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Sophie
“I have an idea. But hear me out first before you say no.” Maya’s words do little to relax me despite her soothing voice.
I look into her warm eyes. “That’s what they say in every bad serial killer movie. No question about it, you’d be the first to die. The pretty ones always go first.”
She offers me a blank stare. “We’re going to a karaoke bar tonight. Please come?”
Well, I didn’t expect to cross off an item from my Fuck It list so fast. Look at Maya, making herself useful during my first weekend. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
She clutches my hand as she lets out a squeal of approval. “Yes! It will be fun! Santi invited us since he had such a bad race. Noah chewed him out for crashing into him, so he wants to let loose with a little singing and a lot of alcohol.”
“I won’t lie, I didn’t expect Santi to choose karaoke as his destressing activity. Now that I’m thinking about it, do they even have English karaoke songs here? You know, like Backstreet Boys and N*SYNC because I don’t want to sing a Korean pop song.”
Maya looks taken aback. “Of course. Didn’t you know?”
“Do I know what?”
“They love karaoke here.” Her Cheshire grin says it all. A sane person would take one look at her and run for the Great Wall of China.
“All right, sounds like a plan.”
Maya claps her hands and rushes to hug me. “I knew you’d say yes. Think of it as a best friend’s initiation ritual.”
“More like a ritualistic sacrifice.” I smile at her.
We finish getting ready for the night. I choose ripped jeans, a slogan T-shirt I knot at the bottom to look cute, and a pair of booties. The outfit is a nod to my inner rock star. Since my singing skills are limited to shower concerts, I’ll fake it till I make it.
Santi introduces himself in the lobby. I get hit with a whopping six-foot-something Spanish man who could moonlight as a model with dark hair and a strong body accentuated by a T-shirt and jeans. His brown eyes assess mine, his olive skin wrinkling at the corners as he introduces himself. He drops his serious brother front once I ask him if he plans on singing better than he drives.
Maya, Santi, and I walk into a dingy Shanghai bar twenty minutes later. Speakers rumble, making it hard to distinguish singing from backtrack music. My shoes stick to the floor while warm air hangs around us.
Santi passes us each a shot glass. “Salud. To a fun night and future memories.”
“And to new countries, friends, and success.” Maya clinks her glass against ours.
We knock back our shots. My eyes water as the liquid burns my throat.
Maya shoots me a shy smile as she passes me a glass of water. I never gravitated toward girls in school, not liking how catty they got about grades and gossip, but Maya acts differently. Although very new, our friendship seems off to a good start.
Our trust continues to grow through the night. After a few drinks, Maya confesses how she finds Noah hot. She whispers her declaration in my ear while Santi grabs more drinks.
Drinks keep coming, a steady buzz making me feel less self-conscious about singing in front of a crowd. I get up on the stage and sing “Don’t Stop Believin’” with Maya and Santi.
As the night progresses, I discover two types of people who do karaoke.
The first group of individuals takes their singing very seriously. They choose songs to serenade to, either of the sultry R&B variety or heart-wrenching country songs. The second type chooses to sing songs from an era of nineties boy bands. Performances include a dance number with poorly executed attempts at synchronized moves after one too many tequila shots.
I fall into the second group, becoming a combo of Baby Spice and Justin Timberlake. Maya and I let loose and dance around the stage while we sing into a shared microphone. Never will I underestimate the power of alcohol again. After tonight, I will bow down to the bottle of tequila, claiming José as my master.
And clearly, we have a mixed assortment of people tonight. When we discussed the plan earlier, Maya failed to mention how her brother invited a bunch of people to come sing and drink with us, including Jax and Liam.
Cue the DJ record scratch.
Liam Zander. Prim signature blonde hair, glacial blue eyes rivaling my art class pastels, and a brilliant smile that blinds me worse than a strobe light—a deadly temptation for my self-restraint. He has a beard he trims close to the skin, giving him a bit of an edge while framing sensual lips. His sweet looks hide how dirty and wicked he is on the inside. He’s a misleading man who suffers from a permanent allergy to relationships, graced with a reputation of being all seduction and heartbreak.
Exhibit A: Claudia McCoy
Exhibit B through Z: everyone else he’s hooked up with over the years
