Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
When Hannah asked me what work I’ve been doing in Vegas, I told her, honestly, that Josh and his brother, Jonas, hired me for a job and we decided to mix business and pleasure by talking about the specifics here in person. I mean, obviously, there’s a shit-ton more to that story, but the basics of what I said to Hannah weren’t entirely false.
After that, Hannah asked me a follow-up question about my so-called career in cybersecurity, so I answered briefly and quickly redirected the conversation by asking Hannah about her job. My momma taught me the trick to being a good conversationalist is simply turning all questions around, and the trick has never failed me. In this case, Hannah responded to my questions by giving me an overview of the PR campaigns she works on for barbeque chains and dog groomers and such. But after only a brief synopsis of her work, Hannah said, “Honestly, my work isn’t a particularly exciting topic. Let’s talk about our hobbies, instead.” And that’s what we’ve been doing ever since, quickly discovering a shared love of all kinds of things, including our current topic: karaoke.
“I’ll only do karaoke when I’m semi-drunk, too,” I admit. “Otherwise, I can’t make my legs walk onstage.”
“Yep, I’ve got to be tipsy, at the very least.”
“Once I get up there, though, I always have a blast, especially if the crowd is really into it.”
Hannah nods effusively. “There’s nothing better than a rowdy audience egging me on. I turn into the biggest, cringiest ham.”
I laugh. “That’s something I’d love to see.”
“Careful what you wish for, Henny. There’s a fine line between fun and cute and ‘oh my god, someone pull her off the stage before she totally embarrasses herself.’”
Henny. Josh and Kat have used that nickname for me several times tonight, but it’s the first time Hannah’s used it. I have to think that’s a good sign. Hopefully, it means she’s feeling comfortable with me—and not that I’ve unwittingly crossed over into her friend zone.
“You know what I can’t stand?” I ask. “People who go up there and sing in all seriousness. Like, you know, they actually try to impress the audience with their golden pipes. Now that’s cringey.”
“Ugh. I hate that. It’s like, ‘Babe, this isn’t your audition for The Voice. We’re here to laugh and sing along with you.’”
“Exactly. Thank God we agree on that, Banana, because that’s a relationship dealbreaker for me. Even more so than differing views on politics and religion.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she says, wiping her brow. “Crisis averted.”
I can’t help smiling broadly. I know we’re being playful and sarcastic here, but even so, the implication that not qualifying to be in a relationship with me would be a crisis is making my heart rate spike. Hot damn, this is the best first date of my life, and it’s not even close to finished yet. “Actually, if you turned out to be a serious karaoke-ist, then I’d probably have given you a mulligan,” I confess. “Dealbreakers can be fluid when the person in question is a catch-and-a-half.”
Hannah bats her eyelashes. “Thank you. Back at you.”
We smile like goofs at each other before sipping our drinks and smiling again.
“So, what’s your go-to karaoke song?” she asks.
“Anything that gets the crowd singing along, so I’m not up there singing alone.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. If a person picks a song with zero singalong potential, they’re basically a psychopath. That’s my dealbreaker for a relationship.”
“Wow. Crisis averted.” Again, we share a huge smile. I ask, “What about you? What’s your go-to?”
Hannah deadpans, “Anything by Mariah Carey that’s impossible for anyone else to sing along to.”
Of course, I burst out laughing. Holy hell. Hannah is hilarious. It’s not only what she says, but how she says it. Her delivery is always pitch perfect—dry and deadpanned. She’s got exactly my sense of humor.
“Actually, I don’t have a go-to,” Hannah adds. “I like flipping through the book of songs each time and letting the spirit move me.”
I gasp dramatically. “Respect. It’s a rare gunslinger who’s willing to play Karaoke Roulette.”
Hannah laughs. “I’ve crashed and burned doing it that way. Sometimes, I reach the chorus and realize, ‘Oh fuckity, I can’t come close to reaching that note. But you know what I do then? Come here.”
She motions for me to lean in closer, like she’s going to tell me a huge secret, and when I do, the sight of her cleavage and scent of her perfume send arousal rocketing through me.
Once I’m leaning close, Hannah mimes holding out her microphone to the crowd before fake-bellowing, “Let me hear it!”
I lean back, chuckling. “Genius.”
Hannah winks. “Everyone’s got a superpower. That’s mine.”
I can’t help smirking at that. That’s how I’ve always thought of my hacking skills—as my superpower. Too bad I can’t tell Hannah that, since her comment would be a perfect segue. Unfortunately, however, what I do for a living isn’t the kind of thing I’d ever tell anyone lightly, especially not on a first date. Or a tenth, for that matter. As a matter of fact, I’ve never told anyone I’m dating the full truth about my superpowers. I suppose my future wife will know everything one day. That seems like a given. But short of that kind of commitment and trust, I can’t fathom voluntarily making myself that vulnerable. Not to mention, I wouldn’t want to scare off a potential wife by saying too much before she’s gotten to know me thoroughly and would therefore believe me when I tell her, truthfully, that I’m deeply committed to a certain brand of ethical hacking, even if what I do to get there isn’t always technically legal.