Chapter 9
NINE
Ben
This week hasn’t been the best on record. It’s Friday night, I’ve spent the entire day in meetings, and I want to blow off some steam with a friend, not people I’m friendly with.
I text Deacon and see if he’s around. It’s nine, but he might be up for a late supper. He used to be busy every Friday night because he had custody of his daughter, but now he alternates Saturday nights with his ex, so he might be around.
For some reason, I think about Avril too.
Not that we’re friends or anything. I really hated having to turn her away earlier in the week.
Partly because the problem she was describing seemed to be something I could really help her with, and also because I like her.
I felt like a dick saying no, but I’d feel like a bigger dick if I said yes and then things developed between us.
I’d never be clear if she liked me just because I helped her, and I can’t bear that thought.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s Deacon.
“Hey,” I say, answering.
There’s a commotion in the background, and I struggle to hear what he’s saying. “Come out,” he yells down the phone. “We’re just going into Karaoke Junction on Perry Street. You know it?”
“Karaoke?” I ask. That seems like a very un-Deacon thing to be doing.
“Yeah, the girls want to go. Come along.”
My heart thuds in my chest. The girls. I bet he’s including Avril in that. Aurora seems to be firm friends with her boss. I don’t know if it’s a good idea or a bad idea to put myself in martini range of Avril. I’m likely to end up wearing one.
But it would be good to see her, even if she does toss a drink at me.
“I’m about two blocks away.”
“No excuse, then. See you in a few.” He hangs up, and I shove my phone back in my pocket.
Is karaoke really the way I wanted to blow off steam tonight? Almost certainly not. But if Avril’s there, it might be fun.
I’m padding down the stairs to Karaoke Junction within ten minutes. I scan the heads of the patrons, but I can’t see Deacon. Or Avril.
Then on the right, a black door with a number four on it opens and Deacon pops his head out. “In here.” He gestures. “I hope you came ready to sing.”
“What happened to you?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Aurora says she’s got her energy back, now she’s in the second trimester, and says she wants to make sure we’ve done New York as a couple before the baby arrives.”
I nod. “That makes sense. When I think of adult New York experiences, karaoke is right at the top of my list,” I say, sarcastically.
He grins like he doesn’t give a shit what I think, and I follow him into the soundproofed room.
Inside, the room is completely black. There’s a small stage where Aurora is singing “I Will Always Love You” to her audience, who are sitting on the benches in front of the stage.
I use the term singing to describe what’s happening onstage in the loosest sense.
Aurora definitely doesn’t have the voice of an angel.
In fact, I’m pretty sure the devil is unimpressed right now, but she’s lit up by the stage lights and she’s committed. I have to admire her for that.
“Deacon, I love you,” Aurora yells as the door shuts behind us.
“I love you too,” he yells back, without the aid of a microphone.
“Really, what happened to you?” I mumble, as we head over to the back row of the benches.
I’m still reeling from Deacon’s personality transplant when I see Ryder Westbury and his wife, Scarlett, in front of me. He turns, recognizes me, and shakes my hand.
“Ryder!” I say, surprised to see an English duke at a karaoke spot. Frankly, I’m surprised to find myself here.
In the corner of the room, there’re a couple of women by the bar. I recognize Poppy, Avril’s sister. She sat opposite me at Deacon’s engagement party. Avril must be here too, right? But I glance around the room and can’t see her.
Damn it.
Maybe she’s on a date. Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.
“I’m going to get a drink,” I say to Deacon, as he gazes up at the stage to his warbling soon-to-be wife.
He nods but doesn’t even turn to look at me. I head to the bar. “Do you have a martini?” I ask the barman.
He turns his head and cups his ear.
“Martini?” I ask him.
He gives me a thumbs-up and rummages behind the bar. Then, grinning, he holds up a canned cocktail.
I love a martini. But I would rather drink dog urine than what he’s offering me.
“I’ll take a beer,” I say.
The barman cups his hand around his ear again, and I sigh.
“Beer. Please.”
Another thumbs up, more rummaging, and finally he thrusts a cold beer bottle at me.
I turn and my gaze finds her right away, like I’ve some kind of human homing beacon or something.
Avril.
The woman who feels so good in my arms, in my bed, over my kitchen counter.
She’s standing next to Deacon, grinning up at Aurora, who’s just finishing up her rendition of Dolly Parton’s finest tune.
Avril hollers and cheers like she’s at a Beyonce concert as Aurora takes a bow.
“Who’s next?” Aurora asks, holding out the microphone. “Ryder?”
Avril turns to scan the crowd and her gaze finds mine. Her eyes fill with disappointment and it’s like a blow to the stomach. But I get it. She’s pissed off because I wouldn’t help her because we have history—even if it was very recent history.
Avril turns back to the stage. “What about Ben? He should sing since he was late to arrive.”
“I’m not late,” I say, raising my beer as everyone turns to stare at me. “I came as soon as I was invited.”
“Come on,” Deacon says. “Let’s hear you sing.”
I shake my head. “I’m only one beer in. Give me a second to catch up.”
“No excuse!” Aurora says. “I’m no beers in.”
Maybe it would have been better for all of our auditory faculties if Aurora had passed on the microphone, since she wasn’t drinking.
Aurora takes the stairs down from the stage and hands me the microphone. “Come on, Ben. Don’t be a killjoy.”
Urgh. That’s literally the worst thing you can say to me. I hate the idea that I’m the cause of anyone not having fun. I take the microphone and Ryder hands me the iPad with song choices on it.
I scroll down, trying to find something that I know the words to. Something classic that people are going to sing along to. I also want there to be something about the lyrics that maybe sends a message to Avril.
Then I hit on it. Bruno Mars. “Just the Way You Are.” I press the buttons to play the song and take to the stage.
Jesus. There’s only one way not to look like a dick in a situation like this and it’s not to take yourself too seriously and to fully commit. I take a breath.
I start to sing. Lucky for me, I can sing a little.
Avril eyes me from the bar. Her eyes narrow. She’s probably wondering if I’m going to make a fool of myself. What she doesn’t know about me is that I’ve worked my entire life to make sure I don’t fail at anything. Including karaoke.
I begin and people start whooping. It’s probably relief that they don’t have to listen to Aurora anymore.
And then the people on the benches get up and everyone starts dancing in front of the stage, singing to their significant other or whoever is next to them.
The last thing anyone is doing is paying attention to me. I couldn’t have planned it better.
At the end of the song, I find Avril, lock gazes with her and sing to her. I sing that she’s amazing. Just the way she is. She’s not beaming up at me with love hearts in her eyes, but she doesn’t break our gaze either.
I’ll take it.
Everyone claps, and I hand the microphone over to Scarlett.
I take a seat on one of the back benches as people get more drinks from the bar and pore over the song list. Part of me hopes Avril will come over and offer a truce.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she talks to Poppy, Aurora, Scarlett, Ryder, Deacon, a couple of other people I don’t know.
Basically, she talks to anyone who isn’t me.
After Scarlett’s had her turn, Deacon goes up and sings Abba—which will haunt me for the rest of my life. And not in a good way.
Then Avril, along with Poppy and Aurora, gets up on the stage, and the familiar opening of “I Will Survive” starts.
I chuckle and lean against the back wall, ready to enjoy the show. Avril warned me at Deacon and Aurora’s engagement party that no one wanted to see her rendition. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can’t wait.
They all commit like they’re on Broadway, which I appreciate.
Everyone is whooping and clapping and it’s almost impossible to hear the words.
But they’re all having a ball and it’s fun.
A couple of times, I lock eyes with Avril, and she sings to me like she’s a scorned ex-girlfriend.
It’s adorable. She’d hate me for thinking it, but it’s true.
She clearly wants to put people off with her spikiness, but I find it completely charming.
At the end of the song, I decide to take the bull by the horns and I go over to Avril.
“Great show,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s a great song.”
“A classic. And you were wrong. I absolutely did want to hear it. Can I get you a drink? I presume you don’t own this place?”
“Ha,” she says.
Before she can answer, Poppy joins us. We greet each other with air kisses. “Avril explained how you wouldn’t help her with the Boston site.”
I chuckle. “Right,” I say. Is this an ambush?
“I think I have a solution. Maybe,” she says, tapping her temple.
“You do?” Avril says. “You didn’t say anything to me.”
“I just thought of it when Ben was up on the stage singing to you.”
“He wasn’t singing to me.”
“He’s into you,” Poppy says to Avril, like I’m not there. “It’s obvious. And he wants something to develop.” Poppy’s gaze slides toward me and then back to her sister.
“No, he wants to bang me again.”
I nod but don’t say anything. I definitely, one hundred percent want to bang her again, but something tells me I’m not really involved with this conversation.
“Whatever,” Poppy says. “And you’ve said you can keep it in your pants and keep things just business, so there’s no messiness.”