Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

This is my version of shouting it from the front porch. I’m yelling loud and proud, virtually jumping up and down as I wave my arms around like a wild woman. This is my happy dance. I just can’t dance for shit. Hence, the less than zero chance you’ll ever see me pull a Coyote Ugly. Bar rule number four is in effect. Indefinitely, perpetually, forever and always.

Chapter 16

Bobby

“Guess you’ll have to come to Hank’s tonight, ma’am. Sorry, I don’t do impromptu private shows,” I tell Mrs. Perkinson, holding out her weekly order of jam.

One part of me thinks she orders so frequently as a way to have someone to talk to, even if it’s only for a minute on the front porch, because she’s a grumpy bitch, something I do not say lightly because Mom raised me to not speak about the elderly that way. But that brings me to my other theory, which is that she orders just so she can bitch at my brothers and me because her own kids don’t come by. It’s so bad that Brody flat out refuses to deliver to her anymore, leaving me and Brutal to her sharp words.

I guess the third option is that she’s addicted to Shay’s jam, but even as delicious as it is, that somehow seems less likely when Mrs. Perkinson’s mouth starts running.

“I would not step foot in that Devil’s den.” She harrumphs. “Alcohol, dancing, filthy music, and filthier men. Bless their hearts.” Her sneer is judgmental and catty as she places her hand over her heart, which irritates the fuck out of me. We all know that ‘bless their hearts’ has nothing to do with an actual blessing. It’s an insult if ever there were one.

“Sounds like my kind of place, which is why I sing there twice a month. As you’re well aware.” Boom . . . mic drop.

She looks me up and down like I’m a pile of dog shit on her porch. “Well, maybe you need to sing something a little more classic, see if it’ll save your soul. You should try Amazing Grace,” she suggests. “It’s a beautiful song.”

I grunt and spin on my heel. I actually do a kickass version of that, but I ain’t going to sing it. There’s no use in arguing with her. It won’t do either of us a bit of good, and I have three more deliveries to make before I can see Willow.

The next delivery is to Esme’s house, and though I try to be quick about it, she starts asking questions about Willow and me. “Everyone says your first date was this week, but it wasn’t, was it? It was when you two came through my drive-through.” I don’t answer and she keeps going. “I told Julianna that, but she didn’t believe me. Said it didn’t count because you might’ve just been friends then, but I saw the way Willow was looking at you and women do not look at friends like that. No siree.”

“Gotta go.”

Get me the fuck out of here. Hell, I’d rather sing Amazing Grace than this.

Esme waves and calls after me, “See you tonight at Hank’s. Break a leg! Not literally, of course.” She laughs. “It’s a theater expression for good luck.”

I climb in my truck and gun it down the street.

Thankfully, the next delivery is no big deal, a quick and easy drop off. No muss, no fuss, the way we all prefer it.

The last one, though . . .

Shit. Loretta Landrum. She’s been trying to get in my pants since the day I turned eighteen. Literally diving in and trying to unzip them herself.

I never wanted her hands on me before, definitely don’t want hers or anyone else’s on me now. Only Willow’s.

I ring the bell and step back from the door, planning to keep space between me and Loretta. When she opens the door in a too-small bikini, I take another step back.

“Oh! Bobby! So sorry, I was getting ready to lay out in the back yard for some sun when I heard the bell.”

“Mmmhmm.” She was definitely sitting in the living room, her body barely half-covered, waiting for me to make her scheduled delivery.

“Come on in. I’ll get us some lemonade. Maybe you could help me put suntan lotion on my back. It’s hard to reach, you know?” Her hips sway, her fingers twirl her hair, and her teeth bite into her bottom lip.

“No. Here’s your jam.” I’m being crystal-fucking-clear what I’m saying no to, my voice hard and my eyes narrowed. Manners? Hell, I’m not even playing at being rude. I’m letting all my thoughts of revulsion shine like a grimy diamond.

Have some damn pride, Loretta. You’ve been throwing yourself at me for years at this point, and it’s never gonna happen.

Loretta flinches and doesn’t move to take the jam I’m holding out, so I set it on the porch and walk away. It takes her a second to recover, but she calls out loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “Bye, Bobby. Thanks for coming over. I’ll see you again tonight!”