22. Karaoke Boss #2
She’s such a fascinating mix of contradictions.
Every time I get to know her more, I find another curveball—from the way she ran to a neighbor’s house to grab protection, to the fact that she juggles rubber ducks to relax.
Everything about her is playful, unexpected… and far too tempting for my own good.
“Yes, you must,” I say in my stern voice, the bedroom tone she responds to.
She sits up straight and tall, arranges herself primly in her seat, then folds her hands together like she’s waiting patiently.
“So. It was Rachel’s birthday, and there was a dare—my friend Monroe was there. He said, ‘I don’t believe you have the guts to do it.’”
“Wow, he was calling you out,” she says.
I nod, then take another drink. “He was a relentless fucker. Said he wouldn’t believe I had the guts unless I got onstage and did ‘Livin’ on a Prayer.’”
“That’s the one,” she says in a hushed breath, her elbow perched on the bar, her eyes fixed on mine.
“Best karaoke song ever.”
“Top three, easily.” She leans in. “And those were fighting words for you?” she asks, sounding enrapt.
It’s not a bad sound. And I don’t actually feel like she’s dragging the story out of me.
There’s something about Chloe that just makes me want to tell her things.
She’s sassy and feisty, and she pokes at me all the time and knocks me down a peg—and yet I still find myself sharing with her.
In spite of those things?
No. Maybe it’s because of them. Because she’s a little fearless.
A lot unafraid. Maybe it’s because she’s not by the book at all.
I’ve spent so much of the last several years of my adult life coloring inside the lines.
Playing by the rules. Building a business, focusing on reputation, making sure everything is pristine.
And then there’s Chloe, who crashes into my life, gets knocked into a lake, and pops out of it looking impossibly sexy, then invites me to her hotel room.
This woman has me stripping out of my shirt to paint her workspace, hunting down tools to secretly fix her car, and bringing treats to work to keep the fuck up with her.
She breaks all my rules. “Yeah, they were fighting words,” I say. “Monroe queued up the song and tossed the mic my way, leaving me no choice. I caught it and launched into the opening notes.”
Her smile is bright and genuine. “And a star was born…”
I wave a hand, dismissing that. “Hardly.”
She taps the wooden bar. “Tell me more.”
“You are a voracious woman,” I say, shaking my head in admiration.
Her eyes lock on mine. “Yes, but you already knew that.”
A hot charge shoots down my spine from the innuendo. “I know. And I like your appetite.”
The corners of her lips twitch. For a second, she’s distracted, but then she seems to blink it off and says, “Story time. Give it to me.”
Those words rattle through me, and I want to hear her say them in other circumstances.
Give it to me. But she’s got all the cards right now, so I give her the rest of the story.
“And it turned out, yeah—I was pretty good at it. I mean, I always sang along to the playlists. In the car. At home. And yeah, I sing in the shower.”
“Oh my god, stop,” she says, dragging a hand through her waves, her hazel eyes twinkling with some kind of impish delight. “That is borderline cute and borderline sexy at the same time, and I don’t know which one is winning the war.”
“Sexy, Chloe. It’s sexy,” I say, answering for her.
Her eyes travel up and down my frame, and yeah, they tell me she’s picturing me in the shower. “Fine. It’s sexy. Go on.”
“Anyway, the crowd seemed to like it. I did a few more songs, and honestly, I was kind of hooked.”
She licks her lips like she’s eating this up with a spoon. “And so then you created this entire karaoke identity,” she says, and I get the sense she’s not going anywhere. She’s here for the long haul.
“It wasn’t immediate. I just had fun. But the next few times I went out with friends, I missed it. I found myself thinking about it more and more. Wanting to do it again.”
“You never performed in high school musicals or anything like that?”
I shudder. “No. I don’t dance.”
“Not all musical roles require dancing.”
“I don’t act either,” I say. “I never wanted to.”
“Did you have a rock-star dream?”
“Honestly, when I was a kid, I liked to blast music and play video games. I’m ridiculously good at Halo, which is not a skill that comes into play often in my life—except when I’m hanging out with my friends and their teenage kids.
Anyway, I found myself looking for other opportunities to sing karaoke.
I went out again, then again, and it kind of became…
my thing. Every time I went home, I thought about how much I liked it. ”
She sets her chin in her palm. “You couldn’t stay away from it, so you had to create an alter ego?”
“Bingo,” I say, the hair on my arms standing on end from the way she nailed it. It wasn’t hard to piece together, but she understood instantly where I was going with the story. “Fell in love.”
“I love that,” she says. “So how did you pick Sam Silversmith? Did you do this in San Francisco?”
“Sounds like the kind of a guy who moonlights. A guy who’d play the saxophone with aviator shades on and nobody would know who he was.”
“And you like that, right? That nobody knows it’s you?” It’s asked with understanding, like she truly understands my need to be mostly incognito.
“Well, yeah. That’s one of the reasons I like karaoke. Because when I sing, I don’t have to be Mister Boss. Mister Serious. Mister Responsible. When I’m Sam Silversmith, I just go out and let go.”
“Well, your secret is safe with me, Mr. Silversmith,” she says, lifting her glass, then wiggling her brows. “Safe for now…until I decide what I want from it.”
When we finish our drinks, I’m tempted to ask her if she wants another. But things have been prickly between us since that night at her place. My fault, yeah. But her fault too. Pretty sure neither of us has quite cracked the code on working closely with someone you want to fuck.
You want to do more than fuck her.
“I should go.” But she furrows her brow. “What do you want me to tell everyone at work if they ask where I found you?”
“On a hot date,” I say dryly.
She shoots me a searing stare, brimming with…holy fuck. Is that jealousy? It sure looks green there in her eyes. “I will say no such thing.”
I hate that I love how jealous she is. Nope. I’m wrong. I just fucking love it. “Tell them you found me…playing golf,” I say, improvising.
“You had an alleged eight-fifteen or whatever tee time after your alleged Yappy Hour meeting?” she asks.
But I’m not deterred by the logic leap. This all seems doable, especially for a guy who sticks to a schedule. “Night golf, sweetheart. It’s a thing,” I say, and…
Her breath seems to catch. On sweetheart, maybe? Yeah. I think so.
“Night golf it is,” she says, then sticks out a hand to shake.
A promise that she’ll keep my secret—for now. As we shake on it, she glances down at my arm, then lets go of our hands to run a finger along my rose tattoo.
The temperature in me spikes. Her hand on my skin is electric. My bones buzz as she traces the petals.
“Temporary?” she asks.
I lift a brow. “You’ve seen me naked. You tell me.”
Her eyes flare again. “Temporary. How long does it last?”
“A couple days,” I admit.
“Will you wear long sleeves tomorrow?”
“I will,” I say with a nod.
She shakes her head, amused. “You…surprise me.”
I like keeping her on her toes. A lot. Best I keep that thought to myself though.
We leave, and I guide her down the block, my hand resting lightly on her back as we pass couples on dates and packs of friends. At her car, I round to the driver’s side and pull the door open.
“Thanks for the phone,” I say.
“Thanks for the show,” she says, then gives me another once-over, studying me, like she’s remembering something. “You were singing at the bar the night we met. Mouthing along to something.” She gasps. “Oh! It was Journey.”
I remember that night well. “What can I say? I was in a good mood. Music just makes me…” I debate whether to say horny or happy. But I choose the most truthful one. “Happy.”
With a smile that says she’s not quite sure what to make of that answer, she drops down into the seat, then looks back up at me. “Until it’s payback time.”
I don’t know if I’m terrified or excited. With her, maybe a little of both.