Chapter 10
Once on stage, Dylan tried not to freak out. And the whistles that came from a few women lurking in the crowd, certainly didn’t help matters.
Thoughts of his conversation with Liam—you know, the one when he braggedno onecould convince him to partake in karaoke—flashed through his mind like a mob of lightning strikes. Turned out, no one other than Chloe was the hidden caveat to his, now useless, declaration. He wanted to hate himself for being so taken by her. Drawn to her. Downright mesmerized. You think he cared about that damn manuscript she seemed so desperate to get back?
Not really.
All right, maybe he was a tad curious.
Yet, he was even more curious about how it would feel to taste her heart-shaped lips. To graze his fingertips along her smooth skin. To wrap his arms around her.
Still, he wasn’t about to lose, regardless of how drop-dead-alluring his opponent was. Then there was Samantha, who’s unmistakable yelp could be heard in the crowd with a timely,Go for it Dylan,shout-out.
Crap.
If he made a fool of himself, he’d have to give his sister the weekend off.
Gritty tenacity would carry him out of Wilde Pirate a winner. No flipping doubt about it.
Stage lights dimmed.
Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
Then the words to the song began…
Oh, my gawd, Becky. Look at her butt.
Yep, Dylan was sure he would pull out a karaoke victory toSir Mix-a-Lot’s, Baby Got Back.
Microphone in hand, he hopped around, turning his back—well, actually, his denim-clad rump—to the roaring crowd while the beat thumped and bumped.
As Dylan twerked and gyrated, the wordsI like big buttsflowed out of his mouth like a lyrical meteor shower. The audience participated as they joined in, rapping along to the popular 90s tune. Some even jumped on stage, acting like Dylan’s very own satirical backup dancers. By the time the four-minute song was over, Wilde Pirate was a blast, and the crowd chantingDylan! Dylan! Dylan!prompted him to simply drop the mic before strolling off stage to the curtain-covered wings.
“I’m impressed,” Chloe said, blue eyes round with sarcasm.
“Don’t hate.”
“Hate? Actually, you warmed them up for me.”
“Oh, as if my performance was your very own opening act.”
“That’s right, Sir Twerks A Lot.”
Pulling her close, kissing the sneer right off those full, gloss-coated lips, would have been a classicin the momentmove. But it’s not like they were the hero and heroine in one of Chloe Davenport’s novels, for crying out loud.
So instead Dylan said, “Good luck out there,” in a tone that mimicked his mockery-filled expression.
“I feel like you’re being sarcastic right now.”
Dylan’s folded arms, head tilt, and half-smile was all he needed to offer up in response.
And likewise, it seemed all Chloe needed to offer was a simple “Hmm,” before she pranced on stage, the scent of her vanilla perfume making Dylan’s lips part into a subdued,wow.
Damn it if the woman didn’t smell just as good as she looked.Good thing she probably sucked at karaoke, right?
Uh…nope.
Because on stage, Chloe glowed like an angelic being from above.
