I take a sip of the Jack someone ordered for me, sighing as the alcohol goes down my throat, soothing the sting of prolonged singing. Putting the glass down, I realize no one is looking at me. Instead, they’re looking off to the side of the table.
Another groupie who wants to hop on my dick? Fuck, don’t be Loretta. Please don’t be Loretta.
The good news . . . it’s not Loretta. The bad news . . . it’s polo shirt guy.
“Hi, Bobby. I’m Jeremy Marshall of NCR Records. I’d like to talk to you about your career, if that’s okay?”
“My what?” I growl.
Wait. Did he say NCR Records? Like music records?
Polo Shirt—I haven’t decided if I’m calling him Jeremy yet—takes a chair from a nearby table, spinning it around. He sits backward, straddling it and putting his arms on the chair back.
As he talks, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
I can’t wait to tell Willow!
We’re celebrating, sweetheart, because your man’s going big time. Maybe.
Willow’s exhausted after a long shift and a late clean-up once she got everyone kicked out well after two. I’m exhausted from farming, Shay’s deliveries, and the show, but I’m buzzing inside.
“Tell me again what he said,” she orders.
We’re sitting in her bathtub, which is way too small for the both of us, but it’d seemed like relaxation we both need. We both deserve some before we fall into bed tonight. I’m still going to take her, I’m never too tired for that, but it’s nice to simply sit here in hot, bubbly water with her ass pressed up against my cock and her back lying against my chest. As she breathes, her tits lift and lower out of the bubbles enticingly.
“Huh?” Distracted by her pink nipples, I have no idea what she said.
“What did Mr. Marshall say?” Her butt wiggles, teasing me, but it’s just her excitement, not a seduction.
I smile, not believing it myself. “He said he was in town with his wife for a wedding, but he’s a talent scout so he likes to get out to the local dives wherever he goes to ‘keep a finger on the pulse’.”
“Like Hank’s,” Willow interjects.
“And he liked my voice and wants me to fly out to Nashville for a meet and greet with his team. Do a demo, maybe hit a few places there to do a short set so they get some real-time feedback. Stuff like that.” I’m trying to downplay it because I don’t want to get my hopes up too high. This is major, more opportunity than I’ve ever had.
“Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe it! That is so awesome. I told you I had a good feeling about tonight, and I was right. I’m so happy for you.”
She twists to look back at me, her smile beaming. Even when she kisses me, that smile stays, and I can feel it pressed along my lips. “Your name is going to be in lights, Bobby Tannen. Just like you always dreamed, just like you deserve.”
She sounds so sure that I can almost believe it myself.
Chapter 17
Bobby
The sun rises over the horizon outside Willow’s bedroom window, painting highlights and shadows on the walls and the curves of her body. She’s curled into my side, her head on my chest as my fingertips dance along her skin. Every fiber of my being strains for her, though I know my cock is too spent to go again yet. Though not inside her, I feel connected with her as we lie here, relaxed into one another.
Moment stretched, a tattoo on my soul in the shape of your smile.
“I wish you could come with me,” I whisper. The truth is, I’m nervous and could use her at my side to help me stay calm and not fuck this opportunity up. If these Nashville people like me and my music, this could change everything . . . for me, for my family, for Willow and me.
“Me too, but Unc . . .” Her voice tapers off, and she doesn’t finish the thought. There’s no reason to. I know Hank needs her here more than I need her to go with me. He’s had a rough week for some reason. One day, I thought he seemed a bit pale, but he brushed me off grumpily, and he’s been bitching about having to do everything himself while simultaneously sitting on his ass and directing everyone else around. It’s made for some long shifts and late nights this week.
In fact, we’re not up early for my Friday flight to Nashville. We’re still awake from last night’s Thursday two-dollar draft crowd. The bar closed at two. I’d helped with cleanup, but we still hadn’t gotten out of there until after three, then we’d made love twice, knowing that the weekend was going to be long and lonely.