me a smile like he thinks I did it intentionally for him.
But my eyes are all for the man crossing the room toward me. Bobby looks good, like sinful sex personified in naturally faded jeans that are molded to his thighs, a red T-shirt stretched across his chest but loose at the waist where it’s lazily half-tucked behind a big buckle, brown boots, and a ball cap. He’s even got the scruff of yesterday’s beard on his cheeks and chin, so he must not have even taken time to shave before coming to see me.
Those dark eyes meet mine and lock me in place as he comes over to the bar, sitting down right in front of me. I love that he doesn’t have a preferred barstool but rather sits down wherever will put him closest to me.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he drawls out. I swear to God, it sounded like ‘wanna have sex in my truck?’ Or that’s what my vagina heard, anyway, and the answer’s a resounding yes, even though he didn’t really ask.
“Hey there yourself,” I reply, going for smooth and chill but sounding a bit breathless. He hears the difference, judging by the purse of his lips as he fights a cocky grin. “Beer?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, sweet tea.”
I quickly pour him a tea and set it in front of him, a little off to the side because I know what’s coming next. Or I hope I do.
He doesn’t disappoint, leaning far across and holding around the back of my neck to guide me to meet him halfway. God, I love the way he kisses. Like there’s nothing more that he needs or wants—not oxygen, not sex, nothing more important than claiming my mouth with his and that’s enough.
The bar goes silent, or maybe my ears are full of the whoosh of my racing heartbeat, but it’s not until he pulls back that time begins moving again. That smile of his is out in full force now. “Should’ve done that first,” he hums. “Been wanting to all day.”
“Hard day at the office?” I joke.
“No monkey suits for me, thanks. Brutal and I checked two of our biggest fields today, though. Makes for a long day in the sun, and we found some beetles so they’ll have to be treated. Luckily, not on Shay’s heirloom tomatoes or she’d blow a gasket. How about your day?” he asks.
“Yeah, took some of Darla’s doughnuts to Unc this morning, then here by lunch.”
His eyes search mine, for what I’m not sure, but carefully, he asks, “How’s Hank doing? Not used to a workhorse like him skipping out.” He looks around, noticing that Unc’s not here again. “’Specially not two days in a row.”
Not wanting to tell Unc’s story since that’s his place, and technically, he hasn’t even told me, I shrug. “He’s okay, I guess. Said he’ll be in tomorrow for sure.”
“I’m glad you’re here to help him. Stubborn old coot needs it but is too proud to ask for any,” he says, spot on with both Unc’s need and unwillingness to accept help. Except he is letting me, and though I’d like to think it’s because he’s welcoming me with open arms, I think it has more to do with how bad the situation has become.
“Me too.” Glancing down the bar, I see a customer flagging me. “I’ll be back. Let me check on these people.”
“No worries, do what you need to do. I’m gonna wander over to the pool tables for a bit until you’ve got a second to eat, ’kay?” He’s truly asking, and if I preferred for him to sit right there and wait for me, I have no doubt he would without hesitation. Being the focus of his attention is a heady thing, but I would like to double-check that I’ve done everything I can for Unc for tomorrow’s shift.
“Sounds good,” I answer, already mentally checking whether that customer had a Bud or Coors.
“Hey,” he says, drawing my attention back. “I’m glad you’re here for me too, for us.”
“Wow.”
He chuckles, and I realize I said that aloud. The couple sitting two stools down even seem in awe, watching us like their daily soap opera. I’m pretty sure I hear her whisper, “Why don’t you say stuff like that to me?” He doesn’t do himself any favors when he answers, “Because you don’t say it to me, either.”
“Us?” I parrot, still lost in his orbit.
“Us.”
He turns to head to the back area where the pool tables are,