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It’s not cheating per se, but it feels like it. He was obviously holding back his karaoke prowess and so that makes him a stinky candle. A dusty bookcase. A broken massage chair.
My kind insults are not fitting the bill right now. He’s a butt. Which, coincidentally, is what he’s shaking for the crowd right now. Grrrrr. He looks like the perfect model for my Doctors Gone Wild calendar.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from the man; he looked a little green when he was about to start, almost like he might make a run for it. Maybe that was just part of his grand plan to trick me and to win this challenge with Morgan.
At least he’s not looking as uncomfortable as he was when we first got here. I thought the man had attached a pole to his back, his posture was so rigid. He also seemed skittish, like someone might pop out and scare him at any second. I gather he doesn’t like this place, even though it’s pretty obvious that he spent time here. A lot of time, I’m guessing.
Looks like he’s moved past that, because he’s currently laying on the charm and the crowd is eating this up. They’re all singing along, whooping, calling his name. He points in my direction as he sings the words look what you made me do, and I can’t stop myself from laughing.
“It’s gonna be hard to beat this,” Morgan says, leaning in toward me so I can hear her.
“Don’t you worry,” I say, giving her my best smirk. “I’ll kick his butt.”
“I’m not worried, but you should be.”
“Are you trying to rile me up?” I scrunch my face at her. I’m still annoyed with her because she picked Graham as the winner of the photography contest on Sunday. She’s definitely got some kind of bias. Stupid Graham and his beautiful face.
She smiles, deviously. “Of course not.”
I am going to kick Graham’s heinie, but first maybe I should consider changing my song. It seems dumb now in comparison. But I’m pretty sure I’m next, which means I wouldn’t have time to figure something else out. I’ll have to stick with the one I picked and make sure I work this crowd harder than Graham is right now.
Of course, I think this just as the man suggestively pops open a button at the top of his shirt. I won’t know what to do if he strips the entire thing off and shows everyone that torso I’ve been privileged to see pretty much every morning for the past couple of weeks. Mostly because I would never do that myself. I’m not that competitive. I’m pretty sure.
“Take it off!” someone yells, and it only takes me a second to realize it’s Ryan. I look over to see him and Morgan laughing hysterically.
Luckily Graham keeps his shirt on as he finishes the song to loud cheers. Ryan and Morgan jump to their feet and clap for him, which is quite rude and, frankly, insensitive. I’m sitting right here.
“Let’s hear it for Graham,” the MC says, his voice booming out of the speakers. Pretty much everyone is making noise for my stupid competitor right now. They also have no idea this is a competition, but still.
Graham hands him the microphone and then waves to his fawning fans as he walks off the makeshift stage and back toward our table.
The same woman who stopped him on his way up to sing stops him again. Smiling, she wraps her arms around his neck and gives him a big hug. His hands go to her waist, and my insides twist. I should probably look away. I feel ... something. Hurt? No, that’s too much. Dejected? That’s worse. Jealous? I don’t think so. I ... don’t really know what I’m feeling.
Whatever it is, it’s unfounded. I shouldn’t feel anything. This should mean nothing to me. Graham can hug beautiful women anytime he wants. I have no hold on him; we’re just friends. Besides, I’m making assumptions here. She could be his long-lost cousin, and they have finally reunited. Or a coworker at one of his many jobs. I’m also pretty sure she’s neither of those things. She holds on to him with a touch so familiar that even my inexperienced eyes can piece together the obvious.
I need to stop looking in their direction, but I can’t seem to direct my eyes away. Graham finally pulls himself out of the hug, and with a few words and a kind smile, he starts walking back toward us. I quickly look away, leaning in toward Morgan like I’ve been part of her and Ryan’s conversation and had no idea that anything transpired just ten feet from us.
“All right, next up, we have Lucy,” the MC says.
I get up from my chair, take off my jean jacket, and hand it to Morgan because I’m about to throw it down right now and I don’t need anything holding me back. I take a path toward the stage, one which doesn’t go by Graham because ... just because. I didn’t like seeing him with that woman, and I don’t like that I didn’t like it, so I need some space. I also need to get my head in the game. I have a challenge to win, and I’m going to give Graham a run for his money. He’ll be wearing pink unicorn scrubs if it’s the last thing I do.
I take a breath as I walk up to the MC, giving him my best bright—and fake—smile.
“Give it up for Lucy,” he says, handing me the spare cordless microphone. Thanks to Graham, the crowd is already hyped up. Hopefully I keep the energy going and ramp it up even more.
There’s not much of an intro, so I get right to it and start singing the words to “ ... Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears.
“Yes!” I hear Morgan scream over the crowd, and I look over to see her with her hands in the air.
I may not have Graham’s onstage charisma, but the key to winning isn’t always being the best—it can also be knowing your judge. And I know Morgan. I also know that in college, we spent a ridiculous amount of time learning a dance to this particular song, and I still remember it.
I’m not wearing a sexy schoolgirl uniform, but I can make do in this simple black dress. I’m doing my best to keep the tune and do the steps while holding the microphone in one hand. This isn’t easy because Morgan and I obviously learned the dance with usage of both arms. We also had fake head mics that we made using plastic spoons attached to headbands.
I did say I didn’t date much in college, right?
I do my best with what I have, singing the words and doing the moves, managing even to do a pretty good one-arm shimmy. It seems to be working with the crowd, since they have all been singing along and cheering. It keeps me going.
I get to the bridge and the music slows down, and so I walk out into the crowd, singing as I go. I spy a couple of cute guys sitting together and recognize one as the man who sang the Jelly Roll song earlier. He’s pretty cute, with a hat on his head, and he’s looking at me with a broad smile on his face. Not really thinking it through, I plop myself down in his lap and wrap an arm around his shoulder while I sing the rest of the bridge and the next chorus to him. He doesn’t look mad about it; in fact, he’s singing along with me, and I hold the microphone between us.
