Karaoke Chemistry: A Witchy Small Town Romcom (Sacred River Book 2)

11. Riggs

IMAY HAVE checked the district’s handbook about fraternization a couple of times. And I may have asked Mrs. Hayes to set me a call with the superintendent. And the superintendent, who was apparently a graduate of Sacred River High the same year that Magnolia was, just laughed at my request to “possibly, potentially, date a teacher.”

“Mr. Finlay, it’s a small town,” she’d replied. “It’d be more scandalous if teachers didn’t date each other.”

“But I’m the principal,” I said.

“Same difference,” she answered. “Go forth and date. Marry. Whatever. We don’t care.”

So that was settled.

Magnolia’s managed, yet again, to avoid any real conversation with me today, but there was no mistaking the flush on her pretty cheeks any time our eyes met across the lunchroom. It was just as adorable as everything else she does.

“What are you doing?”

I jump and nearly drop the yearbook. I swear, the woman is a ninja. “Mrs. Hayes.” I purposely deepen my voice to hide my surprise as I face her. “Just treating myself to a little history lesson.”

“In the dark?” She switches on the overhead lights, illuminating the small room off the front office with a fluorescent glow.

“Plenty of outside light.” I gesture to the window. It’s true…and it’s also true that I was planning to look at the years of Magnolia’s time here for any clues about her whole I can’t sing around you because I like you thing.

She gives me a concerned look. “Principal Finlay, is there anything you…need?”

For you not to stalk me?I hold up a stack of yearbooks. “Got everything right here, thanks.” I turn my attention back to the thin books in hopes that she gets the hint, and she does. Which is frankly a little miraculous. I’m tempted to turn the lights back off, but figure that would be weird, so I take my treasures back to my office instead.

I know I’m not going to see Magnolia plastered across the pages of the yearbooks, but it’s still disappointing when I’ve flipped through every single year and found her in only six pictures total—and four of those were her class photos. She was, of course, cute as could be, and every bit the little pre-science nerd in training. She even had a version of her braids in one of them. But no hints.

Then I realize that I’ve not done what any reasonable man with an obsession would do: talk to the best friend. I check my watch and confirm on the schedule that Ava Green is overseeing a study hall this period. “I’m good, Mrs. Hayes,” I say as I pass her on the way out of the office. “Just taking a stroll.”

I’m fairly certain she huffs.

I barely appear in Ava’s classroom door before she’s telling the kids she’ll string them up by their toes if they talk and is up and out of her desk to join me in the hall.

“What’s up, Riggs?” she asks, giving me a knowing look as she shuts the door behind her.

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

Ava crosses her arms. “I knew I liked you,” she says. “What do you want to know?”

“Magnolia says she can’t sing around me because she likes me too much.”

Her eyes widen. “Did she tell you that last night?”

I nod.

She curses. “Margaritas, man. Listen, it’s great she told you she liked you—right? Just focus on that.”

I narrow my eyes. “You know something.”

“I know that it’s not my business to tell.” Then she looks around and steps closer, lowering her voice. “I also know that I’m not sure I believe it.”

My heart plummets. “She doesn’t like me?” The words are out before I can think about them, and it doesn’t take a genius to realize I’ve revealed my cards.

Chuckling, she says, “No, Riggs. She really likes you.”

My shoulders relax. Thank god.

“And she believes she has good reason not to sing around you. I’m her best friend, and no way am I going to tell you any more than that. The rest is up to you.” She cocks her head. “I can hear you!” she yells at the door. When she’s satisfied that the class is quiet enough, she turns her attention back to me. “Why are you still here? I’m not telling you anything else.”

I hold my hands up. “Fair enough. Thanks for…well, thanks.”

She snorts. “You’re welcome. Try talking to Magnolia.”

I don’t bother telling her that I’ve tried, because she’s already dismissed me and is giving her class hell for talking, leaving me alone in the hall with my thoughts.

A better manmight tell the woman he likes that he’s not going to karaoke tonight. I am not that man. I don’t lie or anything, I just…say nothing. Do nothing.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt just a smidge that Magnolia didn’t so much as glance my way at the end of the school day, when I stood at the door and nodded goodbye as the students and a few teachers, Magnolia included, streamed off campus. But she’s Magnolia here, not Seven, and her shyness when she’s not in front of the classroom is next-level.

Either way, I’m tucked into my usual chair at the bar with a glass of water when Seven strides in, the very picture of confidence. The transformation is so utterly complete that my brain still has to do some mental aerobics to reconcile that Seven and Magnolia are the same woman.

Seven’s hair is out of the braids, hanging thick and wavy down her back. She’s in her standard uniform of black Doc Martens, black ripped jeans and a black short-sleeved top. Her silver bracelets—the only thing she seems to share with Magnolia—catch the light as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before grabbing the pen from Carol to write her name in the book.

The ease with which she moves, the confidence that practically oozes from her in this setting, is intoxicating. How could I not be falling for her?

I know the moment she realizes I’m here. She straightens and stiffens, and I despise myself for a moment. It was selfish to come here. Then she seems to force herself to relax and turn my way. I raise my water glass in an apologetic salute, but then, to my utter delight, a blush rises up her neck and cheeks. I hope she’s remembering that the last time we spoke, I’d just made her come. God knows I am.

She saunters toward me, her chin set, her eyes blazing in excitement or anger—I can’t tell—and I’m ready for her. I slide off the stool and throw her a lazy grin. “Seven.”

“Riggs.” Her voice changes when she’s Seven, too. Breathier. Sexier. I don’t know how I missed it. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

I reach a hand up to cup her face, relishing the tingle of electricity as I stroke her soft skin with my thumb. Her scent is the same, like green apple with a hint of spice. “There’s no keeping me away, Seven.”

Her eyes bounce between mine, their beautiful caramel depths a window into the war that rages inside her. “I told you that I can’t sing around you anymore.”

I lean down, the need to kiss her overwhelming every other rational thought. Another spark races across my skin as our lips touch, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if it has anything to do with her being a witch, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m pulling her to me, breathing her in, sipping up every mewl and sigh she gifts me, and I want so much more. “I’m taking you home tonight,” I whisper as our mouths part.

“Riggs, I?—”

I cut her off. “There’s no stopping this. Whatever it is, I need it. And I think you need it. So we’ll sing. And then? I’m taking you to my house and burying my head between your thighs.”

She sucks in a breath.

“And when I’m done making you scream that way, I’m going to fuck you till you’re hoarse.”

Her eyes flash even as crimson stains her cheeks yet again, and it’s as though I’ve captured both women in one. Her chest heaves, and before she can say anything, Carol calls me up to the mic.

I lean down and capture her mouth again, relishing the surprised squeak I earn when I nip her bottom lip between my teeth. “Let’s get this night started, shall we?” I wink, gratified at the almost-laugh I get in response.

Carol hands me the mic and inclines her head toward the bar. “You and Seven?”

“Inevitable.” I give her a grin and force the word to sound careless, even though whatever it is that I feel for Seven seems as far from that as I can possibly get.

She raises her eyebrows, and I suspect she’s disappointed in my answer. I can’t worry about that, though, because the opening strains of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” are starting up, and the crowd whoops in response.

To be clear, I absolutely picked this song on purpose. Like I always have, only now I make them obvious. And before I kick into gear, I make sure to find Seven as she leans against the bar. Because it’s her I’m singing to. She’s the demolition woman, and I absolutely want to be her man, and I want both of us hot and sticky sweet from our heads to our feet. The song is brutally intense and athletic, especially the way I’m channeling the late eighties arena rock gods and go to my knees for the last round of the chorus, practically screeching into the mic to hit the song just right.

The crowd cheers in response, but it’s not their reaction I’m looking for. There, still leaning against the bar cool as a fucking cucumber, is Seven. She raises her glass of whiskey in salute before tossing it back, and doesn’t move an inch as she waits for me to return.

“Not bad,” she says as I return.

“Not bad?” I scoff. “That was epic, and you know it.”

She shrugs, her caramel eyes glittering in the dim light. “Maybe.”

I laugh, then pull her to me. She comes willingly, and I dig my fingers into her hips. “You better bring it when you get up there.”

She does. She throws another Britney Spears song at me, singing “Toxic” this time, and I can’t tell if I should be flattered or worried by those lyrics. She’s addicted to me…but who’s the one who’s toxic? Me? Her? Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Either way, I am all for the way she dances on the small riser, wiggling her hips and sliding her free hand down the side of her body. She absolutely slays the song, and I don’t miss the satisfied wink she gives me as she hands the mic back to Carol.

“We’re leaving,” I state when she returns.

“But—” she starts.

I grab her hand, her skin warm against mine. “We’re leaving,” I repeat. I leave no room for discussion as our eyes meet.

She jerks her head once in assent, then grabs her things.

Outside, we walk to her car, parked at the edge of the lot near the dumpster. “It’s not safe to park here,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Get off your high horse, Riggs. I have to change clothes when I get here, and that’s the best spot to do it. Nothing’s ever happened.”

“I know you’ll do what you want, but for the record, I don’t like it.”

She huffs a laugh, clearly humoring me, and I drop it.

“Follow me to my house.”

She doesn’t respond, and I half wonder if she’ll actually do it. There’s nothing stopping her from driving to her house, and if she does, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

So I bend to her and capture her lips with mine, crushing her to me, relishing the shock of the spark as our mouths meet. She tastes of whiskey and a hint of mint. Intoxicating.

I need this woman.

All of her.

“Promise me.” I can’t hide the urgency in my voice.

I can’t be sure, but I think something like resignation flits across her face. “I promise,” she whispers.