She hands Derek the other microphone, and they launch into it.
And of course, she’s good. Confident. In tune. Working the room.
Derek, however, is…less good. But he’s smiling, laughing as Maya draws him in. And when he jumps in, it’s all ham, all goof. Gone is the stoic team captain, replaced by a googly-eyed, lovesick fool with a microphone. And I feel like I’m getting an inside look at the cute little world the two of them live in.
The room’s clapping along. Filming. It’s chaotic and fun and exactly what I hoped for when I planned this party.
And then the song ends.
Maya’s breathless, laughing, trying to hand the microphone to Tyler. “Your turn!”
But Derek intercepts.
Takes both microphones.
Turns to face us. “Wait.”
The room quiets.
“The winners of the newlywed game need a song too.” He’s looking directly at us. “Come on. It’s only fair.”
Absolutely not.
No way.
Not happening.
The room erupts. Chanting. “DO IT! DO IT!”
I spin, looking for a retreat, and run straight into the rock-solid chest of my fake boyfriend. Brody’s got a mischievous look in his eye.
“Brody…”
He scoops me up—I’d call it sweeping me off my feet, except that it’s the opposite of what I want at this exact moment.
“Brody, no!”
He carries me to the stage, spurred on by a chorus of cheers, and leans in, his breath grazing my neck. “Come on, Chloe. Show ’em what you’ve got.”
Oh yeah. Thanks. Here’s the problem.
What I’ve “got” is a terrible voice and even worse stage fright. So…
Derek hands us the microphones, a challenge issued.
Brody scrolls through songs. Pauses. “You know this one?”
I look at the screen.
“Like I’m Gonna Lose You” by Meghan Trainor
Oh.
Oh.
That’s a love song. A real love song. For real couples.
“I know it,” I manage.
