Knocking Boots - Willow Winters Page 0,29

me does nothing but irritate me.

I’ve been waiting all night. She’s usually here by now. I’m not used to these nerves or waiting on anyone. Not like this.

The faint hum of the televisions behind me and the chatter in the bar keep me company as I go through paperwork, while sitting at a table. James is back on bartending duty. Occasionally, I peek over my shoulder, checking on him and propping my feet up on the chair across from me, trying to relax. Acting like this is any other night.

James has a charming smile as he talks with a few of the patrons. His uncle’s here, Frank, in his normal spot. I’m sure James isn’t going to act like a little shit with him here. This is his last chance after showing up late yesterday and forcing Mags to handle all those boxes herself. He’s on thin fucking ice.

My chair scrapes the floor as I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable in the back right corner. I’ve got a perfect view of the front entrance. I’m right next to the end of the bar. It’s the closest I could be to Grace’s usual seat.

Shaking my head, I wonder what the hell’s come over me. Worked up over a woman. A woman I haven’t even kissed. Haven’t touched. A woman who isn’t my girlfriend… Yet.

The papers rustle in my hands as I go through all the bills again. We’re making a damn good profit and the return on investments are steadily on an increase when last year they were flatlined. I almost feel like I can breathe, like I can take a damn break, but I know it’ll only take one hiccup to have something get fucked up.

Sitting up straighter in my seat and moving the soles of my shoes from the chair to the floor, I try to get this weird feeling to leave me. I need a beer. I need to relax.

I need my sweetheart to get her ass in here.

My gaze drifts to my phone, face down on the tabletop. My foot taps relentlessly on the floor. It’s really not like her to be this late. It’s almost eight o'clock.

As if staring at my phone will will her to call, I spend a long moment doing just that, debating on shooting her a text. She hasn’t messaged me since the other morning.

I blow out a breath. It’s not like any of this is real anyhow. It’s just flirting.

Back to work, and letting go of all this tension, I lean back in my seat and grab my pen to tally up the bills in my record book. So far, so good. Everything’s looking on point and within budget as I scribble down the amounts.

“Charlie, are these seats taken?”

My hand stops mid-stroke as I hear my mother’s voice.

“He saved them for us,” I hear Ali say. Tension creeps up my back. What the heck are they doing here?

My notebook lowers to the table with a dull thud as I give them both a tight smile. I don’t know what it is about my family coming to my bar. Part of the reason I built this bar was to get them out of my mind. To get the whole damn town out of my head.

But I can never say no to Ma. Or to Ali. And the town fucking followed me here anyway. It’s not like my bank account complains.

“Pull up a chair,” I tell Ma. I lean over and let her kiss me on the cheek although my gaze darts to the entrance. Suddenly I’m grateful Grace isn’t here.

I can feel her lipstick smudge on my cheek, and I wait for her to look back at the bar before I wipe it off.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I question them, not hiding the surprise and wariness. My eyes flicker to the entrance again, and this time it’s a different kind of anxiety running through me. They saw her picture. If she walks through that door, I’m fucked.

“We just wanted to see you,” my mother says in a sweet voice, but I don’t buy her southern charm for a second. Setting her purse in front of her, both palms on the bright floral fabric, she adds. “Can’t a mom just want to see her son?”

“You just saw me, Ma.”

My mom smacks my hand playfully, “You know what I mean.”

“Did you get your suit fitted?” my sister asks me, a real sense of urgency in her voice. Maybe