29
Penny
“Is this really who we are now? The people who spend their Friday nights watching other people with absolutely no musical talent attempt to sing Shania Twain?” I ask Molly from my spot beside her in our lush U-shaped leather booth at Brewery Lane.
She looks incredible tonight, in her tight little black dress, with her brown hair waved to perfection and although her makeup is light, she’s done an incredible job at sculpting those cheekbones.
She chuckles and bumps my shoulder with hers. “It’s not that bad.”
I roll my eyes and gesture to the gin and tonic sitting in front of her as I trace my finger along the rim of my virgin strawberry daiquiri. “Yes, it is. You’re just three drinks deep.”
There’s a magnificent ten-foot mahogany bar on the other side of the room, with a matching liquor cabinet mounted to the wall behind it, filled with top shelf booze.
None of which I can have.
And I’m not saying that Brewery Lane isn’t a great pub, or that holding a weekly karaoke night for the locals isn’t a great idea. I’m just not sure why I’m being forced to witness the first one.
Well, technically Beckett, dropping the fact that Ryan’s younger brother asked him to come, right in front of Evie, who is a die-hard karaoke fan, a fact Beckett fucking knew when he mentioned it, is the reason that I’m here.
That, along with the fact that the elastic waistband of my underwear is rubbing on my belly, my drink is far too sweet, the under wire of my bra feels like it’s lodged in my ribcage, and no amount of contouring could hide the puffiness of my face, has me irrationally angry the man who forced me off the couch and out into the wild after an incredibly emotional conversation earlier today.
He is beautiful though, I’ll give him that, and as I watch him from across the booth, throw his head back and laugh at something Ryan just said, I can’t help but hope that our son gets his smile.
Handsome bastard.
I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts of all things Beckett and baby for a minute and raise my glass to my lips. Of course, just to top the night off, the condensation building on the sides of the glass has it slipping through my fingers, resulting in a large portion of the pink drink ending up on my white dress.
Yay.
I try to laugh it off as Molly grabs the glass from my hand and places it back on the table, alongside the battery-operated lantern illuminating our small space, but tears start pooling in my eyes and I want to slap myself for being so ridiculous.
Why am I about to fucking cry right now?
Within seconds, Beckett is by my side with a stack of paper napkins in hand.
“Hey,” he says softly as he begins dabbing at my chest. “It’s alright. Don’t cry. It’ll come out. We’ll soak it when we get home.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Don’t fucking sook me.” I swipe at my face as the tears start to roll down my cheeks.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as Molly slides around the booth over to Ryan and they both watch the interaction between Beckett and me.
Real fucking subtle, guys.
“You okay?” Beckett whispers in my ear.
I turn my head to reply and underestimate just how close he is. “Uh,” I mutter, staring into his vibrant green eyes, stunned by their intensity. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
The corner of his mouth tips up, forming the sexiest half smirk I’ve ever seen, and he raises his hand and wraps it around the back of my neck. “Good. You look beautiful tonight. Have I told you that, yet?”
Only a thousand times since I finished getting ready, but I never grow tired of hearing it…
For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. The air around us feels thick and heavy as his eyes search mine and he places a hand on my belly, but then, our son decides that now is the perfect time to boot his father.
Beckett’s eyes immediately lower to the spot his palm is occupying. “Hey, little mate,” he whispers, leaning down so that his mouth is as close to my stomach as physically possible. “You kicking for daddy, are ya?”
Oh, for the love of God.
I melt, right here, in this booth, into a puddle, and so does Molly, from the opposite side as she watches.
Beckett spends the next five minutes poking and prodding my stomach, smiling wider every time our son kicks him back. It isn’t until Evie, who’s been at the bar for what feels like half an hour, appears at his side, that Beckett reluctantly removes his hand from my stomach, straightens in his seat, and reaches for the beer Ryan smoothly slides across the table to him.
“Oh my God,” she mumbles, smoothing down her little pink midi dress with one hand, while holding a half empty pint glass in the other. Her eyes are locked on the other side of the room, and when I look over, curious as to why, I realise it’s for a damn good reason.
One of the most beautiful looking men I’ve ever seen is sitting on a bar stool in the middle of the makeshift stage Walker set up for tonight. He’s huge. Like, Beckett huge, but with Ryan’s tatted up vibe, and to top it off, he’s got wavy, dirty blonde, shoulder length hair that would make most women weep with envy.
Fucking men.
Bet he doesn’t even appreciate the gift of good hair.
“Why’s his arm all blacked out?” Molly asks as he shifts around on his stool, hikes his acoustic guitar up onto his lap, and the light hits his face just enough for us to see the incredible vibrancy of his deep blue eyes.
“Dunno,” Ryan replies as he pulls her into his side and runs his fingertips along her bare arm. “Could be he didn’t like the work he had done on that arm, so he blacked it out. Could be that he’s planning to do something in white on top of it. That’s become a pretty big thing recently.”
I follow the black ink covering his tanned skin from the sleeve of his loose-fitting army green t-shirt all the way down to his wrist and wonder which is the case. His other arm is completely covered in colourful tattoos. Even his hands and fingers are littered with them.
“Stop looking at him like that,” Beckett whispers in my ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine.
Jesus Christ, Penny.
Stop it.
I try to play off my reaction as a response to the temperature in the room, adding a little, “Brrr,” as Beckett watches me. Considering my shirt is still damp, it’s a plausible excuse, but clearly not one that he buys, given his amused chuckle.
He tosses his arm over my head and rests it behind me on the back of the booth. I don’t bother telling him to remove it because it’s a lot better than him getting jealous and pissing a ring around me or something equally as gross to mark his territory.
Suddenly, the bar goes quiet, as if everyone has just noticed the man sitting quietly on the stage, and then, after another moment of heated silence, he begins to strum the intro to “Rich Men North of Richmond” by Oliver Anthony, on his guitar.
“Oh, I love this song!” Evie says loudly, placing her free hand on her cheek.
Unfortunately, because of the now quiet room, her voice carries, and half the occupants of the bar turn their heads to look at her, including the singer.
Her outburst has him fumbling over the first few words of the song and then stopping all together. He scowls, raises his hand to shield his eyes from the spotlight, and the small silver hoop piercing his nose practically sparkles. Any normal person would shrink into themselves a little, but not Evie. She raises her glass and yells out, “Well, come on then! Sing !”
Laughter fills the bar, and then everyone starts chanting, “Sing, sing, sing, sing!” Until, eventually, he shakes his head, grins down at his guitar, and he does.
“Little fairy,” Ryan calls over the table to Evie, using his weirdly adorable nickname for her. “How about you just stick to your usual type? I can fuck one of those preppy assholes up if need be.” He pauses and nods towards the man Evie can’t take her eyes off. “I’d give it a good crack, but I’ll be honest. I don’t think I could take him if he messed around with you.”
She laughs at his comment and sits at the edge of the booth beside Beckett. I shuffle down a little, as does Beckett, to give her some room, but she doesn’t notice. Her eyes are firmly locked on the stage as the man’s incredible voice echoes around the now almost silent bar.
We all watch, in a trance, as he sings. His voice is deep and raspy, and when he finishes, the sound of applause is so sudden and loud that I flinch.
He stands, nods to the crowd, and once again, looks in our direction. Evie nods to herself, downs the rest of her drink in one large gulp and then stands abruptly. “I’ll be back.”
Molly slides back over to me, grabs my arm and squeezes, as we both lean forward, around the giant of a man sitting beside me, to watch the show.
One irritated glance at Beckett, and he’s moving to the other side of the booth, with Ryan, where it’s safe, and Molly and I gain an unobstructed view of Evie weaving her way through the crowd of people.
When she finally gets to the other side and comes face to face with the singer, who is well over a foot taller than her, we both hold our breath, and we wait.
He grins down at her and raises an eyebrow as she boldly steps forward and grabs a fist full of his shirt, tugging him down so that she can speak into his ear.
“Oh my God,” Molly whispers, and I nod in agreement, unable to tear my gaze away from the two of them.
A second later, he moves his head so that his mouth is beside her ear.
They stay like that for far too long, and then, when he’s finished speaking, he straightens, removes her hand, smooths the front of his shirt, and winks at her before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
“Shit. Look away. Drink,” Molly hisses as Evie spins around and starts making her way back toward us. “She’s coming back. Play it cool. Play it cool.”
Within seconds, Evie is standing at the edge of our booth, her hand held out for my drink.
Ryan stops speaking to Beckett immediately and looks at Evie. “What happened?”
Evie shakes her head as I pass her my glass, and then, after throwing the alcohol-free beverage back, she scrunches her nose and reaches for Molly’s instead.
“What did he say?” Molly and I both ask at the same time, curiosity eating us alive.
Evie downs the rest of Molly’s gin and tonic before practically slamming the glass down on the table. “Well, the good news is, he knows who I am. Bad news is, he follows The Serial First Dater , and he isn’t interested in me whatsoever.”
“Oh, honey,” Molly says, but Evie raises her hand and shoots her a wicked grin.
“No, no. The war is not lost. I’m going to get me another drink, and then I’m going back in for round two.”
With that said, she turns, flicks her blonde hair out of her face, and then sways her little ass across the room to the bar where Walker is ready and waiting for her.
I’ll give it to her. No one bounces back from rejection the way Evie does.