Harvey was up next, and it was immediately apparent he was more comfortable in the spotlight. He took the microphone from his best friend and stood center stage as he waited to find out what song Tobias had picked for him. As soon as the synthesized drum beat started, he barked a laugh.
“You fucking Rick Rolled me, Toby?” He shook his head at the tatted twin as he sang the first line, strutting across the mini stage like it was Madison Square Garden.
Unlike Otis, Harvey missed some notes, more caught up in showing off for the kitchen staff who had come out to watch than he was concerned about singing well. When he finished, the growing crowd clapped and cheered as Harvey tried to pass the mic on to Toby.
“Nah, I’m going to sit this game out,” he said, waving Harvey away.
“Come on, man. We’re all doing it. Even Tatum.”
“I’ll go.”
Calix snatched the microphone from Harvey and strode toward the stage like he owned the whole damn place. Arrogance didn’t begin to describe the look on his face as he turned around and glanced toward the guy operating the karaoke machine. Like the poor man had any idea he was dealing with a rock god. The music started with a blast of trumpets, and the smirk on his face melted into the biggest, fakest grin I’d ever seen. Donny Osmond had nothing on the charisma that oozed from Calix. He put his all into bopping and strutting across the stage, putting Katrina and the Waves to shame as he made everyone in the restaurant believe he was the only one who ever walked on sunshine.
What. The. Hell.
That was the moment I realized how truly dangerous Calix Quinn was. He wasn’t just a talented musician. He was a chameleon. An actor who could pull people to him in a way that not many performers could without the support of voice modulators and visual effects. Using only a shitty karaoke system in a small, rundown Chinese restaurant, he convinced everyone—even those who couldn’t speak English—that he was a sweet, charming man singing to his love.
My heart thumped as he turned his megawatt grin on me, belting out the last line of the song, and I raised a brow in response, pretending he hadn’t just melted my panties right off me. Because that would be highly unprofessional.
And he would absolutely use the knowledge against me.
As soon as the music ended, the smile dropped off his face. He slid the microphone into the stand and returned to our table.
“I think it’s your turn, Tater-tots.”
I slid him a look that I hoped conveyed all thenot going to happenthat I was feeling.
“Now that I’ve got a sense of your stage presence, let’s talk set lists.”
Calix sighed and reached for a fortune cookie as I pulled out a notebook and forced the band to do some business.
Chapter
Eight
Tatum
“Where are my lucky sticks?”
“Up your lucky ass.”
“Fuck off, De Beaux. He doesn’t need you breathing down his neck.”
“Why? Because he’s hungover again?”
“No, because he could contract an STI just by being in your presence.”
Calix and Harvey were nose-to-nose snarling at each other as roadies moved around them, packing our luggage and the boys’ instruments into the baggage compartment like it was an everyday occurrence to see bandmates ready to throw down before a tour had even left the parking lot.
“If you two don’t quit it, I’m putting you in time out,” I growled, pushing between them. I made sure to only touch Harvey, butneedn’t have worried because Calix took three steps back the moment he saw me.
Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like anyone to touch him, remember?
Harvey wheeled away, stomping up the bus steps while Calix turned his sneer on me. “What makes you think I’d play along with your stupid punishment, anyway?” he asked.
I smothered a smile. Over the past week, I’d learned a thing or two about the boys. My dinner with Otis had been enlightening, and Cringe Karaoke had helped me find my place with them.
“Because you wouldn’t have todoanything. If you’re in time out, I’ll just tell the others they can’t engage with you. No one to fight with. The perfect punishment.”
