The crowd sings along, swaying and holding their hands in the air, completely under Bobby’s spell. I can understand that. I still pour Olivia’s drinks and wait on the customers around the bar, but I’m slower than Shay’s peach molasses because my attention is continually drawn to the stage. To Bobby. To my man.
I hum along too, mouthing the words that hit my heart sharply. Knowing they came from his mind, his heart, his soul, and how hard he has to work to get them just right makes each phrase and chord that much more poignant.
I pull my phone out, taking a few shots of him onstage. This last moment before things change, before he belongs to the world and not only Great Falls and me. Click.
My eyes are drawn to the screen, and I touch Bobby’s face there, ready to get out of here so that it’s the two of us. I need it to be just us one last time, his body pressed to mine, pinning us together as he fills me, making us one.
The music changes into a chord progression I haven’t heard, and a throat clears heavily. I look up to find Bobby plucking at the strings. His jaw is tight, his shoulders broad, tension woven through his entire body.
What’s wrong?
I scan the front row, looking for someone out of line, but I see nothing amiss. Next, I look along the bar, knowing that if he saw a tourist doing something inappropriate too close to me, he’d go into protective mode.
But all seems well.
I’m still searching when he starts to speak, “A few months ago . . .” He shakes his head, quietly asking himself, “How has it only been a few months? Seems like a lifetime. My life.” Swallowing, he looks back to the audience. “Anyway, a few months ago, I stood right here, singing Friends in Low Places, and my whole life changed. Not by Garth Brooks, not even by you fuckers drunk-singing along with me. But by the woman I saw across the room.”
I freeze, towel stuck in a glass and mouth hanging wide open.
What is he doing? What is he saying?
“I saw her, literally across a crowded room, and knew she was everything. She was . . . is mine.” Bobby’s eyes lift from the crowd, finding mine easily though I’m in the shadows of the bar and he’s in the stage lights. He’s always aware of me. I have no doubt that he could find me anywhere, even blindfolded. It’s like his soul recognizes mine. “Willow, sweetheart . . . can you come here?”
I stutter—my feet, not my mouth, though I think I’m making a nonsensical noise too. “Uhm . . .”
Unc grabs my arm, shoving me out from behind the bar. When did he get so strong?
Olivia takes over, escorting me toward the stage, toward Bobby. Her words are jumbled and fast. “Remember what I said the first night you and Bobby met?” I have no idea what she’s talking about and can’t search my memory banks when Bobby’s looking at me like I can’t get to him fast enough.
As I pass the Tannen-Bennett table, they’re all grinning. Even the guys, which is scary as hell because they only do that when someone’s about to get beaten up.
Olivia gives me a push I don’t need, and I find myself at Bobby’s feet, looking up at him larger than life on the stage. Casually resting a hand on Betty, he looks down at me as though we’re the only two people in the room. Heat and desire light his eyes, filthy promises are in his smirk, and hunger pings between us in a chemical reaction I can feel throughout my entire body.
Is he thinking this is very similar to when I suck him? Because that’s what’s running through my dirty mind when I look up at him like this.
“Mmm, close. But not close enough.” I think he’s reading my mind for a moment, but then Bobby leans Betty against a stool to free his hands. He squats down, and there’s a moment where I feel like a fan whose wildest dreams are coming true. But truthfully, they already have. His hands grab under my arms, and he pulls me onstage with him, situating me on the stool as he picks Betty back up.
“I wrote a song, which might not seem all that special. But this is the most important one I’ve ever written, sweetheart. I only plan on singing it once.”
Bobby gives me a pointed look, and his meaning hits me with a thud, a sharp arrow right into the depths of my heart. My mouth drops open and my hands slap over my lips. Behind my glasses, I can feel that my eyes are as wide as saucers.
“You ready?”
Yes.
No.
Oh, my God, maybe.