Chapter 8 Kari #2
“I was looking at a house over there. It’s the perfect location being so close to everything, but it’s so expensive! You don’t need a roommate, do you?” She laughed as if she were joking, but she wasn’t.
I took a deep breath and looked at our hands, trying desperately to not lunge across him and knock that blue eye shadow off her face.
It’s my hand locked with his. It’s my palm he’s running his thumb across. Stay calm.
I turned my head to look at Max, before Isa caught my eye. She just winked and pressed her lips together. I knew she wanted me to mark my territory but I was too angry at Sam’s blatant come on that I couldn’t think straight.
Max chuckled. “I do need a roommate, actually.”
Sam looked delighted and my blood singed my veins.
“But I can’t seem to get Kari to agree to move in,” he said, turning to look at me with a lopsided grin. “I even promised to sleep naked and not watch The Discovery Channel in bed.”
“You probably scared her off with the sleeping naked bullshit,” Cane offered.
“Fuck you, Alexander,” Max laughed and squeezed my hand again.
“There’s nothing Max can do to get you to say yes?” Isa asked, a glimmer in her eye.
I pretended to think about it. I needed to look amenable to the offer so Samantha wouldn’t smell an opening, but I didn’t want to agree on the spot because that would be obvious. All the while, I needed to avoid the alarm going off in my head about how jealous I was.
Jealousy means you have something to be jealous over.
I shook my head, trying to focus.
“Well, if Max really wants me to move in with him, he’ll sing karaoke tonight,” I smirked, knowing good and well he wouldn’t. He’d said so himself a few minutes earlier.
Max returned my smirk and pushed away from the table in one effortless movement. He stood and twisted his Saints cap backwards on his head.
“What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief. My eyes bulged, my throat going dry. I glanced quickly at Samantha and the look on her face mirrored mine.
We were both struck with fear for the very same reason.
Sam caught herself quickly and smiled before bending down and pretending to rummage through her purse.
“Seriously, Max. Sit down,” I said softly, tugging at his hand.
“I gotta pick out a song. Any suggestions?” He asked the table.
“You’re really going to do this?” Pierce asked in disbelief. “Isa, make sure you get it on video this time!”
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned her with a grin. He bent down and kissed me loudly on the lips. “Better make hay while the sun shines,” he laughed, heading towards the stage. He paused and turned to me. “Be thinkin’ which side of the closet you want, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t even respond. I couldn’t formulate a “Don’t do this!
” or an “Are you crazy?” or a “Wait a second!” because, for one, I had been rendered completely speechless.
I never, ever dreamed he’d actually do it.
And for two, I didn’t know which response I wanted to go with.
A part of me was terrified of the idea and another part of me felt like a salve was being applied to my wounds as he walked to the stage.
Max stuck his hands in his pockets and made his way through the crowd. A bachelorette party was finishing up, murdering one of Ariana Grande’s hits.
“You know you have to go through with this now, right?” Cane asked, glancing quickly at Samantha with a huge smirk on his face. “You’ve finally agreed. He’s not going to let you out of this.”
“I’m sure he’s kidding,” Sam said, giving Cane her best innocent look. “He’s too much of a gentleman to hold her to this.”
“Of course he’s kidding,” Brielle laughed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be dumb.”
Their banter was broken by the emcee taking back the mic. The final beats to the song pounded through the speakers, as the man on stage began to speak. “The ladies out there are going to love this one! Keep your panties off the stage, please!”
I couldn’t hide my satisfaction at Samantha’s reaction when Max took the stage.
He looked downright edible in his dark denim jeans that hugged his thighs in a way that made me want to remove them.
He had a black t-shirt with a motor company logo stretched across his chest and his black Saints cap on.
The bachelorette party, now seated in the front row, began to cheer and yell at him to take off his shirt. He ignored them, fiddling with the mic instead. He looked nervous, completely out of his comfort zone.
As the beat to We Rode In Trucks by Luke Bryan started to play, Max raised his head towards the crowd.
I laughed out loud at his song of choice, the tune he sang constantly.
He held his hand over his eyes, shading them from the bright lights, until he found me.
He pointed at himself and then at me, before raising the mic to his mouth, the equipment catching the last bit of a rough chuckle.
He watched the screen as he began the words to the song.
“I can’t believe he’s doing this,” I said to no one in particular. My eyes were focused on my man, who kept chuckling instead of singing, like he was in as much disbelief as the rest of us.
The first chorus ended and the second began and he settled down.
His southern drawl was pronounced, his voice low and sexy.
Encouraged by the cheers, he began to sing a little louder and laugh a little less.
As his confidence grew, his voice evened out.
I’d heard him sing a number of times to himself in the truck or while he was building a bookcase or something, but I had no idea he could really sing. Not like that.
The song ended and everyone clapped, the bachelorettes asking for an encore without clothes. Max looked across the crowd and smiled.
“One more! Throw me your shirt, baby!” someone yelled from the front of the room.
“Sorry, but there’ll be no encore tonight. I gotta go help my lady pack her stuff.”