Noway. I had to do it now, right?
“Are you?” I asked, suddenly curious about his music taste. “Into that sort of thing?”
He leaned a little closer, picked up his beer, and said, “I definitely know all the words without looking at the lyrics.”
“Oh, dear God,” I replied, reaching for my glass, smiling despite myself as I took a drink because the one-two punch of his überdirect eye contact and deep voice felt more powerful than the whiskey that warmed my throat.
And as he watched me, I realized that I wanted a little stupid silly moment with Connor—just the two of us—before life went back to normal.
I could let myself have that, right?
“Okay, so I guess we have to do ‘Exile,’ ” I said, shaking my head in disbelief as I set down my drink.
“Is Distefano excited about this?” he said before lifting his bottle to his mouth.
“Not excited, just trying to end this miserable date,” I teased. “But ‘Exile’ is a great song so we will do it.”
“Gimme More” started playing in my head yet again as I watched him take a few swallows of his beer, my eyes dipping down to his neck.
Knock it off, you thirsty bitch!
“We both know you’re excited, regardless of what you say,” he said, using the little keypad at the table to sign us up. “You’ve never done karaoke before, have you?”
“No, I have not,” I admitted, lifting my glass and downing the rest of my drink. “Have you?”
“Let’s just say there was a karaoke barwaytoo close to myapartment in college. My friends and I were there all the damn time, making fools out of ourselves on a regular basis.”
I could totally picture it. He was so confident and funny that even as a no-name college freshman, people probably went to that bar just hoping he’d be there with his friends.
While we waited for our turn, he entertained me with funny college stories that made his eyes crinkle and his dimples pop. There was something about laughingwithhim, our eyes meeting easily, that felt so nice that it kind of made me sad.
Wistful for something.
I am truly a wreck.
Then he mentioned playingCODwith his friends, which made me launch into all the stories of learning to playCOD—the old-school World War II version—with my dad and brothers when my mom thought I was doing homework, and we got so lost in conversation that I almost forgot where we were and who I was with.
Until we were called to the stage.
“Please welcome to the stage, Kenny and Dolly,” the bartender said into the microphone, looking bored as he made the announcement then quickly went back to mixing drinks.
I looked at Connor. “Tell me that isn’t us.”
“I couldn’t use our real names,” he said with a look that told me he wasveryamused by his choice of fakes and not even the tiniest bit sorry.
“So that was your only option, is that what you’re saying?”
“Pretty much,” he said with a smile as he stood. “You ready, Distefano?”
Yes, it was a dive bar and it wasn’t packed, but I felt a rush ofbutterflies as I climbed to my feet. There were enough people out there to make me want to throw up at the idea of singing in front of them.
But when we stepped onstage, I glanced at Connor and he gave me another smile. That world-famous Connor Cunningham grin. There was a reason why people in the city loved him, above and beyond how good he was at football. He had this crackling energy about him, like he was down for a good time all the time, and dear Lord, he was giving me that good-time smile right now.
I couldn’t help but smile back, especially when I realized that in “Exile,” the opening lines were the man’s.
He had to sing first, and that was wonderful.
And he was brilliant.