Page 61 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Which is rude.

Before I can say anything else, someone lets out a whistle from near the bar.

“Oh, now this,” Bill Smith’s voice carries through the room, dry as old paper, “looks like trouble.”

There are a few scattered laughs.

Great.

So, not only am I on display, I’m also apparently tonight’s entertainment.

I resist the urge to walk directly into the nearest wall.

Bennett’s is packed enough that there’s no pretending this entrance went unnoticed. People are openly staring now. Some are smiling. Some are whispering.

A few, mostly women under forty and one or two men who definitely had posters in their dorm rooms once upon a time, look somewhere between thrilled and vindicated, like they knew these men would turn up eventually and have been waiting to act normal about it ever since.

Spoiler: no one is acting normal. Especially not me.

Then, Tommy appears from behind the bar like he was conjured by commotion alone.

Tommy has the kind of presence that makes a room feel steadier the second he steps into it. Mid-forties, easy smile, sleeves shoved up over forearms that look like he’s spent years hauling kegs and breaking up bar fights with the same calm efficiency. He’s wearing his usual black tee and jeans, bar towel thrown over one shoulder, and the second he spots me his face splits into a warm and familiar expression.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he says, coming around the end of the bar. “Willow Jameson. Was beginning to think you were going to let Nina steal your table for good.”

Relief punches through me so quickly it’s almost embarrassing.

Tommy is safe territory. Tommy is normal.

Tommy isn’t currently making my pulse do strange things just by standing too close.

“Nice to know I’m replaceable,” I mutter.

“Everyone’s replaceable,” he says lightly, then his eyes shift past me.

Recognition.

Not the wild kind. Not the fan version. It’s older than that.

His brows lift and his smile turns more crooked around the edges. “Well, hell.”

Xander’s expression changes. Still controlled, still reserved, but warmer than I’ve seen it outside of exactly no situations before now.

“Tommy.”

Tommy lets out a short laugh and closes the distance, pulling Xander into one of those one-armed half-hugs men do.

“Look at you,” Tommy says, stepping back just enough to look him over. “Still intimidating people for sport.”

Xander’s mouth actually moves. Not quite a smile, but close enough to count. “Trying my best.”

That lands with the room, too. You can feel it. Whatever curiosity was already buzzing around us intensifies.

Tommy knows him. And not in a celebrity way.

In a hometown way.

I definitely would’ve paid more attention to the gossip had I known it would end up directly affecting me.