6. Nova
“Did you see that Judy got her boobs done, again?” Tara asks, lowering her voice until I can barely hear her over someone’s rendition of Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.
I shake my head, though I really couldn’t care less about Judy Blankley and her fake boobs.
“I’d like to know how they afford it,” Katelyn chimes, sipping her blue-colored beer as if she knows something no one else does.
“Well,” Tara says, leaning closer. “I heard he was caught stealing from the cookie jar for this year’s festival.”
“Oh, he was not,” I chuckle, sipping my own blueberry-flavored beer. It tastes like Kool-Aid, and that’s dangerous. “She just comes from money.”
“I heard her parents are loaded and they don’t like that she moved here.”
“I heard she was sent to boarding school in Spain for four years because she got caught sleeping with one of her private school professors.”
“What has Gran said, Nova, surely she knows something,” Tara asks from across the table.
“No,” I wave a hand. “Gran’s not a gossip. She’d keep the devil’s secrets.”
“Speaking of secrets, you want to tell me what happened with that guy the other day?”
“What guy?” I ask, feigning memory loss.
I’ve been avoiding him since last night, when his body fit against mine so perfectly, I almost forgot who I was for a moment on the abandoned third floor of the inn.
I mean, who does he think he is? He doesn’t know me. He can’t just waltz into my inn, tell me how shitty it is, and then fix it, against my will. And then not let me pay him. I’m not a charity case. Neither are Gran and Pappap and they would be pissed to know I didn’t pay the man who fixed the giant, toddler-sized hole in room B-5.
And to think he saw me.
What the hell was I thinking? Honestly?
I just . . . he’s hot, okay? There’s something about his asshole attitude that gets to me. It makes me want more. Does that make me a masochist?
God, I hope not.
I moaned his name. I fucking moaned his name. And he heard it.
A part of me hopes my blueberry beer is laced with arsenic, so I don’t have to ever see him again. At this point, a painful death would probably be less excruciating than seeing that knowing smirk on his face again.
“Excuse me?” Katelyn deadpans. “The one fixing the inn for us. You know, the one you almost hid under the musty carpet from this morning, so he wouldn’t see you.”
Okay, I may have hit the deck behind the front counter the moment I heard him coming downstairs this morning.
“It is not musty,” I argue, ignoring the question.
“Nova Leigh,” Tara scolds and I scowl at her for using my middle name.
“Okay, fine,” I hiss. “He’s an asshole who should be on an island by himself, so he can’t interact with the general population.”
“You should have invited him,” Tara argues. “He’s hot. Bet he’s good in bed.”
My cheeks burn so hot I fear my skin is melting off. “He’s not that hot.”
Okay, he really is, but I’ll be damned if I let them know that.
“I don’t think he even knows where the place is.”
Everyone knows Tom’s.
It’s just a shitty, small-town bar, but it’s got so much character, it’s hard to believe it’s not straight out of a cheesy eighties Pulp Fiction-esque movie. The walls are still old wood paneling and the floor is a busted and scuffed linoleum, probably older than I am. Don’t even get me started on the old jukebox in the corner and the faint smell of cigarette smoke that hangs in the air, even though it’s been illegal to smoke in places like this for years.
Saturday nights are karaoke nights and Tara, Katelyn, and I have made it a tradition to come out at least once a month if we can all get the time off. Tonight is no exception, and the place is buzzing with activity.
I didn’t invite Reid. God knows he wouldn’t come, anyway, but that little moment this afternoon felt like fate, and even if it’s not the good kind like a princess movie, I can’t deny I like the way he looks at me. Like he’s hungry.
Like I’m his last meal.
“Tara,” Tom, the old bar owner says, stooping down beside her. “It’s your turn.”
“Yay!” Tara claps her hands together, jumping from her stool. “Our turn.”
To my horror, she reaches for me and I tug my hand out of her reach, my heart sputtering in my chest.
“Turn for what?” I ask, my mouth running dry. “For karaoke, silly. Come on!”
“Tara,” I argue, digging my heels into the floor after she hauls me from my chair. “No!”
Eyes are on us, watching as the Queen of Karaoke tries to drag me away.
“You got this, Nova,” Katelyn cheers, but I swear I feel like throwing up every ounce of blueberry beer I’ve had. And that’s a lot.
“Come on. It will be fun. You never come up. We’re singing Gloria Gaynor.”
I claw for the table, downing the rest of my beer before I succumb to Tara and her iron lock grip around my wrist and allow myself to be dragged to my untimely demise.
Okay, maybe I’m dramatic, but I’m a much better karaoke fan than performer.
I’m not even sure I can carry a tune.
She hauls me onto the small stage at the front and even though only half the room is watching, it might as well be every person in the world. My cheeks are burning so brightly, I worry the makeup I put on for the night is melting off and taking the skin of my face with it.
The first piano strokes of I Will Survive start and luckily, Tara is right on top of it, taking the brunt of it. Seconds later, though, she pulls me in and practically shoves me toward the mic.
So, I do the only thing I can think of.
Run.
Okay, I lied. I don’t run, but I think about it. And thinking about running is what gets me through the four minutes of trying to remember lyrics, Tara grabbing me around the waist to force me to dance with her and the warmth radiating from my skin.
To my surprise, I have fun. I can hear Katelyn singing along, but then the rest of the room picks up and soon, we’re all singing along and my embarrassment melts away.
That is, until the song ends and I step off stage.
Because as soon as my feet hit the floor and Tara goes to get me a new beer, laughing maniacally that she got me, the introverted extrovert, to sing karaoke, my eyes lock on a pair staring me down across the room and my heart flutters to a stop.
Reid is here.
Reid is here and he’s watching me.
Oh my God, Reid is here and he just watched me make a fool of myself on stage.
That sudden urge to run? It’s back.