“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—”
He pressed his hands to the bar, lifted himself halfway, then swung his legs over like a freaking gymnast. No matter how often he did it, the sight always shocked Gypsy.
He landed right next to her, smiling triumphantly, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t have time for this. I’m two bartenders down.” She pulled the bar towel off her shoulder and snapped him with it. “Get out.”
Wyatt grabbed the bar towel midsnap, and Gypsy found herself in a ridiculously childish tug-of-war. The challenge in Wyatt’s eyes hooked into Gypsy’s competitive streak, and his lopsided smile told her he damn well knew it.
The regulars chose sides and started cheering. Wyatt was going to win. She didn’t have the energy to put her all into this game, even if she wanted to. Gypsy let go, and Wyatt flew backward, hitting the floor ass first. A rousing cheer cascaded around the bar.
Wyatt bent his knees and rested his hands behind him, grinning up at Gypsy. “You weaselly little cheater.”
“You can’t cheat if there are no rules. I didn’t hear any rules.” She lifted her hands to the customers sitting around the bar. “Did anyone hear rules?”
A round of shaking heads and negative responses rolled through the regulars.
Gypsy smiled and shrugged. “No rules. No cheating.”
He lifted a hand. “Help me up.”
She laughed and put both hands behind her, stepping back. “I wasn’t born yester—”
He lunged for her. Gypsy squealed and stumbled backward, but Wyatt wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her off the floor, and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Shock stole her breath. “Oh my God.” She laughed and hit his back with her fists. “Wyatt, put me down.”
He carried her out from behind the bar to the whooping approval of customers. Hanging upside down, annoyed and embarrassed, she wasn’t sure how she had time to notice how good he smelled. A little spice, a little lemon, and a lot of masculine Wyatt.
“Dammit,” she said, breathless with her stomach against his shoulder. “I’m trying to run a business here—”
With one arm on her thighs, he planted the other at her waist and finally lifted her from his shoulder, dropping her feet to the floor. Then he pushed her onto a barstool. When he stepped back, he pointed a stern index finger at her, his brows raised in a don’t-challenge-me expression. “You stay put.”
On his way back behind the bar, he lifted his chin at a man waiting to order. “What do you need, brother?”
Before the customer answered, Wyatt pulled a highball glass from the rack, added ice, 7-Up, a splash of grenadine, tossed in a cherry, and slid it in front of Gypsy.
She looked at the drink, still deciding whether she should take a break or take back control of her bar.
“Rest your dogs, sweetheart.” Earl was in his late sixties and had lived in and around Nashville all his life. He was another regular who’d stayed after Gypsy bought the bar. “You know by now he ain’t coming out until he’s damn good and ready.”
Gypsy sighed and got comfortable on the stool. Earl was right. She and Wyatt had been playing this game for years. The regulars had followed the progression of their friendship, and everyone wanted them to stop “pussyfooting around each other” and get together already.