Rough Country - Lauren Landish Page 0,148

the deal again, he seems entirely okay with being home.

Surprisingly, we haven’t heard a peep from Jeremy Marshall, either. I worried that Bobby would hear from his lawyer. Bobby said he didn’t give a shit and would be glad to step in a room again with him to finish the job, but it’s been total radio silence.

The door opens and a whole party’s worth of people comes in—all the Tannens and Bennetts.

“Mama Louise!” I exclaim. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here.”

That might be true, but she hops up on a stool like she’s a regular. “Oh, I get by every now and again, but I had to see Bobby’s return tour. Cooper’s at a friend’s house for the night, and Sophie got a babysitter for Cindy Lou.”

Bobby dares to come behind the bar, one of the few people Unc allows that privilege, and for one reason only. He catches me around the waist, his arms vice-tight at my middle and his body pressed to my back. His lips lay a soft kiss to my neck as he inhales me. I probably smell like sweat, beer, and lemons, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His stubble scratches at my cheek, but I turn into it, loving the feel of him against me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he growls, peppering more kisses along my jaw.

I turn in his arms to kiss him back. It’s quick but meaningful. I don’t think I’ll ever take for granted the ability to kiss this man anytime I want to, especially since I’m the only woman who can do so.

“Hey yourself.” I smile and watch his eyes wander over my lips as though my smile makes him happy. “Your fans are ready for you again.”

“I only care about one fan. You ready for me?” His voice has gone deep, dark, and gritty, instantly turning me to mush.

“Always,” I whisper.

He groans, and neither of us are talking about his show anymore.

“We got the table!” Shayanne yells in celebration, as if she’s surprised at the ‘reserved’ sign on their booth.

“Go and sit down, relax for a bit. I’ll bring a round over.” Though he places one more groan-accompanied kiss to my lips first, Bobby does follow the rest of his family to the booth.

Before I can pull a pitcher, Mark is at the bar. He grunts at me as a way to catch my attention, and I lift my brows in question.

“Thank you for the picture of Katelyn,” he grits out, sounding like it pains him to have proper manners.

“Of course! Happy to do it.”

“Just to be clear, no one ever sees that picture. Burn the negative.” The order is clipped, allowing for no argument.

Except . . .

“Uhm, that’s not really a thing. It’s a digital file,” I explain.

“Then burn the computer. The whole fucking thing.” He seems to think that’s completely reasonable, and I can’t help but giggle at his all-consuming love of Katelyn, though I keep it inside, which makes my shoulders bounce. The girls were right. You get used to them, and it’s cute after a while.

“How about this? I’ll delete it, and the print you have will be the only one in existence.”

He thinks it over, then grunts, appeased. Grabbing a stack of glasses, he helps me deliver the beer to their table.

Katelyn stands up, Mark sits down in the seat she just vacated, and then he pulls her into his lap. See? Cute.

This time, they’re not the only ones being extra touchy-feely, though. We’ve gotten so busy, and there are so many of them, that the girls are all perched on their guys’ laps as everyone talks.

I set the drinks down, pop another kiss to Bobby’s cheek, and get back to work before I put Olivia in the weeds.

Impossibly, we get even busier. I’m prepping Girly Beers, Unc is pulling drafts, and Olivia is running them around as fast as her legs will carry her.

But I pause for a preferred customer. “What can I getcha, Sophie?”

“Four Girly Beers and a water with lime.”

“Mama Louise keeping it light tonight?” I ask, assuming the drink distribution.

Sophie blinks, staring at me and not saying anything for a long second. “Uh . . . No, we told her she had to try the Girly Beer.”

“Okay.” I don’t get the importance until the weight of her silence makes me pause. “You drinking water?”

She still doesn’t answer, but her smile is answer enough.

“Congratulations,” I whisper.

“Shh,” she orders, and I lock my lips, promising her that I won’t say a word.

She

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