Must Be Wright (The Wrights 3)

All her attention took a direct path between her legs. She wasn’t surprised their banter made her wet, but she was disappointed their meetings were little more than an exercise in frustration. There had been a time in her life when she jumped into bed with men whenever it pleased her. But that all changed four years ago.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and wiped her damp brow with the back of her hand. “Sorry, Rockstar, I don’t stock tequila rose.”

Someone yelled for three cosmos, and Gypsy started mixing the drinks.

“All right, then.” Wyatt’s tongue slid along his bottom lip. “I guess I’ll have to settle for a tight snatch and a royal fuck.”

She’d been fantasizing about him for too long, because snapshots of royally fucking this rock star immediately burned into her brain. “Settle, huh? Is sex on the road getting monotonous? All

that hot young flesh boring you?”

His grin grew. Gypsy wished time would stop. She wanted to study that grin, those sparkling eyes, that square, heavily stubbled jaw.

“I detect an edge of jealousy in your voice, sugar.”

“Ha. In your dreams, Rockstar.” She exchanged the cosmos for payment and pulled a lowball glass from the rack. “In your dreams.”

“That is a fact,” he said, sobering. “One very real, painful fact.”

Gypsy was fluent in flirtation, whether it came from the drunk, the desperate, or the determined, but she rarely ran across men with the kind of authentic talent, confidence, and swagger Wyatt possessed.

She often forgot he was the lead singer and guitarist of a band that shot to the top of the charts five years ago, then stayed there, right along with the likes of Jason Alden, Blake Shelton, and Giselle Diamond. But around here, locals were used to seeing Luke Bryan at the gas station and Taylor Swift at the mall. In Nashville, there was an unspoken expectation of respect and privacy for these stars, allowing them to roam free among mere mortals without much trouble. At least not from locals. Tourists, on the other hand, were a whole different matter.

After three years as VIP customer service for a top club in Miami, Gypsy knew exactly what went on in the private suites of the rich and famous. The drugs, the women, the parties. Country music and hip hop might be entirely different animals, but the music industry was the music industry. Money was money. Fame was fame. And men were men.

She added a shot of vodka, a shot of peach schnapps, orange juice, and cranberry juice, and topped it off with ice. She slid it across the bar to him and met his eyes directly. “There’s your tight snatch. You just let me know when you’re ready for the royal fuck.”

He wrapped his hand around both the glass and her fingers. His touch was warm and strong and created tingles through her skin. She didn’t pull it away immediately, because she didn’t want him to know just how intensely he affected her.

Instead of whipping out another snarky comeback, his gaze softened and scanned her face. “How are you, sugar?”

His sincerity touched her. Their friendship had developed slowly over the last three years since she’d bought the bar. The previous bar owner, a man who’d been Miranda’s surrogate father and had become the same for Gypsy, had an understanding with the regulars and locals. Whether they were stars who made millions or the local trash collector who struggled to pay his bills, Marty treated them with the same warmth.

After Gypsy bought the bar, many regulars had gone in search of quieter settings. Wyatt had stayed, despite his initial cantankerous relationship with Gypsy. Over the years, they’d become friends, and she always got a thrill when Wyatt came back to town.

“Better now that I’m here, huh?” He shot her a wink and held on to her hand, using the other to lift the drink to his mouth. “What about our little man? How’s he doin’?”

Our little man. Wyatt had learned exactly how to slip under her barriers. Nothing thrilled Gypsy more than someone asking about her boy. Just the thought of Cooper made all her rough edges smooth. Still, she pulled away from Wyatt’s touch.

“Getting big and raisin’ hell, I bet. I’ve seen the terrifying threes,” he said, referring to his niece.

“He’s doing his level best to keep up with Belle.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She ignored the customers yelling for service. Tuned out the live band and the noise. The only two people on the planet who could draw her focus like this was Cooper and Wyatt.

“You look amazing.” His gaze was so intimate, heat stung her cheeks. “Love your hair long.”

“It’s a lot of work.” She pulled a strand forward and glanced at the ends. “I was just thinking about cutting it.”

“Short and sassy suits you too.” Wyatt downed the rest of his drink in one long swallow, stood, and gestured her out from behind the bar. “Come on, sugar. Get your sexy ass on one of these stools.”

She straightened and started on another drink order. “Way too busy.”

Wyatt pressed his hands to the bar and gave her a deliberate look that bubbled through her blood. “Come out, or I’m coming in to get you.”

“This place is crazy town right now. Don’t you dare—”