Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
She’s exactly the kind of person Bex always steers clear of, so I know what Val wants me to say. Of course it’s an act. But after watching her play Kate’s constant, affectionate companion tonight, I’m not sure I believe it. And neither does Val, which is why he’s in a mood. I hope, for both their sakes, that she hasn’t caught any actual feelings for the Irish whirlwind who’s walking onto the stage. That way leads to heartbreak.
“Oi, you drunks,” Kate shouts into the microphone, though the way people react she might as well be purring. “Are you ready for one last prezzie from me before we pop off for the night?”
The pub vibrates with the answering affirmative roar.
“Somewhere in this pub is a man that can melt your knickers off with his voice. At least, that’s what I hear.” She winks. “It’s a big night for him, the start of a new adventure, but it’s going to be bigger if we can convince him to get up on stage and sing us a carol right now. If he’s any good, the band might ask him to be their temporary front man while theirs has a baby. Since he could use the money, let’s hope he’s also got the pipes.”
Another roar, this one fanning out as the crowd looks around for the promised crooner. I have this inescapable feeling that she’s talking about me. Did Bex get her fake girlfriend to turn my temporary unemployment party into an audition I didn’t ask for?
“No,” I say as I meet Val’s knowing gaze.
He’s finally smiling. Almost.
“Absolutely not,” I repeat more vehemently.
“Didn’t ‘rockstar’ used to be your dream job?”
I refuse to dignify that with an answer. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher and he knows it. School was my salvation and teachers were my mentors and substitute family. But I also love music and yes, back when I was young and stupid, I’d occasionally dream of doing it professionally, either on Broadway or in a band. I got my yayas out on open mic nights at the drag club and did a few paying gigs here and there. But then I found out there wasn’t a regular paycheck or health insurance in it—and that I wasn’t going to be the next Bruno Mars, Idina Menzel or Lin-Manuel Miranda—so gave it up. I rarely sing in public anymore.
(My classroom and karaoke nights don’t count.)
“Come on up here you gorgeous, black-haired devil!” Kate encourages loudly.
Connor appears at my side, his blue eyes sparkling and his cheeks worryingly rosy. “I was wondering if Bex was ever going to do it. Sing, you black-haired devil!” he urges gleefully, his earlier upset forgotten.
All the people around me start chanting “Sing, sing, sing!” until I roll my eyes and send Bex a look that says her scheming is not appreciated. The one she sends back is a clearly defined dare that’s brimming with excitement.
She’s trying to help. She’s worried about you.
Hell. I guess I’m doing this.
I slowly get to my feet, feeling the old adrenaline starting to pump as the audience cheers. I do love an audience, but even if the band offered, I doubt I’d take the job. I’m not in my twenties anymore, and I’d drive them crazy with my anal need for perfection.
Still, I wouldn’t want this mob turning ugly. “Sure. Why not?”
CHAPTER TWO
When I make it to the stage, Kate wraps an arm around my waist as if we’re old friends. “They love you already. By the way, if this band doesn’t tickle your fancy, I could use a pretty Guy Friday for an upcoming event or two. An anniversary and a possible engagement.”
“Neither of those sound like your brand.” I lean in so she can hear me over the commotion. “Is Queen Calamity going legit and turning into an actual party planner?”
“Maybe I’m tired of parties altogether,” she says mysteriously. “Anyway, Bex trusts you and she doesn’t appear to trust anyone but Brady and his man. Not even me.”
“Because she’s smart and you’re a professional heartbreaker?” I quip lightly.
Her eyes sharpen, but her smile stays firmly in place. “I hear we have that in common. Why don’t you think about it after you give us a carol then? Do you know that Ed Sheeran bop? It’s peppy but melancholy enough to end this the right way. It is an Irish pub, after all.”
“I know the song.”
When she hops offstage, I lift the microphone. The moment I start to sing, the place goes silent. The keyboard joins in and by the time I ask them to “kiss me under the mistletoe,” I’ve got everyone smiling, bobbing their heads to the beat and eating out of the palm of my hand. To be fair, they’re all drunk and wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. Not exactly a rough crowd to please.