voice carries through the whole room, and everyone stops what they’re doing to look at me. They’re probably wondering which option I’m going to choose.
Option one, for sure. There’s zero doubt about that.
I step behind the bar, already apologizing. “Sorry, I was talking to Unc.”
“Yeah, yeah. Less talking, more drink making,” she says, waving a hand to rush me.
I look over and there are four tickets. She’s nowhere near in the weeds. This woman could run this whole damn place singlehandedly if need be. But she does like giving me a hard time.
Glancing at her, I find her forcing a ridiculously fake, sad frown. “I was really hoping you’d get on the bar. Really hoping.”
I flick the water on my fingers at her and finish the drinks for the second ticket, already catching up.
She laughs and runs them out to table eight while I do tickets three and four.
In minutes, I’m back to prep work with zero tickets in my queue, and Olivia is waiting for food orders to be ready from Ilene.
“How was your weekend?” she asks, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a country mile.
“Great. Yours?” I smile warmly, as though I haven’t clued in to what she’s really asking.
She growls. “Ugh, spill it, girl! I have people here for lunch solely because they know that you and Bobby Tannen had your first official date on Monday when we were closed. I didn’t tell them Hank gave you Sunday off yet.
I’m holding that ace up my sleeve. But you’d best spill it.
Enquiring minds want to know. Was he as good as I dream he is?
” She pelvic thrusts the air, apparently auditioning for the Coyote Ugly option herself.
I blink the vision away, laughing. “Does Hannah know you’re dreaming about sleeping with Bobby Tannen?
Seems like she might have a problem with that.
” Truthfully, I don’t know. I have yet to meet the elusive Hannah, though Olivia talks about her as though she’s right here in the room at all times.
Mostly because they spend all day texting each other back and forth when they’re not busy at work.
“Hannah says he’s dreamy too. We’re secure like that.
Fantasies are just that—pretend. Just because the thought of some pretty, growly cowboy taking me rough is sexy, doesn’t mean I want to actually do it.
People have all sorts of images in their head that get them off, but even given the chance, they’d never do it for realsies.
That don’t mean I don’t want to hear every vivid, messy detail. ”
She props her chin up on her palms, eyes wide and focused on me like I’m about to give a speech on demand.
Welcome to my TED talk. Today’s topic will be ‘Sex with Bobby Tannen’ with helpful illustrated handouts.
Nope, not a chance in hell that’s happening. But I trust Olivia’s judgement, even if she is a bit crazy, so I give her one detail.
“We said I love you.” I nearly squeal it, but my excitement has made me breathless and it comes out more like a whisper-scream.
“What?” she yells at full volume again.
Thanks for that, Olivia! Not!
I nod, not willing to repeat the words lest I jinx the whole thing.
“Oh, my God!” She claps right in front of her heart as though it needs more than a racing beat to show her happiness for me. But then her brows jump together. “Wait. Was this mid-boink? That doesn’t count.”
“Yes, it does,” I counter.
Her happiness melts, going sad as she offers a pitying smile. “Oh, honey, that doesn’t count. Guys say stuff like that when all their blood is in their dick. It’s science.”
Any other time, her doubt would make me question myself. No, not any other time . . . any other guy. But I know Bobby meant exactly what he said.
“He meant it. I meant it. For real. And what do you know about dick science?” I whisper ‘dick’ so customers don’t hear me, even though they most certainly heard Olivia.
Olivia leans across the bar, getting in my face and whispering, “You love Bobby? And he loves you? Like dum-dum-dee-dum?” She sings out the notes of the wedding march song.
“I don’t know about that last part, but the rest . . . yeah.”
I can feel my face flush, my heart pounding as I remember how good it felt to be with Bobby. I picture the look in his eyes as he gritted out his love. I feel his cum on my skin, his gentle and comforting touch as I cried on his chest, and his marks all over my body, claiming me as his.
I have zero doubt, not about Bobby, and not about my own feelings.
Blinking, I come back to the moment at the bar with Olivia, who is fanning her face. “Whoo, child. Wherever you just went, whatever you were thinking about . . . con-grat-u-fuckin-lations. Because that seems like some Grade-A, heart racing, pussy pulsing, good stuff. I approve.”
She slaps the bar and hops up to make her rounds, but as she scurries off, I can hear her singing under breath . . .
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.
This is my version of shouting it from the front porch.
I’m yelling loud and proud, virtually jumping up and down as I wave my arms around like a wild woman.
This is my happy dance. I just can’t dance for shit.
Hence, the less than zero chance you’ll ever see me pull a Coyote Ugly.
Bar rule number four is in effect. Indefinitely, perpetually, forever and always.