when he starts to speak, “A few months ago . . .” He shakes his head, quietly asking himself, “How has it only been a few months? Seems like a lifetime. My life.” Swallowing, he looks back to the audience. “Anyway, a few months ago, I stood right here, singing Friends in Low Places, and my whole life changed. Not by Garth Brooks, not even by you fuckers drunk-singing along with me. But by the woman I saw across the room.”
I freeze, towel stuck in a glass and mouth hanging wide open.
What is he doing? What is he saying?
“I saw her, literally across a crowded room, and knew she was everything. She was . . . is mine.” Bobby’s eyes lift from the crowd, finding mine easily though I’m in the shadows of the bar and he’s in the stage lights. He’s always aware of me. I have no doubt that he could find me anywhere, even blindfolded. It’s like his soul recognizes mine. “Willow, sweetheart . . . can you come here?”
I stutter—my feet, not my mouth, though I think I’m making a nonsensical noise too. “Uhm . . .”
Unc grabs my arm, shoving me out from behind the bar. When did he get so strong?
Olivia takes over, escorting me toward the stage, toward Bobby. Her words are jumbled and fast. “Remember what I said the first night you and Bobby met?” I have no idea what she’s talking about and can’t search my memory banks when Bobby’s looking at me like I can’t get to him fast enough.
As I pass the Tannen-Bennett table, they’re all grinning. Even the guys, which is scary as hell because they only do that when someone’s about to get beaten up.
Olivia gives me a push I don’t need, and I find myself at Bobby’s feet, looking up at him larger than life on the stage. Casually resting a hand on Betty, he looks down at me as though we’re the only two people in the room. Heat and desire light his eyes, filthy promises are in his smirk, and hunger pings between us in a chemical reaction I can feel throughout my entire body.
Is he thinking this is very similar to when I suck him? Because that’s what’s running through my dirty mind when I look up at him like this.
“Mmm, close. But not close enough.” I think he’s reading my mind for a moment, but then Bobby leans Betty against a stool to free his hands. He squats down, and there’s a moment where I feel like a fan whose wildest dreams are coming true. But truthfully, they already have. His hands grab under my arms, and he pulls me onstage with him, situating me on the stool as he picks Betty back up.
“I wrote a song, which might not seem all that special. But this is the most important one I’ve ever written, sweetheart. I only plan on singing it once.”
Bobby gives me a pointed look, and his meaning hits me with a thud, a sharp arrow right into the depths of my heart. My mouth drops open and my hands slap over my lips. Behind my glasses, I can feel that my eyes are as wide as saucers.
“You ready?”
Yes.
No.
Oh, my God, maybe.
My head nods like a bobblehead.
And then Bobby sings. The crowd is gone and the room might as well be empty because he only has eyes for me and I am pinned in his gaze, lost in his words. His honeyed whiskey voice flows over me, the grit and gravel pricking my skin, letting the sweetness burrow into my soul.
Was an empty shell of a man,
Waiting on you to find me.
But when I found you,
I found everything.
All my days and nights belong to you,
There will never be enough.
Your heart belongs to me,
It will always be mine.
Sweet kindness from your soul,
I don’t deserve.
But I’ll get down on my knees
To worship you.
Bobby drops to his knee with his last lyric, pushing Betty behind his back to free his hands. He takes mine, the rough calluses on his fingers tracing over my skin like he can’t believe I’m real and his. A shuddering sigh works its way through his body, his chest rising and falling raggedly.
“I’m not good with words, Willow. But you know my heart because it’s yours. You know my soul. It’s where I keep you safe and loved. And I’m deep inside you too—body, mind, and soul. You’re mine. And I’m yours. You know what I want—forever.” It’s not