I pretend to study her, though I’m mostly just after an excuse to admire the way her silk shirt hugs her curves. Mötley Crüe really should consider marketing silk polo shirts.
“Yeah, I think you’ve got the upper body strength for that one,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure your earlobes can handle that sort of strain.”
She holds a straight face, but I can see she’s on the brink of giggling. “I already stockpiled a pound of Gouda and a set of jumper cables for the Manchurian Twist, but if you’d rather start with the Blinking Lightsaber, I suppose I can look into renting a chainsaw.”
I snort and splash my beer on the table. I half expect Lisa to whip out a dishcloth and start tidying, but she keeps her attention fixed on me. “Nah, let’s go straight for the Throbbing Beanstalk,” I suggest. “I’ve already got the inversion table set up in my living room, and the bear grease is just going to go to waste if we don’t use it.”
She tries and fails to mask a giggle as her eyes flash with mirth. She drums perfectly manicured fingers on the table and pretends to ponder. “Okay, but if you suggest the Crooked Licorice Whip, I’m going to have to pass. It took forever for that last nipple piercing to heal.”
I bust out laughing, bested at my own game. God, what is it about this woman? How the hell can she do sophisticated and silly, straight-laced and sexy, all at the same damn time?
I shake my head and study her over the rim of my pint glass. “You know, you’re turning out to be a lot different than I thought you’d be.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Do I?” Must be because I keep thinking it.
“Yep.” She grins and takes a sip of her own beer. “I can’t say this is what I expected, either, when I dragged you home from the bar.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Good.” She sets her glass down, considering. “I needed to break out of my shell. To try new things. I never realized that until I met you.”
I nod, wanting to ask more. Wanting to know where she sees herself in a month, a year, five years. If she sees The Test as a temporary game, or a chance to make more life-altering changes.
But I’m spared the embarrassment of asking any of those questions as the waitress arrives with a heaping pile of hot wings and a trough of ranch dressing. “Here’s your napkins.” She plunks down a pile of scratchy brown paper. “If you need a refill on those beers, better get it now. Karaoke’s about to start.”
I glance toward the stage to see a skinny guy with a mullet and a white T-shirt. He’s adjusting a microphone and squinting at a screen that will display lyrics for all the songs. I turn back to Lisa. “Which sister does karaoke?”
“Missy. She’s the older one. Married to Brooks.”
“What’s her go-to karaoke song?”
She shrugs and picks up a hot wing. “Usually Bette Midler’s ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’”
I do my best not to gag, though I’m sure she sees the mirth in my eyes. “Once she did an Adele song after a few tequila shots,” Lisa adds. “But yeah, usually it’s kind of pretentious-sounding stuff.”
“Missy’s the taller one, right? And Cassie is the scientist?”
She nods, and I can tell she’s surprised I remembered. “Cassie tried karaoke once,” she says. “But that was just because her fiancé was there and she wanted to serenade him.”
“What song did she pick?”
Her cheeks pinken, and I know it’s not from the spiciness of the wing she just bit into. “She sang, ‘When I Think About You I Touch Myself.’”
I laugh and grab a hot wing of my own. It’s tangy and spicy and messy, and the thick poblano-spiked sauce coats my fingers. I finish chewing before I ask another question.
“Have you ever thought about what your song would be?”
She shrugs and grabs another wing, clutching it daintily like it’s a teacup. There’s a smudge of sauce at the corner of her lip, and I ache to brush it away with my thumb. Or my tongue. Or?—
“I’ve had a few song ideas,” she says. “Nothing concrete.”
I can tell from the way she’s avoiding my eyes that she knows exactly what song she’d sing. And that there’s a story of some sort behind it. I wait for her to finish licking sauce off her fingertips.
“Wow, these are spicy,” she says.
“Too spicy?”
