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“Gorgeous as always,” I say low enough for only her.
“You clean up alright yourself, Dawson.”
The karaoke is in full swing on stage, a mix of regulars butchering classic country songs and the occasional surprisingly decent vocalist who gets the whole bar clapping.
Joaquin announces himself as the first volunteer from our group and struts up to the stage as if a veteran rockstar about to blow the roof off the place.
The opening bars of “Tequila” by The Champs kick in.
Joaquin stands at the microphone, nodding along to the instrumental, his expression comically deadpan.
The song plays, and he jumps in with increasingly dramatic shouts of, “Tequila!”
Everybody in the bar erupts.
Even Buck cracks a vague smile as the audience sings—or shouts—along and the mood in the air turns infectious.
Next up from our group is Jeb and Tessa, who take on “Jackson” by Johnny Cash and June Carter. Jeb can’t carry a tune even if his life depended on it, though he sings with conviction as if he’s performing at the Grand Ole Opry.
Poor Tessa giggles and then does her best to make it through June’s parts.
By the time the couple stumbles off stage to a round of cheers and laughter, the table’s loud and tipsy off our drinks.
We’re actually treating this like some competition.
Vivica’s knee presses against mine under the table. I press back and catch her eye, sharing in another flirty look.
We think we’re subtle ’til suddenly Joaquin calls us out.
“Alright, Dawson, you’re up!”
“Pass.”
“You can’t pass. Jeb went. I went. Buck’s exempt ’cuz he threatened us with bodily harm. That leaves you.”
“I can’t sing.”
“Neither can Jeb, and that didn’t stop him.”
“Hey,” Jeb protests from across the table, and Tessa pats his arm sympathetically.
Ricky leans back in his chair with his beer. “Come on, Dawson. You’ve gotta give us something. You can’t sit there looking pretty all night.”
I’m about to decline again when Joaquin’s grin sharpens, his attention shifting to Vivica.
“How about a duet with the good doctor? We’ve already had one tonight. Seems only right we get another.”
“Absolutely not,” Vivica says.
“Come on, doc. Jeb and Tessa did it. You and Rhett are... what do you call it? Colleagues? Colleagues can sing together.”
“Colleagues,” Ricky repeats, barely suppressing a laugh. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”
The others chuckle as Vivica and I squirm the way two people dating always do when pressed about their relationship status.
We’ve tried to avoid mentioning anything at work, but it’s obvious the others have caught on anyway.
Vivica seems to reach this conclusion at the same time I do.
