“Not so fast.” He plucked a chip from the plate, licking his finger with the enthusiasm of a 18h-century prostitute.
I shuddered. “That’s disgusting.”
Cheryl stood beside the table with more drinks between each of her fingers than I would have thought possible. She slid our bright lime drinks onto the table. “I got us double rounds before happy hour is over. Courtesy of Chuck.” Word about the happy hour had made its way to some of the higher-ups at the studio, and every so often they took pity on us and threw in a round for everyone after a grueling weekend of sessions.
Cheryl’s dangly earrings glittered in the low light of the room. “What’s disgusting?”
“Only your boyfriend taste-testing his own ear wax, is all.” I grabbed the stems of my two and pulled them away to the safety of my side of the table.
“Good thing he’s not my boyfriend.” She slid onto his lap and wrapped one arm around his neck, feeding him the margarita with the other.
“How silly of me to put a label on what you two have.” I lifted my drink, sipping the whole way and savoring the salty sweet-and-sour flavor smoothing out the alcoholic kick. “After a couple rounds of drinks.”
Each table had to sing to keep the discounted drinks going. Also to force people not to just come to gawk and make fun of the other singers. The rules sucked, but the food and drinks were killer.
The normal chatter of the room was overtaken by a lot more noise. Noise and bodies. They filled the space, and the reserved signs at the center of every empty table were being plucked from the center by waitresses as members of the LA Lions dragged their chairs out and sat.
I didn’t see him, but I could feel his presence. I drained the last of my drink. The table behind us was the last one to have the ‘Reserved’ tent card removed. It was also the one the rookies seemed to be seated at. Right at the front of the stage. The one right by me.
My eyes widened as I spotted the second-to-last face I had wanted to see tonight. Knox. Which meant Dare wouldn’t be far behind.
A part of me was happy Dare had someone he’d been so close with to share this experience with. Another part of me wanted them to both get hit by a Mac truck. Knox had bailed in the chorus room behind the stage when Dare was seconds from losing his shit. Maybe if he’d stayed and helped calm Dare down, nothing would’ve happened the way it had.
His gaze swept past me before jerking back to dead center. His eyes widened and he reeled back like someone had hooked him on a line. “Bay?”
My stomach knotted. Where one was the other followed. “Knox.” There wasn’t a hint of warmth with the acknowledgement. I’d hoped it felt like an Arctic blast.
He sat down, revealing the other new recruit, the one who made my heart skip a beat even now, like an ingrained muscle response I couldn’t help. He was beyond bad news, and I wasn’t that high school girl who sopped up every bit of attention he threw my way anymore.
I sat straight in my seat with my hands wrapped around my drink.
The chair behind mine bumped against my seat.
All the delicious happy hour food lost its luster when I was trying to keep calm. He was sitting right behind me.
So what if Dare was here? So what if he was sitting a foot from me? So what if we were in a room filled with people and a stage and microphones with music blaring? So fucking what?
My mouth felt chalky. I grabbed the new round of drinks and bombed mine in two gulps, like they were ice water in the middle of July, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The alcohol rushed through my veins and I pulled at the front of my shirt, airing out some of the sweatiness.
“Bay, you okay?” Cheryl ducked her head to catch my eye.
I loaded up another chip and shoved it into my mouth. “Never been better. Having the best time of my life.”
A few people turned in our direction. Instead of sinking down in my chair, I sat straighter. Well, as straight as I could when the room was tilting to one side.
Behind me, I could feel their eyes on me. Not only Dare, but also Knox. Every bit of my peripheral vision was taken over by football players. Not only those two, but most of the team was crammed into the place. Him knowing he hadn’t stopped me from moving on was the only defense I had, even if it was a lie. Even if things had never been the same since he’d walked into my life, the least I could do was pretend.
The waitress came to our table. “You’re on deck to sing.” She placed a No. 2 on a metal stand in the center of our plates and food baskets.
The volume in the place skipped up as more people filled the room. More oversized football players whose chairs threatened to suffocate me by not giving me any room at my own damn table.
“Did you want to try?” Cheryl pushed the number stand in my direction.
“Why would you even ask her? You know she never sings.” Spencer shouted, loud enough for his voice to carry.
My shoulders tensed. The chairs behind me moving, rumbled the floor at my feet, even above the Bon Jovi song blaring from the speakers.
“She’ll disappear into the bathroom like she always does when it’s her turn.” Spencer finished off his drink.
“Bay…” My name came from behind me, so close it ruffled my hair.
Was that the only word he knew? The breathless way he said my name still sent shivers of euphoria dancing down my spine, no matter how much I thought I was immune. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Shut up.” I barked over my shoulder. “I’ll do it.” I shoved up from my seat and snatched the card off the table and headed for the steps to the stage.
After handing over the card to the staff person at the bottom of the steps, I flung myself onto the stage. Flicking through the music sheets, I didn’t look up. He was at my feet, at a table of his football friends invading my state, my city, my dorm, and now my karaoke bar. I wasn’t taking this lying down.
My stomach churned, and I prayed I wouldn’t puke all over everyone. I shouldn’t have had those mozzarella sticks and mini tacos and nachos and margaritas. If only I’d known I was going to be thrust up onto stage. Not thrust, so much as jumped up here to prove a point, but who was splitting hairs?
My fingers tingled, body vibrating like I was attached to a low electric current. The small spotlights swept across the stage in time to the music. I wrapped my hands around the mic and jerked it from the stand a little too hard, nearly knocking myself in the forehead. There were a few chuckles from the crowd. Normally, this would’ve sent me rushing into the nearest bathroom stall, but I was already there with the booze. I couldn’t even distinguish my thinking-about-singing nausea from the one-margarita-too-many stomach roiling.
Why could I feel him staring? Just like that first night, even when I couldn’t see him, I could feel him tracking my every move.
I tapped my hand against my leg and let out a deep breath with the mic resting against my chest. The mic wobbled in my hold. I wiped my palms on my jeans and licked my lips, looking down at the screen as the first words appeared, coloring in time to the music. Was my mouth watery like this from tequila, or from standing up in front of all these people?
Flashbacks to the last time I’d stood on stage raced through my mind. I closed my eyes and licked my lips. The salty tang gave me a kick.
I opened my mouth and held onto the lyrics I’d hummed and sung to myself during the summer the song had played non-stop.