Chapter 19
“Microphone?” I ask.
As if on cue, a lanky woman in a short leopard print dress hops up on stage, setting up a microphone and a little glowing screen. I’m not sure when the musician left the stage. I must have been too busy chatting with Dom’s friends to notice.
I study the screen until it dawns on me what’s happening.
“Don’t tell me that’s a—” I start to say, but my question is cut off by the woman’s voice booming into the microphone.
“Aloha, everyone, and welcome to karaoke night!” She draws the last word out but is quickly drowned out by a loud cheer erupting from everyone in the bar.
Oh my God.
“Let’s kick this off right!” she yells into the microphone over the mounting music.
The first few notes sound familiar . . .
I know this song. Everybody knows this song.
I look around as dozens of grinning faces start bobbing to the beat.
“Dom, you didn’t mention it was karaoke night!” I yell over the music as “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey starts blasting through two huge speakers.
Dom settles back into the seat next to me, scooting it closer, and wraps one arm around the back of my chair, pulling me against him. He wasn’t kidding about this fake date vibe. I lean into him, enjoying the fact that no one has come up to me with any rude comments yet. It feels good to be out again, without a care in the world. Maybe no one will recognize me after all.
“Benny, you’re up!” Isla shouts. She reaches behind me and slaps the heavily tattooed guy on the back.
I can’t remember everyone’s name yet, but the guy she slapped must be Benny — he suddenly bounds up on stage and grabs the mic, swinging his hips to the beat of the song that everyone in the bar immediately knows by heart, just before the words kick in.
Karaoke night has never been my thing. It’s also something Dom skillfully failed to mention on the drive over. Thankfully, Benny — who turns out to be Isla’s husband — is pretty decent at singing the song. He knows every word without looking at the lyrics. Clearly a seasoned pro.
Everyone in the group eventually takes a turn at the microphone, including Dom, who is hilariously bad at his very own rendition of Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” but in an absurdly charming way. Midway through the song he drops to his knees, belting the chorus into the mic, before hopping back up and singing the bridge at the top of his lungs. The whole bar is out of their seats, cheering for him by the end — his friends standing on top of their barstools, whistling and shouting his name. The whole thing is bad-karaoke perfection, and, by the end, my cheeks are stretched and sore from laughing.
There’s a two-for-one special on mai tais, so I offer to buy the whole table a fresh round before making my own way up to the microphone. It’s my turn, and the extra drinks may or may not be my feeble attempt at greasing them all up a bit before I shock them with my terrible voice.
I’ve chosen “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond, knowing everyone here will sing along and hopefully drown my own voice out. I make my way to the small stage, wishing I had my disguise with me, hoping everyone is just too tipsy to recognize me. But when I step up on stage, a drunk, middle-aged man stands up near the bar.
He’s wobbly on his feet.
“Hey, baby!” he shouts at me. “You’re that girl from The Good Day Show !” Then he pulls out a phone and starts taking a video of me. Before I can hop off the stage, Cliff is at his side. He grabs the phone out of the drunk man’s hands. Then Dom bounds across the bar and jumps on stage to block his view of me.
“Time to go,” Dom growls at the drunk guy, while Cliff quickly deletes the video from his phone. The drunk man starts to protest, but Cliff points to the door, handing his phone back to him.
“Not tonight, dude. This girl’s not here to be hassled or recognized. Especially by you.”
“Aw, come on. I was just—”
“Leaving,” Dom interrupts, not smiling. “You were just leaving.” He points to the door and takes a step forward. “Time to go, bro.”
The guy stumbles toward the door. Cliff follows him, making sure it shuts firmly behind him when he finally disappears outside.
My heart is pounding.
I look around at the sea of faces surrounding the stage, mortified by what just happened. If no one recognized me yet, they definitely do now.
Dom turns around, cupping my face between his hands. The whole interaction has made me feel a bit dizzy.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently. “That prick shouldn’t have done that.”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I tell him quietly. “I’m so sick of hiding from what happened. Thank you for stopping him from taking another video to post online. That’s the last thing I need.”
He holds my eyes in his gaze, studying me like he’s not ready to let go, heat building between us so swiftly that I think he might kiss me. A cheer erupts from the crowd, and somewhere in my haze, I think it might be because we’re about to start making out right there on the stage. It’s not until the unmistakable first notes of “Sweet Caroline” ring out through the speakers on either side of us that I realize the cheers have nothing to do with us, and everything to do with the popular song that’s starting.
“Oh my God.” I breathe out, laughing. “There’s no way I’m singing now.”
He laces his fingers through mine and we turn to walk off the stage, but Isla and Rooney are standing near the edge of it, blocking our path off.
“You chose our favorite song,” Isla announces loudly over the music. She’s grinning wildly, not budging.
“And that guy is gone now,” Rooney adds, raising her brows at me.
“We’re singing it with you,” they say in unison.
When their feet hit the stage next to mine, the crowd erupts again.
“Come on,” Isla shouts in my ear so I can hear her over the music and noise of the crowd. “Don’t let that asshole steal your thunder tonight, babe! Let’s do this!”
They pull me back to the middle of the stage, arms linked in mine, and the whole audience breaks into the first few lyrics of the song with them. Dom stands at the edge of the stage, an amused look on his face as his best friends take charge. I can tell he’s also keeping an eye on the crowd, making sure no one else starts videoing us again without permission. I’m laughing so hard I can barely form the words, but it doesn’t matter — everyone is singing so loud that we can’t be heard through the microphone anyway. I never once have to hear my own voice come through the speakers, and we manage to finish the whole song together.
I’m sweaty and grinning by the time I rack up the microphone at the end.
Isla and Rooney pull me into a three-way hug while the crowd gives us a standing ovation. Then we jog back over to the table, laughing and hitting high fives from beaming strangers along the way.
“You cheated,” Dom says into my ear, handing me an icy glass of water when I finally make it back to the table. I turn around to protest, but he plants a kiss squarely on my lips, evoking another deafening cheer from the bar. He dips me back, egging the crowd on, before slinging me up to my feet again.
“That was hot,” he whispers into my ear. Then he pushes his forehead into mine and kisses me again, before we break apart in embarrassed laughter.
I know my rendition of “Sweet Caroline” was anything but hot.
“Bonnie Tyler would have been very proud of your performance too.” I peck him one more time on the lips before sitting down beside him. He wraps one arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him from behind, kissing me on the cheek, like he can’t keep his hands off me. I lean into him, knowing I couldn’t smile any wider if I tried. This might be a fake-boyfriend act to keep any guys from harassing me, but I love it just the same.
“Oh, get a room, you two!” Benny shouts, before slapping Dom on the back with a grin.
Rooney winks at me across the table and holds her palms out about a foot apart, nodding her head like she’s just shared a naughty secret. Then she erupts into laughter when Isla reaches over and smacks her hand away. They tumble off the barstools together, chiding each other for being so ridiculous.
I absolutely love them all.