in tune, they answer, “We know.” Brutal adds, “Fuck, do I. Nonstop, I tell you. Non-fucking-stop.”
Allyson lays a hand on his forearm, and he looks to her and shrugs. “What? It’s the truth.”
Bobby isn’t as nice and backhands his brother’s arm with a smack. “Shut up, man. Did I go around telling Allyson when you were all boohooing over her and whining about how you couldn’t live without her? No, I did not. So don’t fuck this up for me or I’ll never babysit Cooper again and you’ll be forced to sneak in quickies while he’s watching a twenty-minute cartoon. God knows I love the kid, but he’s got the attention span of a gnat, so twenty is pushing it. Maybe . . . eight at most.”
Brutal glowers. “One, low blow, man. Not cool. Twenty minutes is not enough time, ever. Two, you didn’t tell Allyson all that crap because you were pissed at her and pulling out the silent treatment like a pouting toddler throwing tantrums, so payback’s a bitch.”
I’m watching the exchange like a live-action play right in front of my face. I don’t know what Brutal’s talking about, not having heard that story, but Bobby shrugs. “Fair enough. But leave Willow out of it like I left Allyson out. You can give me all the shit you want, though.”
Seeming to have reached some agreement, they shake hands, though I have zero idea what just happened.
Bobby turns back to me. “I promised them I’d buy the first round, but I didn’t promise they’d get to pick. Did I see you making Girly Beer when I came in?” He gives me that cocky smirk that says we’re in on this together.
I return the grin, leaning on the bar and casually wiping at a nonexistent spot. “You did see some Girly Beer. You thinking on the rocks or frozen?”
“Oh, frozen. The only thing better than seeing these assholes drinking pink drinks is knowing they can’t chug them without getting a brain freeze.”
“Pink?” a deep voice says. I’m not sure who because I’m caught in Bobby’s dark eyes, loving the way he’s lighter and sillier with his family around him. Silly is not a word I thought I’d ever use to describe Bobby Tannen, but there you go.
“Ooh, I’m in,” Allyson says.
“Table,” Mark says and moves off toward a freshly empty booth. Everyone follows him, though he didn’t order, or even ask, them to.
Bobby hangs back with me, draped on the bar like he couldn’t be more comfortable if he were in his own living room.
“We’re a lot, I know. But it’s fine. They just wanted to meet you. I promise we’ll drink and eat and dance, and it’ll all be fine. See you when it slows down. I’ll be the guy over there” —he points the direction his family went then to his eyes with two fingers— “watching you like a creeper.” He winks after he says it, but I think his eyes will be on me all night. Pretty sure mine are going to be drifting his way too, then to the clock, counting down until two o’clock when I can be with him again.
I don’t realize until he’s walking off that maybe he was telling me that it’ll be fine that his family is all here, given their rather wild reputations and all. Or maybe that it’s fine that they’re all here . . . for me.
Chapter 9
Bobby
I mosey over to sit with my family, taking one of the chairs they’ve crowded around the empty edge of the largest booth in the place. We’re a big bunch, both in number and in size, so we take up the whole corner, but there’s plenty of space because people tend to give us a wide berth.
Except for one dumbass woman who comes by and coyly asks if I’m going to play tonight while twirling her hair around her index finger. It’s a proposition if ever I’ve heard one.
“No.” I answer both her question and her question, and the whole crew backs me up with mean glares that communicate clearly ‘get the fuck outta dodge . . . pronto.’
Shot down, she slinks away to look for another horse to ride tonight. It’s not me, it’s never been me, and it certainly isn’t now that I’m with Willow.
I look over to see Willow’s brow lift questioningly and give her a heated look that says ‘you’ve got nothing to worry about, woman.’
“Damn, man, turn the smolder down or you’re gonna get the whole