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“Having fun?” I murmur in her ear before kissing down her neck.
“Mmm,” she purrs. “Lots of fun.”
“There’s something I forgot to tell you about this place,” I whisper.
She turns around, draping her arms around my neck, her head tilted. “What?”
Just then, a tall man in a cowboy hat strides onto the small stage in the front of the room. “Our weekly karaoke contest is about to begin!” he announces to scattered applause and whoops. Jenna’s blue eyes widen and she looks at me suspiciously. I shrug innocently.
“Still trying to get me to sing for you, huh?” she asks with a raised brow.
“Maybe,” I confess. “C’mon. You’re a star. Karaoke should be no big deal for you.”
Jenna looks toward the stage, her expression wistful. “I do love karaoke…” she says. When she looks back at me, she’s grinning widely. “I’m going to sing a song. Just for you.”
“I’m a lucky guy.”
She pecks me on the cheek and runs to the stage to sign up. I head to the bar, ordering us another round of drinks. Something, however, tells me she won’t need any liquid courage for this.
Jenna sits down with me and we watch the first few contestants sing. One person wails their way through I Wanna Dance With Somebody, while another belts out Aerosmith’s Dream On, a song I would prefer be left to Steven Tyler. When I visibly wince, though, Jenna pokes me in the ribs. “They’re doing their best,” she giggles quietly. “Singing is hard, and I appreciate anyone who gets up there and tries.” Sure enough, she claps loudly and enthusiastically after each performance. I try to match her gusto.
When the man in the cowboy hat calls her name, Jenna turns to me and seizes my hand. “Here goes nothing!” She kisses me on the cheek and practically skips up to the stage, looking happier than I’ve seen her so far. I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. I have a feeling we’re all in for a treat.
When the opening notes for Pat Benatar’s Hit Me With Your Best Shot start to play on the karaoke track, the crowd erupts in hoots and hollers, mine among them. Jenna takes the microphone out of its stand, strutting around the stage and working the crowd before she even starts to sing. I can’t help but grin. She’s definitely in her happy place up there.
When the first notes leave her mouth, my jaw drops open. I knew she was a good singer; I could tell just from her humming and whistling, and knew she toured with a band of moderate renown. Still--and I’m not prone to hyperbole--her singing is beyond what I knew a human was capable of. Each note is strong, gorgeous, crystal-clear with a sexy growling edge: the voice of a true rocker. Her charisma, too, is off the charts, from every dip of her hips to the winks and grins she gifts to the spellbound crowd. I’m just as enchanted as the rest of the audience, and feel something like pride swelling in my chest. She’s with me, I want to shout, as if this were a teen drama from the 1950’s. Instead, I say nothing, but can’t stop smiling.
That’s my girl.
When the song is over, she strikes a pose, and the crowd loses their collective mind. People stagger to their feet, clapping and cheering as if she just scored the winning touchdown at a football game. Jenna bows, and waves, and bows again, mouthing thank you’s to the front row. It’s a truly magical moment. I wonder if she’s reliving her time touring with her band, and a bittersweet taste enters my mouth. If she were to truly marry me and move to Snow Valley, her time with her band would probably be over…
I don’t have time to dwell on this, because Jenna hurries back to the table, beaming hugely. “That was so much fun!” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling like the stars outside.
I stand up and wrap her in my arms, planting a kiss on her forehead. “You were incredible,” I murmur in her ear. “The best singer I’ve ever heard.”
“Oh, stop it,” she mumbles, but I squeeze her even more tightly.
“I mean it,” I say with conviction. Then, to prove my point, I dip her in my arms and kiss her with as much passion I can muster.
When we leave the bar, her plastic first place trophy clutched proudly to her chest, I kiss her again, beneath the smattering of stars.
“You’re something else, Jenna Cook,” I whisper.
She looks up at me, her eyes dancing. “You mean it?”
I smirk. “I didn’t say what the ‘something else’ was.”
She swats at me playfully, and we hold hands all the way home.
8
Jenna
“Oh, my God! Jenna!”
My best friend Sarah squeals and drops her baggage as I run to her and hug her tightly. I can’t believe that I’ve been in Snow Valley for three months now and haven’t seen her. Usually, we spend every weekend together, doing a bunch of different things: participating in band practice, going to brunch, going shopping, or best of all, listening to music while dancing like crazy people. I’ve been so happy in Snow Valley, but it hasn’t been the same without my bestie.
