quickly. Without hesitation, she hugs me back. “You’re the best, Ilene. I think just the biscuit for now.”
“Sure thing, sweetie. If you think you can get him to eat something else, let me know. He’s getting too skinny for my taste.” I’m pretty sure everyone is too skinny for her taste. She shows her love with food, every bite made with her heart and soul.
I smile, quietly stepping into the office and setting the biscuit on the desk in front of Unc. He glares at me, but he’s got the phone pressed to his ear, listening to who I presume is Doc. Hopefully, he’ll mindlessly take a few bites and get something good in his belly.
Back behind the bar, I do all my normal prep. I’m all set. Looking across the floor, Olivia seems ready too.
And just in time. The dinner rush begins and we’re flooded with customers.
I pull tickets one after another, filling drink orders for Oliva. Unc is still in his office, hopefully dozing on the booth bench after finishing the biscuit.
“Hey,” a deep voice says behind me as arms wrap around my waist. I feel a hot kiss press to my neck.
“You’re a brave man. The last guy who laid hands on me without permission got his nose broken by my big, strong, sexy boyfriend. He’s a little possessive.” I can hear the smile in my voice.
“I don’t need permission. You’re already mine, sweetheart,” he growls against my ear.
“I am.” The agreement is easy because it’s true. I also give him the words he loves to hear in answer to his possessive claims over me, “And you’re mine. Though your fans are getting a bit rabid waiting for you to hit the stage tonight.”
I spin in his arms, needing to see him.
He’s been off the last few days. He’s still come in for dinner and gone home with me. But the urgency in his touch, the way he murmurs my name, and the punishing way he’s made love to me, as though he can’t get deep enough inside my body, are different. It feels like he’s marking me again and again, holding me tighter and tighter, which would be amazing if I didn’t feel a sense of sadness beneath the layers of his smiles.
He’s grieving the loss of the contract. He probably will for days and weeks to come. On some level, tonight might feel like a step backward even though people are clamoring for him to sing, already creating a buzzing energy in the bar.
“I only care about one fan, and she’s in my arms,” he murmurs into the breath of space between us.
“I love you,” I reply. He’s wanted to hear it again and again, the chorus to our moments together.
One of his hands moves to cup my cheek, the other gripping my ass tightly. He kisses me like he can’t get enough of me, and I let him take what he needs, anything he wants to stay steady and strong.
“I love you too,” he whispers against my lips. I take his breath into my lungs, wanting him to be only mine for a second longer.
It’s not meant to be, though.
“Bobby!” a voice calls out from across the room. “Woohoo! Welcome back, man!”
“Your fans await,” I tell him. “And my customers are getting thirsty.”
There’s no way Unc could sleep, or even doze, through the noise of this crowd. The pool table balls crack, people cheer and talk, and the jukebox is playing nonstop.
He comes out, offers me a nod, and perches on his stool. He must’ve stopped by the kitchen on his way down the hall because Ilene comes out a few minutes later with a plate filled, and I do mean filled, with scrambled eggs and buttered toast.
He looks better, maybe not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but open-eyed and upright, at least. And eating.
I keep manning the bar, letting him finish as much of the breakfast-for-dinner meal as he can. When I step down to his end to get a few drafts, he pats my hand with his. That’s his version of saying thanks. I don’t need him to, but it feels good to know that he appreciates my help.
Since our talk, when we both came clean, he’s been better about accepting that I’m here for him. I won’t go so far as to say he’s happy about my doing things for him, but I think he’s letting me if that’s what it takes to keep me here.