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Her gaze cuts over to mine, and she nods her head at the stage. “What do you say? Should we give our little fan club what they want?”
I grin back, sparing no amount of cockiness. “Sounds like we’ve got to.”
We get up together and head over to the stairs leading on stage. The guy in charge of the karaoke machine asks us our song.
“Lady’s choice,” I answer.
Vivica shakes her head as if in disbelief and then says, “I figured you’d say that, so I already thought of a song.”
But instead of telling me, she steps forward and whispers into the karaoke machine guy’s ear. He snickers and then nods as he presses a button on the machine.
“Hold up, I didn’t say I’d get on stage without knowing the song—”
“Shhh, it’s starting!”
Vivica grabs my hand and pulls me the rest of the way onto the stage. As soon as I’m forced to face the audience, my stomach drops, and I’m reminded of why I’m no fan of public speaking.
But it’s already too late as the music plays and I gradually recognize the opening notes.
The table cheers loudest of all as the bar draws the same conclusion.
The song is so famous it’s impossible not to recognize it.
Vivica takes one of the microphones, and I stand at the other as our gazes meet, and suddenly it’s as if we’re a team.
It’s us against the world and performing the hell out of this song is how we win.
My part comes up first, and I throw myself all the way in. Gripping the microphone, I give my best attempt at John Travolta in Grease, crooning the opening lyrics to, “You’re the One That I Want.”
Vivica’s right on time picking up the chorus line with me.
It’s immediately obvious she’s actually pretty good at singing and performing. Where I gruffly croon into the microphone, she sings sweetly and captures Sandy’s playful nature.
The crowd’s dancing in their seats by the time we reach the second verse and Sandy takes over the song.
In no time, we’re dancing around each other.
We’re openly flirting as Vivica bats her lashes at me and we slip into a cat-and-mouse chase on stage. Her coyly walking off and me slyly following.
It has all the fun flirtation between Danny and Sandy. Except it’s really us, showing off our connection and chemistry in front of half the town.
The entire bar has gone wild.
Joaquin’s on his feet whistling. Even Buck is grooving in his chair, nodding his head along.
We’re halfway through the second chorus when the front door of The Hen House swings open and a familiar figure stumbles through it.
I know who it is before my eyes fully register the face. It’s got something to do with the way his presence tends to change the mood in the room.
Craig Gibson weaves through the crowd on unsteady legs, his dress shirt untucked and his eyes glassy. He spots our table up front, then glances at the stage, realizing what he’s stumbled in on. A sloppy grin spreads across his face as he drops into an empty chair.
You’d think he was invited by how cavalierly he does it.
The lyrics on the screen keep scrolling.
Vivica’s gone rigid beside me, her microphone lowering a few inches from her mouth. I force myself through the next line but the words come out flat and awkward, the fun drained out of them.
We finish the song because neither of us is the type to walk off stage, but the last thirty seconds are worse than pulling teeth.
