Instead, I reach for a cherry. It’s sweet and distracting as it pops between my teeth, and I use my tongue to twist the stem into an easy, practiced knot. Chase does a double take, his gaze dropping to my mouth the moment before I pluck it out and set it on the table.
A perfect little bow.
His eyes lift to mine. No longer uninterested.
A text pings.
Flustered, I look away and fish my phone out of my purse, noticing Kenna’s name glowing on the screen.
Sneaky.
I go to read the text, and on autopilot, swipe down with two fingers, triggering the Speak Screen function that I left on after using it on the treadmill earlier.
A robotic voice erupts from the phone: “I would ride him like a stolen bike down a steep hill with no brakes.”
All three heads snap in my direction.
Kenna chokes on her drink.
Mortified, I fumble to mute my phone, but the voice keeps going.
“Again. And again. Fire emoji. Eggplant emoji. Sweat—”
Why is my volume all the way up?
I slap the screen like it vehemently assaulted me, then chuck the phone under the table. I’m tempted to crush it beneath my shoe, but the voice finally goes silent, along with everyone else.
Chase rubs a hand over his face, scratching at his stubble.
Alex shakes his head, downing his drink in one go.
My cheeks are every shade of red as I grab the karaoke booklet and start flipping through pages. “Well, we could sing now. Any suggestions?”
Kenna—inherently shameless—smirks around her straw as she slurps up the rum. “‘Bicycle Race’ by Queen,” she suggests. “Or ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)?’ That song slaps.”
“Mm,” I hum, the titles blurring into the pages.
“Hey, you two should sing a duet.” Kenna glances tentatively between me and Chase. “That would amp things up. It’s rare to find actual talent in this place.”
“You sing?” Alex eyes Chase, body stiffening.
He strokes his chin, glancing at the book of songs. “Not really.”
“But you—” Stopping herself short, Kenna appears to recalibrate. “I mean, you sang that one time. To me. NSYNC.”
“That never happened.”
“Maybe it was One Direction.”
“I don’t mind a duet,” I say, more to remove ourselves from this smothering furnace. This was a terrible idea. The worst I’ve ever had, bar none. “We can put in an oldie. Something up-tempo.”
Chase considers it, his eyes narrowing, hand combing through his hair. “Yeah. Sure.”
Alex looks at me, then at Chase. There’s a recognition there that breathes cold air along the back of my neck.
I’m on my feet before Alex can intervene, the motion automatic as I head toward the DJ booth, the weight of Alex’s gaze heavy on my back.
The DJ gives me a distracted look as I lean in and ask him to cue up “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys.
