11. Iris
11
IRIS
Tony’s, the diviest—and my favorite—of Skylark’s modest bar scene, is crowded for a Thursday, primarily because of the ever-popular karaoke night they host each week.
See what I mean about this town and fun? Even the dive bars host events that everyone from bikers to cowboys to the elementary school principal enjoy.
I’m nestled in a corner booth with two shot glasses in front of me—I should clarify, two empty shot glasses. Because the so-called fun I’m about to engage in will be easier with a smidge of liquid courage.
“Are you ready for this?” Avah demands as she and Molly slide in across from me.
A petite waitress with jet black hair arrives a moment later. “Can I get anything for you ladies?”
“Another round,” I tell her, lifting a finger. Or maybe two fingers. It’s a little fuzzy at the moment.
Molly leans forward to sniff one of the empty shot glasses then grimaces. “It smells like you’re drinking lighter fluid.” She smiles at the waitress. “I’ll have a margarita.”
“Two margaritas,” Avah adds.
“Three margaritas and the shots,” I insist. “Like the song. Three margaritas, Imma put it?—"
“TMI, girl.” Avah grabs my hand and squeezes hard.
“No shots,” Molly tells the waitress. “A round of waters.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.” I tug at my hand, but Avah’s got one hell of a grip for a wisp of a thing. “I’m the mayor.” At least for now.
“The mayor of Can’t Hold Your Liquor Town,” Avah says, her nails digging into my palm.
The waitress cracks a smile. “Well, Ms. Mayor, you have good friends. Three margaritas and three large waters coming up.”
“Hey, that’s not fun,” I complain to my friends as the waitress turns away. “We’re supposed to be having fun.”
Avah finally releases me. “Karaoke is the fun part, and it’s going to be a lot less fun if you’re slurring the song lyrics.”
“I think that’s the only way it’s going to be fun,” I argue. “I sing better than I dance, but it’s a low bar.”
“I can’t carry a tune to save my life.” Molly cringes. “Even the twins beg me to stop.”
“I have the voice of an angel,” Avah assures us with a grin, “but I’m just here for moral support.”
“I don’t need moral support.” I press two fingers to my temple, which is already starting to pound. Total lightweight. “I need a group. Harmonies. Camaraderie. Someone to hide behind.”
The waitress returns with our drinks. I gulp down half the water and then push away the margarita. Turns out those shots of liquid courage might have been slightly ill-advised. “I can’t go up there by myself. That’s no fun.”
Molly laughs. “It’ll be fun from here. Just getting out of the house without my kids, who I love to death, as you know, is fun for me.”
“You can’t force fun.” Avah licks the salt off her rim. “That isn’t how fun works.”
“That’s the problem,” I remind them. “I suck at fun.” I gesture to the patrons crowding the bar’s interior. “Which is why I’m adding more attempts at fun to my bucket list.”
Both women take long sips of their drinks.
“Leave it to you to be an overachiever,” Avah says after a moment.
Heat floods my cheeks. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Molly assures me. “You’re doing great, sweetie. But no more shots.”
“No more shots,” I agree. At least I’m not feeling quite as fuzzy as a few minutes ago. Nerves—mixed with a healthy dose of residual shame, guilt, and regret—are a real buzz kill.
“You’ve got this.” Avah doesn’t sound convinced, but I appreciate the words of encouragement. “Besides, alcohol can tighten your vocal cords. We want you to be loosey-goosey tonight.”
Great. Another reminder that I need to loosen up. One more thing I suck at.
“By the way.” Molly wiggles her eyebrows. “I found a company in Denver that has a mobile pole dancing?—”
“Pole dancing,” a deep voice echoes, followed by the sound of rumbly laughter. “Iris, are you two-timing your dance partner with a pole?”
I promptly spit the water I just drank across the table. Avah grabs a napkin and wipes her cheeks, her disgusted glare softened by the smile that plays at the corners of her mouth. “Was that necessary?”
“You’re legit cut off,” Molly tells me then points at Jake. “You’re trouble.”
“My reputation precedes me.” He offers my redheaded friend a lazy smile. “Tell me more about Iris and the pole.”
A blush crawls up my throat at the way his mouth caresses that word. And Jesus, take the wheel, because thinking about caressing and Jake Byrne’s mouth is not a good combination for my brain.
My body is a whole other story.
“You need to get your mind out of the gutter.” I sound bored and dismissive. I love that for me.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” he asks. “You said you wanted to have more fun, and I know fun. The dirty kind is my favorite.”
“Introduce us to your friend,” Molly squeaks, doing a fine impression of a kid who just sucked down half a helium balloon.
“He’s not my friend.”
“Iris and I aren’t friends.”
Jake and I speak the words at the same time. That he’s willing to admit it irritates me, crazy as that sounds.
Molly glances between the two of us. “I definitely heard the word partners.”
“Me, too.” Avah finishes her margarita and then grabs mine.
“We’re in the same dance class,” I reluctantly admit. I still haven’t introduced Jake by name, so neither realizes he’s the guy from the street and my past. I want to keep it that way. “I wouldn’t have picked that class if I’d known he was part of it.”
“I wouldn’t have to be part of it, if you didn’t need a partner.”
“Hmmm…” Molly’s hum is soft and drawn out. Clearly, she’s intrigued. I don’t want intrigue where Jake is concerned, especially after the pseudo-agreement Jodi and I came to this afternoon.
“So you’re a bonus,” Avah says, making a show of looking Jake up and down. She likes to do that—to use her boldness to unbalance people. I could have told her Jake isn’t easily rattled.
“I’m a lot of things,” he says, taking a swig of his beer. Why do I find his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows weirdly sexy? “But a bonus isn’t one of them. Is this pole dancing something new? And are spectators invited to the classes? Because I’d pay for?—”
“You aren’t invited,” I tell him before he can finish. “Why are you even here?”
“Same as everyone else.” Another wink for Molly. “I’m here to channel my inner songstress.”
“You don’t have an inner songstress, Jake. You have an inner annoy-the-crap-out-of-me-ness. Did you hear me talking to Char after class today?”
“You think I’m here because I knew you were going to be here?”
“I hope so,” Molly says.
“Me too,” Avah agrees. “Wait… Jake? As in the guy who ran you down on Main Street?”
“Almost,” he corrects. “Almost ran her down on Main Street. And only because she jumped in front of my truck.”
“I did not.”
“Did too.” He leans in. “No take backs.”
Avah chokes out a laugh as Molly offers another throaty hum. They both have elbows on the table, chins cradled in their hands like they are avidly watching a fascinating play unfold.
“Can I get you two some popcorn?” I narrow my eyes at my traitor friends and ignore the fact that I might be slurring my words just a little.
“This is so good, I don’t even need a snack,” Molly answers. “Would you like to join us, Jake?”
“Who is not from State Farm,” Avah adds with a wink.
Jake grins at the lame joke, and Molly offers him a wide smile. “I’m Molly and this is Avah. We’re part of Iris’s book club. We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Avah throws me some wicked side-eye. “But apparently not everything.”
Jake heaves a beleaguered sigh. “Don’t believe a word.”
He shifts closer, and I scooch toward the end of the seat. “Do not sit down. You’re not invited.”
“What kind of books do you ladies read?” Jake asks as he folds his long frame into the booth next to me, ignoring my protest.
“All kinds. Anything from personal development to mystery to spicy romance,” Molly answers.
“Spicy romance.” Jake makes a satisfied sound low in his throat. “Is that where the pole dancing came from?”
“Taylor, our shy librarian, picked the spice,” Avah tells him. “Pole dancing is book-club adjacent and Iris’s idea. Which is weird, come to think of it. The last time she picked a book, we read a biography of John Adams. No one except her made it through it. It was boring as hell.”
“John Adams led a fascinating life,” I argue. “He was the first president to live in the White House.”
“And wrote thousands of love letters to his wife,” Jake adds.
I turn to gape at him. “How do you know that?”
“I was a history major.”
“Where did you go to college?” Molly asks.
“A couple of semesters at Yale,” he answers. “It wasn’t the right fit.”
That long ago summer, Jake talked about how his father had wanted him and his brother to go to Harvard. At the time, I laughed. Jake didn’t take anything seriously, other than drinking. I couldn’t imagine him getting into a school like Harvard or Yale. When you have the money and influence the Byrnes do, you can buy your way into an Ivy-league education, but still…
“Yale was a huge disappointment to my dad,” he says, as if it meant nothing to him.
“It’s an amazing school,” I answer automatically.
“It’s not Harvard,” he counters. Something in his gray-green gaze makes my breath catch in my throat. A vulnerability I don’t expect, and it rattles me.
After a few long moments, Avah clears her throat. “Can you sing, Jake?”
“Like a canary.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“Then you and Iris can duet.”
“Hell, no.” I rotate my hand in a circle between Avah, Molly and me. “The three of us are together in this.”
“I’m not singing,” Avah reminds me.
“Me neither.” Molly makes a face. “People would run screaming.”
“No,” I repeat.
“It’s fine.” Jake gives an exaggerated sigh. “I think I understand the problem here, ladies.” He leans in like he’s sharing a secret, and even my curiosity is piqued. “Iris doesn’t think she can keep her hands off me…just like in dance class.”
Ugh. I smack his shoulder. “I’m not supposed to keep my hands off you, dummy. I’m supposed to put my hands on you. That’s the whole point of being partners.”
“We both know there were a few times your hands strayed a little lower than appropriate.”
“They did not.”
“Iris copped a feel?” Avah sounds delighted.
“I need to get a babysitter more often.” Molly is grinning wildly. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years. I mean, other than the fun I have with my kids. I really do love my kids.”
Jake nods, the picture of innocence. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother, and I’m having buckets of fun getting to know you ladies. Just like I plan to have fun singing karaoke. I’m trying to decide between Ring of Fire or Mr. Brightside .”
“Johnny Cash, for sure. His energy fits you,” Avah says.
Jake wiggles his thick brows. “Unless Iris agrees to a duet, in which case I’ll let her pick the song. I’m all about keeping the ladies happy.”
“I bet you are,” Avah purrs.
“You don’t make me happy,” I snap. “And I’m not having fun!”
I didn’t mean to shout that last, but I did, and because of my recent luck, a hush falls over the crowd at the precise moment my words ring out.
“Did you hear that, everybody?” Jake calls out when the other patrons turn to stare at our table. “The mayor just said she wants to have fun. What’s more fun than getting the ball rolling with karaoke?”
“I’m going to kill you,” I say under my breath.
“Oh, no, you’re not.” Avah shakes her head. “He’s saving your bacon right now, girl.”
She’s right, even though I’m loath to admit it. I swallow a groan and follow Jake out of the booth and toward the small stage set up at the far end of the bar’s main room.
“Pick your poison.” His arm grazes mine, and all I can think about is the heat of his touch and how he smells like spice and clean laundry.
I swear to all that is holy I didn’t purposely stumble during our routine this morning just so I could push my face into his shirt and take a big whiff of all that delectable manliness.
Then I realize the eyes of almost everyone in the bar are following us, and I pull away.
“I don’t know if I can—” I start, honestly nervous.
He looks at me and inclines his head. “I thought you always had a plan.”
“Not tonight.” I’m talking about more than whatever song we’re going to sing. We both know it. But Jake’s poker face is as good as mine, and he swings his arm wide to the crowd.
“We’ll let your friends and neighbors decide. Hey y’all, what do you want to hear tonight?”
Several people shout out song titles, but one voice rings louder than the rest.
“ Islands in the Stream !”
I freeze, then turn to the booth where my friends are sitting. Sloane has joined them, and she gives me two enthusiastic thumbs up. Sloane is a huge Dolly Parton fan.
“She’s got to be kidding,” I mutter, but the crowd has already taken up the bandwagon with cheers and applause. Jake nods to the floppy-haired dude working the karaoke machine.
“Good choice,” he hollers to Sloane. “You can’t go wrong with Dolly.”
I can think of a thousand things that could go wrong right now, and they have nothing to do with Dolly.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I drank too much. I didn’t drink enough.”
“Hey.” Jake squeezes my hand. “We’re having fun, Dixon.”
“If you tell me to loosen up, I’m going to kick your balls into your throat.”
“You stay as tight as you want, but here we go.” He hands me a microphone off the stand in front of us. The first notes begin, and my friends shout their encouragement.
I’d like to run away, because standing in front of a crowd of people who I’m pretty sure expect me to make a complete ass of myself is not anyone’s idea of fun.
“We’ve got this,” Jake says, and I remember the way he spoke those words to me that summer we spent together before everything went to shit.
We were about to jump off the cliff out at the local reservoir, and thanks to my fear of heights, that didn’t seem any more fun than this. But with Jake holding my hand, I jumped anyway, and the free fall before we hit the water was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.
Maybe karaoke can’t be compared to that, but as the words to the first verse appear on the screen with a little ball guiding me, I lift the microphone to my lips and start to sing.
My voice is shaky at first, and I hear a couple of groans, but I can actually carry a tune. At least in the shower.
Suddenly, the lights and the music and the energy of the crowd grab hold of me. It’s not like I think I’m Dolly Parton—I wouldn’t be fool enough to compare myself to the queen in any way, shape, or form—but I’m going to do my best to make her proud.
When Jake comes in on the Kenny Rogers verse with a smooth baritone that shocks the hell out of me, I realize there might actually be nothing this guy can’t do well.
And I have to admit, I’m having fun.
He takes my hand again, and we sing to each other, then get the crowd in on it, encouraging them to clap and join in the chorus.
To my utter surprise, they do—not just my friends, but people I don’t even know. People who only know me as their stick-in-the-mud mayor. They’re singing and laughing, and I’m laughing with them. It doesn’t matter that my dance moves make me look like I’m having a seizure, or that I lose track of the words at one point. I’m having fun.
And when Jake spins me in his arms and sings directly to me that we rely on each other, uh-huh, I believe it.
We’re relying on each other, one lover to another.
And the shocking truth hits me with the force of a sucker punch: my ultimate version of fun might be knowing what it feels like to take Jake Byrne as a lover.
Even Dolly can’t save me now.