Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
I’m here for her.
Daisy moves through the crowd like she owns the place. She does. We both do, technically. A year ago, her dad sold me his half of the bar in a back booth at this same bar, the ink barely dry before he was demanding free beers for life.
I glance over and see my wife doing another round through the pool tables. She never slows, never stumbles. She redirects a server with a half-nod and a finger-point, pivots to flag a table that’s been empty for five minutes, then spins on her heel and slices through a cluster of college kids with zero effort.
Every few minutes, her eyes find me behind the bar, and she gives me a little wink. Fucking hell. Sixty-three months after I made her mine forever, and she still makes my heart soft and my cock hard with just a look.
“The Bud isn’t flowing,” Jerome grumbles behind me.
“I got it.” I drop to one knee. Sweat rolls down my jaw. I yank the cylinder, run my hand along the hose, find the damn disconnect.
Daisy catches me kneeling with my whole arm up to the elbow in the under-bar, and her voice cuts across the bar loud and clear.
“You okay back there, Skippy?”
Her tone is pure trouble. I fucking love it.
I shoot her a look, grinning like I’ve been caught red-handed. Hold up the drooping CO₂ line. “Fine, Mrs. Skippy. No need to call for back-up. I got this.”
Someone at the rail snorts beer through their nose. Laughter rolls down the line.
Daisy rolls her eyes at me.
Goddamn, I love her.
I fix the keg, slap the line back in, and climb to my feet. My shirt’s sticking to my back, but I don’t even care. I fill three pitchers in rapid fire, toss off a couple whiskey sours, and keep the orders flowing. Every time I finish a set, I can’t help but scan for Daisy again.
I could watch her all goddamn night, but the wave of last calls is finally breaking. A couple of regulars are clinging to their beers, and Jerome’s wiping down the length of the bar, heavy-lidded and methodical. The man is a machine. He doesn’t need my help, doesn’t even blink when I stack the last few glasses and bail.
Daisy sticks her head around the corner and signals for me to follow her to the office. She doesn’t fucking have to ask me twice. I drop my towel and head straight for the back office.
“Leaving me all alone to kick out the drunks?” Jerome mutters.
“I know you’re up to it,” I shoot back, grinning. He rolls his eyes, grumbling about hot-blooded young assholes.
I peel around the end of the bar, dodging a few empty chairs, every muscle in my body clocking out for the day except the parts of me laser-focused on finding my wife.
I step into the office and find myself pressed up against the wall. “About time,” my wife grumbles as she runs her lips across the pulse pounding in my throat.
“Sorry it took me so long,” I groan and lean over to cover her lips with mine.
I slide my hand up her back, fingers tracing the edge of her shirt, just to remind myself she’s real. She tugs me closer, fingers digging into my side, letting me know she needs it as bad as I do.
Her mouth opens beneath mine, slow and deliberate, and I lose track of how tired I am, how much the day took out of me. It’s just her: the push and pull, the breath between us, the way she makes me feel like nobody’s ever going to replace this.
I break the kiss just long enough to press my forehead to hers. My pulse is hammering. Hers matches mine, beat for beat.
For a second, we hang in the space. No words. Just the thrum in my veins and the shiver I can feel running through her.
Finally, I can’t help it. I lean back in and kiss her again, just because I fucking can.
When I open my eyes, the look in hers is nothing but possession. Like she knows exactly what I am to her.
And I do, too.
I run my thumb along her cheek, watch her smile, watch the way the ring on her hand catches what light is left. “I love you, Mrs. Skippy.”
Her hands wind up into the cotton of my shirt, and she stares at me like the world’s just shrunk to this room. “I love you, too, Skippy. Now, let’s get this place closed up so I can take you home and show you just how much.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” I take her hand and drag her out to the bar.
The look Jerome gives us when we barrel out of the office says he knows exactly what just happened. Doesn’t even try to hide his smirk.