Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Michelle
Neon lights cast a multicolored glow across the black leather banquettes that fill Cherry Poppin Karaoke, and a coquette-styled hostess complete with knee-high socks and a riot of pink bows leads us to a private room.
She offers us several menus with QR codes for ordering, and I half listen, taking in the place as Tristan asks for a pitcher of beer and a pitcher of sangria along with a bottle of white wine.
A small stage sits at the front of the room, and monitors are set up in front of it.
My stomach drops, and cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. I might have been used to being in the spotlight on the field, but singing onstage? Nope.
Not my thing.
The hostess notices me staring at the stage and smiles brightly at me.
“You can pick a series of settings for the lights to match the mood of the song,” she explains, obviously misjudging my apprehension for enthusiasm.
Apparently, I’m harder to read than I think.
“That’s great,” I manage, since she’s blinking expectantly at me.
“We have over a thousand songs to choose from, so there will be something for everyone,” she continues, beaming at me.
When I don’t answer, she turns her attention to Tristan, batting her thick eyelashes at him, and jealousy surges through me.
It’s short-lived, though, replaced by surprise as Tristan wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
“Just scan the QR code when you’ve decided what you want, and your server will bring it. I’ll escort the rest of your party back as they arrive. Have fun!” She gives a cute little wave and bounces off, leaving Tristan and me alone in the room.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, rubbing his hand across my bare shoulder.
I lean in to him.
When was the last time someone touched my skin?
Warmth rushes against my hair and scalp.
He’s nuzzling my head.
I close my eyes, relaxing even more. My mind’s screaming at me.
I shouldn’t let him hold me. I shouldn’t want him to, and I shouldn’t love the way his breath feels against my skin.
So why does it feel so perfect?
My throat tightens up.
“Tristan.” His name comes out like a whispered plea.
“Michelle,” he says, and I swear I can feel his lips move against my temple.
I can count on one hand the number of times he’s said my first name, and I’m fully unprepared for the way it hits.
My knees go weak and my heart speeds up, and all I want is for him to say it again.
“You don’t call me Michelle.”
That same huff of air against my head, but this time, it sends a shiver through me. “I think maybe I should.”
I snuggle closer to him, like his touch has unlocked something in me, forced me to acknowledge just how much I want this.
How much I want him.
“What do you think? Think you can get over your nerves and let loose?” His voice has taken on his familiar sardonic cadence, but when I work up the courage to cast a look back at him, all I see is the same desire I feel reflected in his eyes.
Heat rushes up my chest, and I stare at him. Maybe he wasn’t testing me with the compliments in the car.
Maybe he did mean what he said.
Tristan leans closer, and I’m dizzy with his proximity.
I lean weak-kneed against a cabinet in front of the stage, one that presumably houses a teleprompter screen and who knows what other equipment. My mind races, because what if…what if I let myself imagine us together? What if it could be easy, like every time we’ve spent time with each other?
He steps closer to me, and I don’t look away, daring him to bend down, to press his mouth against mine.
Daring him to tell me the truth of what he wants…of what we could be.
The door pushes open, the noise of dozens of songs and conversations swelling as Luke and Abigail walk in, with Lauren hot on their heels.
I bite my lip, my gaze darting between the newcomers and Tristan, wanting him to speak, afraid of what he might say.
“Uh, hey guys,” Abigail says slowly, her eyes narrowed as she surveys us.
“Hey,” I say, way too brightly, way too enthusiastic and over-the-top.
Right. Because that’s not suspicious. Because that will keep them from wondering if we were about to jump each other’s bones.
“I’m going to order us some food,” Tristan says gruffly, scanning the QR code on a menu.
Luke raises one thick eyebrow at me, jerking his head in a very Luke greeting before taking a menu of his own and conferring with Tristan about what to order.
Embarrassed beyond belief, I turn to the contraption next to me and swipe through the screen full of songs without registering a single one.
“Hey,” Lauren says softly, leaning a shoulder against the cabinet. “What the hell was that?” she asks.
“Way to break the ice,” Abigail tells her. She pokes me in the side. “But seriously, what the hell was that?”
“Do they have cheese fries?” I ask the question loudly, to no one and everyone all at once.
“Adding now. Want bacon?” Tristan replies just as loudly. “Green onions? Extra cheese?”
“Yep,” I yell back, still swiping.
“Uh-huh,” Abigail says quietly. “Step away from the iPad.”
“No,” I say, way too aggressively. “I’m picking out my song.”
“I thought you didn’t want to sing,” Lauren interjects, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I changed my mind.”
Noise fills the private room again as the door opens, and nervous energy makes me bounce my leg, my thick heel tapping against the floor.
“The party’s arrived!” a deep voice yells, and Lauren finally, blessedly, tears her gaze away from me. Logan Steel, if my ears don’t deceive me.
“I didn’t know he was coming,” she says, her eyes widening slightly.
“Logan’s a good guy,” I tell her, grateful as all hell for a distraction from my own shit. “Young, but super nice—”
“Not him,” Lauren tells me quietly, barely audible over the raucous noise of the three guys who’ve joined us.
I follow her line of sight, blinking rapidly as I realize she’s talking about Garrett.
“Coach?” I ask, my nose wrinkling. “What’s he doing here?”
“He wanted to make sure I didn’t get up to anything I shouldn’t. Plus, he’s part of the team, Oxford.” Tristan’s sidled up behind me, his knuckles brushing up against my hip before falling away again. “Why? You got a problem with that?”
“Of course not.” I flip my hair, skewering him with as challenging a look as I can muster. “I’ve decided I’m going first.”
I don’t tell him it’s to avoid him.
“Ripping off the Band-Aid all at once. Nice.” He jams his hands in his jean pockets, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You trying to graduate from my school of chill early or what?”
Lauren’s already moving, diverting my attention as she saunters away from us, headed straight for Coach Garrett. Garrett blinks as he takes her in, a slightly stunned look in his eyes.
My eyebrows shoot up as she greets him. Did she just touch his wrist? Is he going to melt into a puddle at the way she’s smiling at him?
Turns out anything’s possible when Lauren’s around.
“Huh,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like that.”
“Happy? I don’t think anyone has. Ever.”
That makes me laugh, and I turn my attention back to Tristan as Abigail coughs meaningfully into her hand.
“Are you two singing together?” she asks sweetly, and Tristan and I both stare at her.
“No—”
“Why—”
We both answer at the same time.
“A duet, obviously, would be the best way to break the ice.” Abigail points at the screen.
“I just picked out a song for you two, since you said you wanted to go first, Michelle.” She grins, and it’s as devious a smile as I’ve ever seen on her face.
“Tristan, I thought you might want to help out your protégée by singing with her. Better get onstage.”
For a moment, I feel slightly sorry for the hell she put Luke through, because it is not as much fun to be on the receiving end of an Abigail plan as it is to be helping her execute one.
She presses a microphone in my face, and I grab it reflexively, staring at her in shocked alarm.
Traitor.
“She doesn’t want to sing with me,” Tristan says, waving his hands in front of him. “I’ll just throw her off. She deserves a better partner…to sing with, I mean.” He rakes a hand through his blond hair, the neon lights painting it in shades of pink and purple.
“Shut up, Tristan Gold,” I bark. What the fuck is his problem?
A hush falls over the room, everyone’s attention snagging on us.
“We’re going to get on that stage, and we’re going to show everyone how it’s done.” My hands are on my hips, and I scowl at him before turning to our admittedly captive audience. “Give it up for Tristan!” The guys look slightly alarmed, but Lauren and Abigail holler and clap until they join in.
I shove my hands against his lower back, ignoring the nauseous feeling in my gut and deciding that if I’m gonna make a fool of myself on this stage, at least Tristan will be there to act a fool with me.
I’m not alone.
I give him another playful shove.
Growling threats under his breath, Tristan turns around and grabs me by the waist, setting me up on the raised platform as the music Abigail picked starts up.
“Oh, I know this song,” I say, surprised. “ ‘You’re the One That I Want’?” I yell it at Tristan, but he still looks slightly perplexed. “From Grease. The musical?”
“It’s a classic,” Abigail yells back. “Like I would pick a song you didn’t know.”
I blink as stage lights turn on, Abigail flicking her hand over the iPad as she figures out exactly what combination of lighting she wants for us.
I guess you can take the girl out of the theater but you can’t take the theater out of the girl.
Tristan’s beside me in the next second, hoisting himself up onto the stage in lieu of using the stairs. He thrusts his arms into the air in a victory V, and his teammates cheer loudly.
“You have the first lines,” I tell him, laughing, his energy contagious as always. “Channel your inner Danny Zuko.”
“If you’re my bad Sandy, then I won’t have to channel anything.” He gives me a wide grin, and my heart seems to skip a whole damn beat.
The jazzy piano finally ends, the signature drumbeat picking up as Tristan starts singing, ending up on his knees in front of me.
It’s impossible not to dance along to the song, and I alternate between laughing and singing and shimmying as we sing the duet together, both of us getting into character.
Tristan chases me around the stage while I play hard to get, then he catches me by the hand, twirling me in front of him.
My awareness of our audience has slipped away completely, and I’m having so much fun that I couldn’t care less if anyone’s watching us as we sing about how much we want each other. He spins me again, and then he twirls me into his arms.
My back presses up against his chest, and we sway to the beat as the song ends, everyone singing along with us.
Applause breaks out, the glare of the lights fading along with the music.
Leaving Tristan and me a mere breath’s distance from each other, our chests heaving. His heartbeats are palpable against my shoulder, and it sends an electric pulse of awareness through me.
A server pushes open the door, a beverage and food cart behind them.
Tristan leans down, his lips brushing against my ear and sending a tingle straight down to my core. “You did great, Michelle.”
I beam up at him, glowing under his praise and attention, at the heated way he purrs my name. “I don’t know if your plan is working, though,” I tell him.
“What part of my plan?” he asks with a lazy grin.
“I don’t feel chilled out at all.”
I give him an arch look, and he wets his lips.
It would take nothing at all to press mine to his, to take a risk. To see if he’s feeling the same as I am.
“Break it up, you two,” Connor shouts from the stage steps, Djimon hot on his trail. “It’s our turn to shine.”
Disappointment at the moment lost makes a knot in my stomach.
Tristan gives a rough laugh, and we step away from each other, the moment broken. Heavy bass breaks out as a disco light begins to spin overhead. The two Fords sing their own duet, whisper-rapping with some truly heinous dance moves to an early 2000s song that’s best left in the past.
My eyes track Tristan’s huge frame as he makes his way to the table with the drinks on it and pours himself a beer from the pitcher.
I could have kissed him.
I should have.