Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“She wants it by June, and I honestly don’t know if it’ll be ready. Bloody typical. Every client expects art to just pop out of me arse, and that’s not how it works,” Tod groused.
“Thank God.” Scott snorted, swallowing the last of his beer before standing.
He grinned at the cute redhead who’d been staring at him for the past hour or so. I couldn’t blame her. Scott was a good-looking bear of a man from Seattle with a thick dark beard, twinkling eyes, and a penchant for plaid shirts. His size and winning smile worked miracles with both sexes, though I’d noticed that he tended to flirt with men more often than women.
“Since you’re up, would you be a doll and grab Maxine from Angie’s evil karaoke clutches for me, Scotty boy?” Tod implored, clasping his hands together theatrically.
“No, sir. That’ll take another hour, and my bed is calling my name.” Scott patted Tod’s shoulders. “Someone’s gotta get up before the arse crack of dawn to bake bread.”
“And pie. Wait for me, Boss.” Becca, a rosy-cheeked blond with bountiful curls and a whimsical sense of style, donned her red raincoat bedazzled with rhinestone raindrops, kissing my temple as she sidled by. “Don’t be sad he wasn’t Mr. Right, hon. Be glad not to find out he was Mr. Wrong next month.”
“Uh, thanks. I think.” I set my mug on the scuffed tabletop. “I should go too.”
“Whoa! Not so fast.” Tod grabbed the sleeve of my suit coat. “I need help getting my girl out of karaoke hell. Help me, Roman. Please.”
Scott and Becca pulled matching yikes faces and dashed to the exit, leaving me with a desperate-looking Tod.
“Fine,” I huffed with a heavy sigh.
It was pouring now. Rain fell like a shimmery curtain, making it difficult to see cars whizzing by on the street. We ducked next door quickly, squeezing through the crowd to a tiny space next to the bar to get our bearings and suss out our friends. Not easy to do. This place was packed with wall-to-wall karaoke enthusiasts.
Someone was butchering a Journey classic, and everyone freaking loved it. Shoot me now.
That was the thing about these places. The worst renditions got the most love. Go figure. Top marks for effort, I supposed, but my ears couldn’t take this for long. It had already been one of those days, and it was way past time to go home.
“Can you see them?” Tod asked, standing on tiptoes. Tod was a vertically challenged free spirit with a mop of brown hair and round glasses a la John Lennon who wore rude T-shirts with black jeans, much to his model girlfriend’s chagrin.
I scanned the pub, wincing at the new round of wolf whistles and catcalls as Journey ended and the opening chords of “Love Shack” blared through the sound system. The crowd went wild. I mean, completely bonkers. I wondered if Maxine and Angie were responsible until I spotted the man on the makeshift stage with the sleeves of his oxford shirt rolled up, a mic in hand, and—
Screech.
No. It couldn’t be.
I squinted in disbelief for a beat, then elbowed my way forward.
I stopped at the side closest to the karaoke machine and stood there like an idiot with my mouth wide open while Chance shimmied like a rock star on amphetamines, belting out lyrics in what had to be one of the best-worst renditions I’d ever heard of the song. He had a decent voice, soulful underneath the playful tone. He threw himself into his performance, flinging his arms in the air or toward the audience, cueing everyone to sing along.
And they did.
Tod pointed to Maxine and Angie dancing and singing at the top of their lungs on the opposite side of the pub, and motioned for me to follow him.
I couldn’t move. I was utterly entranced. And still shocked.
This was the Chance I’d met on that damn app. This was the man I’d been talking to, flirting with, and daydreaming about for months. I hated karaoke with a passion, but damn, I wasn’t going anywhere now.
By the time the song ended, everyone was dancing, singing along, and yes…Chance was their hero. He must have had a few songs under his belt because they knew his name. The crowd chanted, “Chance, Chance, Chance,” whooping and cheering when he took a bow, teetering precariously as he handed over the mic to the MC.
I followed him to the bar…along with Maxine, Ang, and a few dozen admirers. The bartender had a tray of shots lined up and ready to go. Maxi passed one to Ang and the other to Chance, raised hers to toast their new friend, then yelled, “Bottoms up, bitches” or something classy like that.
Crap. They were smashed.
I weaseled toward them and tapped Chance on the shoulder.
He wiped his mouth on his forearm and whirled to face me, bright-eyed and grinning like a madman. His grin faded when he recognized me. He cocked his head curiously and narrowed his gaze before stabbing his finger at my chest.