Page 54 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
A crash and a curse draw my attention to a table where a burly man in a baggy T-shirt has knocked over his beer. The golden liquid pools on the floor, and within seconds, Loverboy materializes as if teleported from wherever he was napping. His nose hits the floor, tongue lapping eagerly at the spilled beer.
"Loverboy, for the love of god, cut it out!" Vanna calls, but it's too late. The dog has already started in on the spilled beer.
I grab a rag and rush over, kneeling to mop up what's left. Loverboy looks at me with his little doggy grin.
"Sorry about that," the man says, embarrassed.
"It's okay," I assure him. "He's faster than light when there's beer involved."
As I finish cleaning the spill, Buck's hand briefly touches my shoulder. "You need help?" he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. His touch feels like an anchor, but I'm still adrift, unsure where my feelings for him—for any of them—fit in the mess of my life.
Vanna walks over to me and sighs deeply. "Skye, would you mind taking the little scoundrel upstairs to your room? I can't have him down here anymore tonight. He shouldn’t be drinking beer—it's really bad for dogs."
I glance at Loverboy, who's now sitting back on his haunches, looking at me with those innocent eyes that clearly say he's done nothing wrong.
"Of course," I reply, grateful for the excuse to step away from the crowded bar for a moment.
"Thanks, honey." Vanna shakes her head as she watches Loverboy lick his chops. "I swear, I'm either going to have to leave him at home or put a muzzle on him when I bring him in. He's getting worse about the beer, not better."
I reach down and scoop up the small dog, who immediately tries to lick my face. "Come on, troublemaker. Party's over for you."
As I carry Loverboy up the stairs, his warm little body wriggles against my chest. He whines softly, probably disappointed that he won’t be getting any more beer tonight.
I push open the door to my room and set him down on the floor. He immediately begins exploring, sniffing every corner. I sink onto the edge of my bed, overwhelmed by exhaustion that feels bone-deep.
"What am I doing, Loverboy?" I whisper.
He pauses his investigation to look at me, head tilted curiously.
My bed calls to me, promising escape. I could just lie down, pull the covers over my head, and pretend none of this is happening. I could hide from Daniel's accusations, from Griff'scomplicated family situation, from my feelings for all three men. Just for a little while.
I lie back, letting my eyes close. The mattress cradles me, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine just staying here.
Loverboy jumps up beside me, turning in a circle before settling against my side. His warmth is comforting and uncomplicated.
"At least you don't judge me," I murmur, scratching behind his ears.
But as tempting as it is to hide, I know I can't. I have responsibilities downstairs.
I glance at my watch. My shift isn't over for another three hours. Three more hours of avoiding Buck's concerned looks, of pretending everything's fine when it feels like my world has been turned inside out.
I drag myself off the bed and back downstairs, trying to focus on the tasks at hand. Pour. Serve. Smile. Clean. But Daniel's words keep replaying in my head, mingling with doubts about my current situation.
What am I doing here, involved with three men at once? Is this who I really am, or am I just lost, rebounding in the most complicated way possible? Maybe Charlotte was right.
"Order up!" Buck calls from the kitchen window, and I move to grab the plates. Our fingers brush as I take them, and he holds on a second longer than necessary.
"Whatever's on your mind," he says quietly, "it'll keep till later. We're here when you need us."
The simple kindness in his voice nearly makes me cry. I nod and pull away, plates in hand. As I set them down in front of hungry customers, I glance back to see Ford watching me with that intense gaze of his, while Buck returns to the kitchen.
Finally, the last customer stumbles out the door just after midnight, leaving behind the lingering smells of beer and fried bar food.
Buck and Vanna have left already—Buck saying he has to be back here early for a food delivery, Vanna saying something about Loverboy needing his beauty sleep after his beer incident. It's just me and Ford now, moving around each other in the low light, the tension of the day still hanging over me like a fog.
"You've been distracted tonight," Ford observes as he wipes down the bar. His voice is gentle, not accusatory.
