“Whoa.” I blink, replaying his tone in my head. I shake off my offense and explain. “Plenty of romances begin with a shaky song—the thing is, it doesn’t have to matter. Because it’s more about the experience we’re shar?—”
“I have to be honest, Fran. Singing is not your skill.” He shakes his head. Dumb Doug isn’t listening to a single word I’m saying. “You really shouldn’t do this again.Ever.”
He’s starting to annoy me. A lot. He’s completely judging my mediocre shower voice like he’s Simon Cowell.
So, I throw some judgment right back. “Well, you’re noJosh Groban, buddy.”Gah! It’s the worst comeback ever—because the man is some kind of Josh. We both know it. Dumb Doug has the voice of an angel. How did he never realize it before?
Doug drops his jaw in offense at my retort. While it may be a lie, it is having the desired effect.
“What?” I spout. “You can be honest with me, but I’m not allowed?”
I should be nicer. I should be trying to make amends. But I’m tired. After Lance the brunettist, fifteen hours at the diner, and a full week of college studies, I’m just… tired.
“This date is over,” touchy Doug snaps. “Never to be repeated.”
“Oh, it’ll be repeated. Just not with you!” I smirk—it’s the exhaustion. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. “And I’m paying for my own drinks.” I’m not sure I’m really sticking it to the man with that one, but I’ve said it, and I’m rolling with it.
“That’s big of you,” Doug says. It’s when thatbuhsound from “big” reverberates off the microphone in front of him that I realize our conversation has been on display for the entire bar.
I swivel my head, gazing out at the crowd. The crowd who, minutes ago, paid us very little attention—besides sleepy Mr. Smiles in the back. Now, they’re all looking our way.
And silent.
I rack my brain for a scene from a movie—any scene—to help me turn this night around. But my hard drive of romcoms is failing me at the moment.
My mouth goes dry, and a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. It takes a lot to embarrass me. And I once met a date on Lake Tesoro for a boat ride to recreate theTitanicbow scene with a man I’d known less than a month. It did not go well. But at least Jedd didn’t make me feel two inches tall.
Doug gave me the kill sign. Which apparently means the exact same thing in America as it does in Turkey and Scandinavia. Yep, Doug told me I sucked. Doug basically asked me to pay my own way as we wrap up this not-so-great date. And he did it in a microphone, in front of a crowd.
Thanks, Doug.
Four
The sliveredmoon sits behind a cloud tonight, so the only thing lighting up my teammates’ faces is this Reno streetlamp. We have an hour drive back to Lake Tesoro, and I’m tired. But we don’t have practice until four tomorrow, and the boys are pretty content to make fools of themselves tonight. Singing, dancing, and behaving like overgrown children. It may be due to the fact that some of our teammates are technically children. Wade turned nineteen just last week. Which is why he isn’t here tonight.
“It’s Cal’s turn,” Lucca says.
“Nah,” I say. “If I’d wanted to make a fool of myself, I would have sung karaoke like a clown.”
“Hey now,” Sawyer says. “I was one of those clowns.” Sawyer isn’t actually offended at my jab; our new goalie fits right in with the rest of our Red Tail family.
“And you were great, Kincaid.” Maverick slaps a hand on Sawyer’s back. “Whitaker’s just jealous.” Maverick Monroe calls everyone by their last name—in fact, I’m not sure he remembers anyone’s actual first name.
“So jealous,” I mock.
“What are the odds we get ol’ Captain Cal here to do something a little unexpected tonight?” Lucca says. “He didn’t sing karaoke. I’m not sure he even took one drink of his beer.”
I didn’t. I don’t drink in season. They shouldn’t either. Besides, the guys forced me to go out with them tonight. They’re calling it a “So long, Simone” celebration.Good riddance, and let’s party.If that’s the case, it’s overdue. The woman left a month ago.
Maybe I should have tried harder to enjoy myself. I did appreciate the act from that little brunette—she was entertaining. I mean, until her boyfriend broke up with her on stage. Poor thing. That hit a little too close to home.
“Come on, Cap,” Lucca says. The man loves to hear himself speak.
“We have practice tomorrow, and it’s—” I peer down at my watch, but it’s only ten-thirty. When did I become the bore of the party and such an old man?
Lucca laughs. “Okay, Callum’s betting against himself. Anyone up for bettingonhim? He just has to do one thing—anything. Something unexpected, something out of the blue, something non-Cal and anti-Simone.”
I flutter my eyes in a childish roll. Though I might be the only grown-up here tonight. “How old are you, Lucca?”
