Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

Olivia stops me too. “Ooh, girl. I’m so excited I could spit. You have to tell me everything, okay? I want to live vicariously through it all.”

My cheeks heat. “I’m going to put ice and ointment on his knuckles. That’s it.”

She pats my shoulder. “You keep thinking that. I’m already hearing wedding bells. Can I be your maid of honor?”

“What?” My eyebrows climb up my forehead and my jaw drops open. “We’re not—”

“At least you got the nice brother. The other ones are monsters.”

“Olivia, he just beat the shit out of that guy. Broke his nose!” I whisper-scream, not wanting to drag it out if everyone else is acting like it’s no big deal. Which they are, having returned to their beers and their conversations, though there’s a fresh round of female glares coming my way from the margarita girls.

Olivia looks at me in confusion. “Willow, his brother’s name . . . his actual name . . . is Brutal. Bobby is just a little wild, a bad boy who needs some sweet, sweet loving from a nice girl.” She pats my cheek a little too hard and walks off, her tennis shoes squeaking on the wet floor where she’s already cleaned and mopped up the broken glass.

I think I must’ve bumped my head or something because tonight has been crazy, but it seems like I’m the only one who thinks so.

Chapter 5

Bobby

In Hank’s office, I take a few deep breaths that smell like stale cigarette smoke, reassuring myself that Willow is okay. When I turned around and saw her in that guy’s lap with a look of horror on her face, fear had shot through me, dropping my gut to my boots. It’d climbed right back up paired with fury. How dare he lay hands on her? I’d reacted instantly. Once upon a time, I would’ve punched first and dealt with the fallout later, but a conversation or two from Chief Gibson in my younger days taught me a solid lesson—let the other guy throw the first punch and have a witness.

Willow comes in, her voice gentle. “You okay?”

I flex my hand, clenching and flattening it slowly. “Yeah, no big deal. As long as you’re okay?”

She sits down next to me on the retired booth bench that acts as both seating and storage, judging by the stack of papers that have fallen off the far end. “I don’t know if okay is how I would describe how I’m feeling right now. That was . . .”

Her words taper off like she can’t find a suitable label for the last fifteen minutes. “Sexy?” I suggest, deadpan.

Her pink lips part as her jaw drops in offense. “What? No!”

I break, letting my infamous grin do its work, and she realizes I’m fucking with her. She bumps my shoulder with hers, looking slightly less shell-shocked. “That was insane. You are insane.”

I shrug, intentionally drawling out extra slowly, “Aw, thanks.”

“Seriously?” She sighs, shaking her head. “You didn’t have to . . . why did you . . . do that?”

I sober up, looking at her evenly. “Look, I’m not some hothead asshole who goes around beating people up.” Her brows jump, arguing my assessment, and I correct myself. “Not anymore. But you shouldn’t have to put up with shit like that. That guy had it coming because I guarantee you that wasn’t the first time he’s pulled a stunt like that, but hopefully next time, he’ll have some second thoughts and make a better decision before laying hands on a woman without an explicit invitation.” I manage to bite my tongue and not add ‘and never touch you’, though that’s what’s rolling through my mind. That asshole thought he was worthy to touch her? No fucking way. I’m not either, but damned if I don’t want to. But I’ll wait for her signal, even if it guts me to delay a single moment.

She’s quiet for a long heartbeat as her eyes search mine. Now that we’re in better lighting, I can see that they’re an unusual gray color and currently filled with confusion.

“That’s unexpectedly . . . nice. I think?”

I can feel my insides twisting and turning as she tries to put the jagged and worn puzzle pieces together to solve me.

Good luck, sweetheart. I gave up on that a long time ago.

Wanting to wade back to safer territory, I drop my eyes to her lips, remembering the almost-kiss we shared earlier. Attraction, I understand. Lust, I recognize.

There it is, the green light I’m looking for. Her breath hitches, her lips parting a millimeter I want to measure with my tongue.

I lift my hand to cup her cheek and flinch as I bend my fingers a bit too fast. She sees it and grabs my wrist.

“Let me get you doctored up.”

Kiss, foiled again.

She wipes an alcohol pad over my knuckles then smooths on ointment with a delicate touch. Her teeth bite into her bottom lip as she concentrates, doing some magic trick with a regular band-aid that makes it cover the one knuckle I split open.