can close up. It’s the least I can do, but I’m willing to do so much more. Anything I can to help him.
The door opens, and I automatically look over to see who our latest customer is. I find . . . Bobby Tannen filling the doorway.
Whew, boy, he looks good! Good and . . . determined.
He’s got on a black T-shirt that hugs his chest and biceps, dark-wash jeans slung low on his hips with a black belt laced through the loops, and black cowboy boots that look like they’ve seen a lot of dance floors and very few pastures. I realize something . . . he’s dressed up, like for a date. This is fancy Bobby.
A stone settles in my stomach, knowing I’ll have to watch him have dinner with whoever he’s going out with tonight. Maybe she’s still outside? Or he’s meeting her here?
But I’m not surprised. A guy like that must go on dates every night of the week, probably with a different woman each time, judging by how many were throwing him come-hither looks. And fine, also by the fact that even I almost fell for it, wanting to meet his kiss when he moved in closer. Luckily, sanity reigned supreme because that whole ‘you’re special’ thing was straight out of ‘How to Hit on Chicks at Bars 101’. In other words, no thanks, Bucko. Any interest I’d harbored had floated away like smoke.
Until I see him standing in the door and that sour taste climbs the back of my throat. Jealousy? Of his potential date?
Yeah, that’s what that feeling is. On the bright side, maybe I can get an up-close look at what a guy like him goes for. I’m thinking a pretty, blonde, cheerleader type. I don’t say that to be bitchy, more like my observations of life have led me to believe that’s how it always works.
And that’s what I expect . . . right up until the moment he walks over to the bar and sits down. Right in front of me.
Oh, I might be in trouble here.
Olivia is dancing around behind Bobby, eyes huge and mouth silently screaming ‘yessss!’ and ‘get him, girl!’ while she does some version of a pelvic thrust I think is supposed to be sexy but mostly just looks like she’s humping empty air.
I drag my eyes back to Bobby, who’s smirking like he can guess exactly what I’m looking at behind him and gives zero fucks. “Hey, Willow.”
Grit and gravel, no honey to smooth the roughness of his voice. I swear it vibrates through my skin and muscles and straight to my core.
“Hey, Bobby.” See? Playing it cool here. No big deal. Just another customer, like any other. “What can I get ya? Jack? Or is it a beer night?”
“Sweet tea, please.”
Hmm, unexpected and interesting.
I set a glass in front of him, watching as he fishes out the lemon wedge and squeezes it into the drink. “Dinner?” I ask, holding a menu between us like a shield. “Or are you waiting on someone?”
I lick my lips, wishing I could chase those words back and swallow them down. Why did I ask that? It makes me sound needy, like one of his groupies. Which I’m not. Nope, not a bit.
“Yep. What time’s your dinner break?” he drawls out slowly. But it’s not casual. If anything, the speed makes his intention clearer.
Me? Me. He really is here for me. He’s dressed up like walking sex for me. The very idea is almost laughable.
“Oh, I don’t really get one. I’ll grab something later.” That’s the truth, but also, I’m trying to put some distance between us. I’m not sure what to do with him, with this intensity, with this directness.
I wipe down the spotless bar aimlessly, quiet and waiting. He came here for a reason and will spill eventually. I can be patient.
He watches me again, eyes tracking me closely. After a solid five minutes of silence, which feels like an eternity, he looks over his shoulder. “Hey, Olivia?”
She’s been watching from a booth with some folks she must know because she’s sitting down with them, all four sets of their eyes on Bobby and me too. “Yeah?”
“Can I get two of whatever Ilene thinks Willow would like to eat for dinner, please?” He talks to Olivia but is looking at me again, daring me to disagree. When I’m quiet, he smiles ever so slightly, the smallest lift of the corners of his mouth. Victory. I can see