Chapter 14
14
Ezra
I asked Millie to sit with me so I could give my brain a break, but that plan went to shit as soon as I started petting her. I didn’t mean to, but the second she pulled my elastic from her hair, instinct took over, and my fingers acted of their own volition. At first, I rolled the ends of her silky strands between my fingertips, but eventually I was fully massaging her scalp and neck. I don’t even fucking know how long I’d been doing it before she groaned “that feels nice.”
I could have stopped.
I should have.
But her soft, throaty voice was like a drug, and I needed another hit.
Now, three episodes of New Girl later, her legs are draped over my lap and my arm is wrapped around her waist.
“All right, birthday boy.” She claps, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “As much as I love watching Nick and Schmidt’s bromance continue to blossom, we’re celebrating. What do you want to do? ”
A lump lodges itself in my throat. “I don’t like celebrating my birthday.”
“What?” She gasps, her lightness dimming. “I will not accept that answer. Try again.”
Knowing her, there’s no use arguing. “Ugh, fine. What did you have in mind?”
That green-eyed sparkle returns. “Prepare to have the time of your life , honey.”
“Are you suggesting karaoke?” I’m catapulted to the last time she sang those words. I could have sworn she was going to perform the infamous Dirty Dancing song in Greece. Instead, she impressed the pants off the entire crowd when she sang “Dancing Queen.”
Months later, my mom and I saw her perform as Sophie in the traveling production of Mamma Mia , though I much preferred her karaoke version. Zero inhibition. Pure joy.
“Did you have fun at dinner?” Millie asks as we stroll along the boardwalk to the bar.
“I did, thank you.”
Val met us at the restaurant, along with Kane and Mano. Millie also arranged for my mom and Cam and Joey to join us via FaceTime when the servers brought out a dark chocolate cake lit with an obnoxious number of candles.
After the entire restaurant sang and my blood pressure and body temperature spiked, I leaned into Millie so only she could hear. “You’ll pay for that.”
I’ve disliked celebrating my birthday for as long as I can remember. Most of the time, I spent it in Brooklyn, longing for a dad to light my birthday candles and sing loudly and embarrassingly like all my other friends’ fathers. Occasionally, I was here in Hawaii, wishing my father was absent because he’d use my birthday to score women and free drinks. In either scenario, I was miserable.
“Oh my god.” Jumping, Millie points at a wild rooster and a hen with chicks.
They’re so common on the island that I barely notice them anymore, but it’s clearly a novelty to her.
“That’s the biggest cock I’ve ever seen.”
“Hey, I’m offended.” I poke her in the side.
She sticks her tongue out. “I’m sorry, did I threaten your masculinity?”
When I puff up my chest, I revel in the way her gaze flickers to my pecs. “Not at all.”
“I’m not a bird freak or anything,” she assures me, her tone pure tease, “but that’s a beautiful fucking cock.”
I stumble over my own feet at her brazenness. Twice now, she’s shouted cock in public without an ounce of shame.
At the door to the bar, she stops to fiddle with the straps of her white dress. It’s the same one she wore the other day, and tonight, she’s paired it with heels that make her calves look deadly.
“I don’t think you’ve seen enough cocks to make that decision,” I say. Not that I want her seeing a bunch of other cocks.
“Noted. I’ll be sure to create flyers for the beautiful cock competition.” With a wink, she tips her head back and surveys the flashing lights above the door. “The karaoke bar is called Melody’s? How original,” she deadpans.
“The owner’s name is Melody.”
“Aw.” She chuckles. “That’s clever. I love it. Come on, I’m going to smoke you. Again .”
“Is that what you think is gonna happen?”
Millie insisted on picking out my outfit this evening. She’s taking this whole fake marriage thing a little too far, if you ask me. But I must admit, catching her checking me out as I pulled the fitted black tee over my head earlier was a boost to my ego. And the ripped black jeans are my favorite.
“If my memory serves me, you couldn’t stand that I beat you in karaoke in Greece.”
She whips around so fast I nearly bump into her. Eyes narrowed, she stabs a finger into my chest. “You absolutely did not win that night.”
I raise my hands in defense. “Oh, my mistake.” Looming over her, I bring my mouth to her ear. “Does that mean getting you to come all over my fingers in the storage closet was my consolation prize?”
Her cheeks are bright red as we walk inside, and it’s not from the summer heat.
“What do you want to drink?” she asks when we reach the bar.
“Tequila?”
“Two shots of tequila,” she calls to the bartender. “And keep ’em coming.” With her forearms resting on the bar, she scans the space, nodding at a couple in a VIP booth. “How come they’re getting special treatment?”
“Maybe because they’re newlyweds?” I shrug.
“How can you tell?”
“She’s wearing white. Didn’t you say newly married women love to wear white? Plus, she keeps gesturing with her left hand. Watch.”
Right on cue, the young woman picks up a fruity cocktail with her left hand and holds it out, nearly hitting the server in the face with her massive rock.
Teaching middle school for a decade has taught me a thing or two about reading body language. Adolescents think they’re being stealthy, but I notice far more than they think—from passing notes, to cheating on tests, to ruses to get one’s crush to notice them. I smell these things from a mile away.
“They were also singing ‘Endless Love’ when we walked in. Dead giveaway.”
The bartender slides our shots to us, and we down them. When Millie slams her empty glass down, she grins at me, the expression screaming I’ve got an idea.
“Tonight, we’re on the same team.” She drags me to the karaoke sign-up and flips to the list of duets. “Pick one.”
Oh, she wants to compete together? This I can get behind.
“What about ‘A Whole New World’?” I ask.
“Nah. Too corny.”
“Okay, rude . What about ‘Senorita’?”
“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head sharply. “I’m still bitter about their breakup.”
“How about you go stand over there and let me surprise you?”
“No way. You’ll pick something cheesy.”
“ Gasp .” A laugh bubbles out of me. “I will not. C’mon, it’s my birthday.” I flip my bottom lip into a frown, determined not to let Millie be the dramatic one all the time.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes playfully. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need another shot for whatever you have up your sleeve.”
After settling on a song I’m sure she’ll hate, I meet her at the bar and toss back a shot of tequila. Then I lead her onto the dance floor while we wait to be called up on stage.
When I pull her in tight and sway to the beat, she arches back, eyes wide. “Um, excuse me, sir. How did I not know you could dance?”
“You never asked.”
I’m certain a breathy “fuck” escapes her lip as she tucks in close so I can no longer see her face.
I grin into her hair. She smells soft and peachy, like the plumeria flowers on the island. I slip a hand to her lower back, relishing the warmth of her against my palm. At first, she tenses, but before I can pull away, she presses in closer to me, her hard nipples glued to my chest. Soon enough, she relaxes, and I get a flash of the uninhibited Millie I met in Greece. When I spin and dip her, causing her hair to whip me in my face, her smile is brighter than the disco ball above us.
The song ends, and the DJ comes through the speaker. “Next up, we have a pair of newlyweds. Mr. and Mrs. Greer, come on down.”
My heart stutters. Mr. and Mrs. Greer . Why do I like the sound of that?
Millie eyes me suspiciously as we take our places on stage, then forces her attention to the blank screen, bouncing on her toes in anticipation.
As “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction pops up, I prepare for impact.
I should know better, though; Millie’s a professional. And she’s the kind of woman who once dragged her brother to an improv class as an April Fools’ joke.
“I’ll take Harry’s solo parts,” I say, “and we’ll split the rest, yeah? And don’t forget…” I angle in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “We’re supposed to be newlyweds. Let’s give the crowd a show. ”
Nodding, she brings her mic up in preparation.
I thought it was thrilling singing to Millie, but singing with her is one thousand times better. Being in such proximity to her talent does something to me I can’t quite put a finger on.
The woman is captivating and magical.
Despite the heat from the overhead lights, her stunning voice sends chills through me. If Idina Menzel and Pink had a baby, she’d sound like Millie.
I picked this song because every lyric rings true. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is. She’s completely oblivious to the way people stare everywhere she goes. This song is an excuse to tell her she doesn’t need to be so insecure.
Not with me.
As the music ends, the crowd goes wild. Who can blame them? We can fucking sing.
“Everyone’s watching.” I slide my hand to her nape, my fingers slick with her sweat.
Licking her bright red lips, she assesses me.
Fuck, I want to do indecent things to her. Stepping forward, I squeeze her neck, and without a second thought, I press my lips against hers.
When I pull away, her eyes widen in panic. “What was that for?”
“For the show.” I jut my chin toward the sea of people hollering and chanting.
“Right.” Cheeks flushed, she steals a look at the crowd. When she turns back to me, she yanks the elastic from my hair so it falls like a curtain around us and tugs me in close. “I think we can be more convincing.”
She grips my shirt at my waist, and in the next second, her tongue grazes against mine.
I nearly lose it. My heart races, and not from the adrenaline of our performance. It’s this kiss . Arms looped around her waist, I pull her flush against me. This kiss makes me forget where I am. It makes me feel alive. When I worry I’ll pass out from lack of oxygen, I regretfully break the connection. But I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling.
Her expression has morphed from wary to intense, like maybe she feels the same mixture of wonder and desire as I do.
The DJ breaks our trance when he calls, “Let’s give it up for Mr. and Mrs. Greer. Wow. Someone get these two a bottle of bubbly and a VIP booth. On the house. ”
“Yes,” Millie hisses. “See? I told you we could do it.” She shimmies her shoulders with pride as we’re escorted to a cozy U-shaped booth.
With one arm around her, I tap my champagne flute to hers. “Cheers.”
“What was it they said in Greece?” she asks.
“Yia mas.”
“That’s right. Ugh, and that raki was deadly.” Though she groans, a smile creeps across her face.
“Just about,” I laugh, nudging her knee with mine. “That shit tasted like straight-up rubbing alcohol.”
We listen to the house music and sip champagne, taking a breather. My body temperature has just returned to normal when she knocks back the last of her drink. “Wanna dance again?”
“For the show?”
She shakes her head. “For fun.”