Chapter 9 #2
He spins in a circle, nearly taking out the mic stand, and I laugh. Not a polite chuckle but an actual, genuine laugh that surprises me. The bartender slides my drink across the bar, and I leave cash without looking away from this beautiful disaster.
“TURN AROUND!”
The entire bar watches now, phones out, and instead of showing one molecule of self-awareness, Maine commits harder. He drops to his knees for the chorus, sliding across the stage in a move that definitely wasn’t designed for someone of his size and stature.
“EVERY NOW AND THEN I FALL APART!”
Both hands clutch his chest now, his face contorted in manufactured agony that would make a soap opera actor tell him to tone it down a little. The crowd loses it, especially a table of girls who shriek with delight, and even the bartender stops mid-pour to witness this crime against music.
“AND I NEED YOU NOW TONIGHT! AND I NEED YOU MORE THAN EVER!”
For three magical minutes, Maine builds his catastrophe higher, adding choreography that might be interpretive dance if interpretive dance were having a seizure. Every movement is too big, too enthusiastic, all gangly limbs and complete commitment to being terrible.
I find myself clapping along, caught in the pure joy of watching someone fail this spectacularly and love every second of it. I can’t imagine ever doing something like this, hamming it up deliberately for the crowd. Hell, when was the last time I did anything without calculating the outcome first?
When he’s done, Maine drops to his knees again, sliding until he’s hanging off the stage edge.
The crowd erupts and Maine bounces up, bowing elaborately in every direction, blowing kisses as if he just won a Grammy.
Someone throws a bra and he catches it mid-flight, twirls it overhead, then flings it back.
“Thank you, thank you!” he shouts. “I’ll be here all night! Unless management kicks me out! Which happens more than you’d think!”
As he bounds offstage, high-fiving everyone within reach, and getting more than a few numbers from the table of girls, I realize I’m grinning. Actually grinning, a real smile that makes my cheeks ache, rather than the careful expression I wear for family dinners or study groups.
“That was actually worse than last time.”
The voice—warm and low and absolutely not supposed to be here—makes my stomach drop and twist. The bar noise fades to static as I turn to see Mike, standing inches away, and God, he looks unfairly good.
Dark jeans, a blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms, and that half-smile.
“Mike.” My voice comes out breathless, which is mortifying, given what we did a few weeks ago.
“Sophie.” He matches my tone but with that teasing edge that makes my pulse stutter. “Funny running into you here.”
I take a deliberately long sip of my drink, trying to play it cool, but in reality buying time while my brain short-circuits. His hair’s slightly messed up, with pieces falling across his forehead, and I have to grip my glass tighter to keep from reaching up to fix it.
“Are you stalking me now?” I say.
“Would you believe pure coincidence?” He leans against the bar. “Though you look ready to bolt.”
I realize I’ve been unconsciously edging away and force myself still. “I’m not running. I just wasn’t expecting the entire hockey team to invade karaoke night.”
“This your sanctuary?” He glances around at the chaos. “Interesting choice for a sacred space.”
“It was peaceful before your teammate decided to assault eardrums,” I say.
“He thinks he’s good. No one has the heart to crush him.”
“Someone should.” The ghost of a smile crosses my lips. “For humanity’s sake.”
“You volunteering?”
“I don’t do confrontation with people I don’t know.”
“Right.” He smirks. “Just with people you do know, like calling me complicated.”
The word hangs between us, and my chest goes tight—not with guilt exactly, but with the memory of why I said it.
How he’d made me feel too much, too fast. How I’d needed to put distance between us before I did something stupid like depend on him.
But before I can explain—or apologize, or make things worse—Maine’s voice booms across the bar.
“I’M BACK, PINE BARREN!” He’s commandeered the stage again. “And if you cheer loud enough, maybe Sophie Pearson will duet with me!”
Every head swivels toward us. Maya’s table erupts in encouraging whistles and squeals and woos, and I briefly consider whether murder charges are worth it.
It turns out the flex in the locker room wasn’t just a one-off, but rather Maine’s whole damn personality, a ball of charming, comedic energy in a six-foot-three package.
“Friend of yours?” Mike asks mildly.
I snort. “Hardly.”
Clearly disappointed I haven’t immediately joined him on stage, Maine leaves the stage and bounds over like an overgrown golden retriever, even as “Shake it Off” plays without vocals. When he’s close enough, he puts an arm around Mike’s shoulder.
“Sophie!” Maine grins. “How do you two know each other?”
Mike and I lock eyes. His expression stays carefully neutral, leaving the decision to me. Part of me wants to tell Maine exactly how we know each other—that two weeks ago I learned exactly what those hands could do, how that mouth tastes, and the sound he makes when?—
“We’ve run into each other once or twice,” I say finally, with the tone I take when delivering bad news to patients.
“Run into each other.” Maine draws out each word, tasting them. “And here I thought Mikey spent all his time doing his weird self-improvement kick.”
“It’s not weird,” Mike protests.
“Bro, last week you went to a meditation retreat where they made you hum at walls for three hours.”
“It was sound therapy.”
“It was highway robbery.” Maine’s grin widens. “But hey, at least you’re branching out. Meeting new people. Fascinating people.”
“Maine.” Mike’s voice carries a warning that Maine cheerfully ignores.
“Right, shutting up now.” But his eyes practically glow with mischief as he backs toward the stage. “Sophie, the offer’s still open for that duet!”
He bounds away, picking up Taylor Swift mid-chorus, and immediately has the crowd eating out of his hand all over again. I watch him, pointedly ignoring but hyperaware of Mike still standing too close, of the unfinished conversation hanging between us.
I should leave. Make some excuse about finding Maya and disappear before this gets more complicated. Before I do something stupid like let him charm me again. That would be the smart thing to do, the Sophie thing to do, but something about watching Maine embrace life like this…
So, before I can think better of it, the words tumble out. “Want to see if we can uncomplicate things?”