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With a squeeze of my neck, he headed toward the bar, and I tried to ignore the gawking stares of Ethan and Laney across from me.
“Oh, you guys didn’t know?” Kennedy asked, index finger wagging between me and Dean’s best friend and sister. “Yeah, those two are hot and heavy, aren’t you?” she said with a scruff of my hair.
“Well,” Ethan started, nodding, “I’m surprised and yet not.”
“We knew he had a thing for you,” Laney whispered, although not really because her voice carried like any other person normally spoke. I was learning that Laney’s inside voice was equivalent to everyone else’s outside voice.
“We just didn’t expect him to be so…” Ethan circled his hand in the air. “Open about it.”
I rolled my lips over my teeth, not sure what to say, so Kennedy filled in the silence for me. “I told her she had to fuck him to get it out of her system.”
I elbowed her that time.
Ethan laughed. “Yeah. Hank said the same thing.”
“Where is Hank?” I asked, craning my neck to search for the Hawaiian-shirt-wearing lead singer.
“Grayson’s sick again,” Ethan said.
Laney shook her head. “It’s one thing after another with that poor kid.”
“Yeah. Strep throat this time.”
Laney, Kennedy, and I cringed.
“We told Hank that if he showed up tonight, we’d all kick his ass.”
Laney nodded absently as she tapped on her phone. “What’s their address again?”
“Why?”
She held her screen so Ethan could see it. “I’m sending them pizza for dinner. I’m sure they could use it. Probably exhausted or not feeling well themselves. Strep is so contagious.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” I said.
Kennedy laughed next to me. “You’d never think of something like that.”
I gave in to a smile. “Correct.”
Ethan typed in the address on whatever app Laney was using to order dinner for the Laus as Dean strolled up with a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
“You singing tonight?” I asked, accepting the drink from him to sip the special whisky.
“Yep.”
Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be great.”
“Let’s hope. Or we won’t be asked to come back next month.”
I passed the glass back to Dean. “You’ll do wonderful.”
He let out a dubious sound then threw back the rest of the whisky and bent to kiss me on the lips.
“Good luck,” I murmured against this mouth, and he inhaled, as if trying to swallow my words down. “Don’t be worried.”
He straightened, his fingers toying with the ends of my hair. “You know how I hate the spotlight.”
I threw my head back to laugh, and he smirked before jogging up to the stage. He settled behind the mic in the center, looping his black-and-white electric guitar over his shoulder. “Hey, everyone. We are the Anchormen, but no, I am not Hank, our usual singer. Not nearly as funny or good-looking.”
