Authors: JoAnne Kenrick
Flo garbled her words. “Hey, I’m not driving. I’ll take hers. How about a Babycham?”
Steve, the rather short barman with thinning ginger hair and a belly flopping over his baggy jeans, reached into a mini fridge and pulled out a small green bottle. He uncapped the drink and passed it over. “It’s on me, Flo.”
The woman grinned and slurred, “Bottoms up.”
“
Lechyd da
.” Steve saluted. “But the drink comes with a promise.”
“You know it.” Flo licked her lips. “I’ll sing later, love. A bit of Lulu. I know she’s your favorite.”
Flo took her bottle, slid off the barstool, and staggered to one of the round tables surrounded by plastic chairs. She joined a few other women Zoe also knew from yoga.
Customers chattered and went through the song list, their bustle and smiles suggesting they were eager to take to the stage.
“So, this karaoke. It’s something you do every year after the fete?” Zoe asked.
“
Ia
.” Betty pulled out a cosmetic mirror. She got busy fixing herself up with lipstick and concealer, and a dash of highlighter on her high cheekbones. “Is he looking?”
Zoe scanned the room for Reverend Thomas. He sat several feet back, in deep conversation with a group of men. “He’s not looking.”
“Good.” Betty rubbed her lips together then smacked out a kiss. “There, much more human-looking now.”
“You don’t really need backup singers. Something tells me most everyone here tonight is dying to get their sing on.”
“Backup singers? Oh, yeah, I may have twisted the truth somewhat.”
“So, if I’m not here as a backup singer—”
“You’re here to host.”
Zoe pushed her drink to the side and tapped her forehead on the bar. “Host?”
“
Ia
, with Dylan. David will be singing a lot, too.”
She side-eyed Betty. “Talking of Dylan. Where is he?”
“Dunno.” Still rubbing her lips together to spread out the lipstick, the woman scanned the room. Her eyes lit, and a smile spread so wide it puffed her cheeks up. “Oh, look who’s here.”
Zoe turned to see what had pleasured her so.
David slinked toward them, his usual thick, raven locks greased back, and he wore tight-ass black jeans that left nothing to the imagination. He’d be singing soprano tonight was Zoe’s guess.
Her gaze wandered to his package, and she gestured with a nod in the right direction for Betty to see. “Impressive.”
Betty crossed her arms and nodded, a glint sparkling in her blue eyes. “Interested now?”
For a woman in her fifties, Betty had game.
“Not even, but, wow, now I get why he’s popular around here.”
He barged between the women and sat, placing his elbows on the bar.
She turned her gaze to her drink and made as though she hadn’t been just staring at his crotch.
“Dolly and Sandra got back from their trip.” He edged his hand dangerously close to hers. “Banging on and on like they’ve been at a five-star all-inclusive in the Bahamas when they were two-star self-catering in
Rhyl
. Hilarious. Oh, those two. No wonder their husbands let them off the leash for two weeks. Blimey.”
Edging back, Zoe thought fast and gripped her camera. “Smile.”
She clicked several times, hoping he’d feel uncomfortable with the camera love and leave. What was she thinking? David loved attention.
He cocked his head and winked, posing for the lens.
Betty cleared her throat. “Haven’t you got something you’d like to ask David?”
Zoe lowered the camera and shook her head. “I think I’ll get this party started.” She excused herself and joined the sound technician at the singing area, making a quick escape from the cheeseball.
The sound technician was decked out in old, oil-stained overalls, which contrasted with his new neon yellow sneakers and backward baseball cap. He jammed his finger up his nostril and hooked it right in there as if digging for dollar notes to feed strippers.
“Let’s get the party started, as they say. So how does one host karaoke?” she asked the man, who was still picking for boogers.
“Dunno. I play the songs, and that’s it, innit, love.” His accent was the strongest she’d heard yet, and she barely made out his words. Dylan had been right when he’d told Rhiannon not to use slang. The language short cut of “innit” did make him seem a lot less educated. He wiped his nose across his sleeve.
“You should take something for that,” she offered, trying not to cringe.
“Allergies,” he confirmed, and sniffed up hard and hocked up a nasty. “Nothing helps, innit.”
”Antihistamines?” What in tarnation had Betty gotten her into?
“Nah, don’t work.” He snorted back mucus. “So how do you wanna do this?”
“Have you got a list of songs?” she asked, scared he’d say yes and pass it to her with the grubby fingers he’d used to search his nose.
“
Ia
, Flo has been circulating them. Last I heard she had a list of what folk wanna sing, innit.”
“Good. Lists are good.”
She called Flo over, and they went over the game plan. And the list.
“Are these really the only songs we have to work with?” Zoe re-scanned the long row of song titles, searching for something modern. Nada. The newest songs were from the early 90s. Of course, this was common for karaoke. Most of the more popular tunes were older ones. The classics, as they say.
“It’s the same one we use every year. Got all the favorites on it, see.” The woman pointed to several songs that, although they were old, were the most popular karaoke songs to her knowledge.
“It’ll have to do.” Zoe spotted a couple of power ballads that she knew well.
“You should hear Dylan sing Bon Jovi.” Flo sighed. “Dreamy.”
“I look forward to it.”
They had ten guests ready to sing their hearts out.
David was up first. Of course.
He squalled out his rendition of “Living on a Prayer
.
”
If she glanced away, he reminded her of the American rock star. He had the gritty voice down pretty well.
Betty waved her back to the bar, and she scurried to her, happy to rejoin her beer.
David winked toward Zoe and ran his tongue over his lips and thrust hard. Like he needed to draw attention to his big dick?
And that’s where he lost the little sexy points he had earned before.
What a douche
.
“This is totally going in my article,” Zoe said.
Dylan’s voice boomed from behind her. “He’s winking at you, Chantilly. At least, I think he’s winking at you. It could be his own reflection in the window that he’s flirting with. I don’t blame him, though.”
Zoe’s pulse quickened. “Why, Dylan, did you just compliment me?”
“
Na
, I complimented David.”
She craned her neck to pass a scowl his way, but she melted at first sight. Dylan, the dirty farmer with a sharp tongue and a mop for hair, cleaned up nicely. Crisp white shirt, smart slacks, and he’d trimmed his beard into a stubble that made his strong jaw line more noticeable.
This was not good. This was not good at all.
“You look nice,” she cooed, trying to be easy-breezy while inside she was steaming up like a coyote in heat and was ready to howl.
She readjusted her butt on the bar stool before taking a sip of her now lukewarm beer.
“Yeah, well.” Gripping her shoulders, he continued, “I throw on a tidy shirt from time to time.” He tightened his grasp and pushed so the spinning stool turned, and she faced him. She caught a waft of his boozy breath. “Now, warm up your mouth.” He tilted her chin so her gaze would meet his.
She knocked his hand away and spluttered her drink. “Excuse me?”
“Throat. I meant throat. Warm up your throat for singing.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You and me, we’re up next with ‘Summer Loving.’” He gave a thumbs-up.
She reached for her camera.
He grinned for the shot and stuck his thumbs-up by his face.
Clicking to take the photo, she said, “Needed to capture a smile on Moody Mostyn.”
“Here, take another.” He flexed his muscles to show off his guns.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Dylan?”
“Me? I’m Danny Zuko. Nice to meet you, Sandy. Come on, we’re up.” He dragged her toward the platform for singing. She didn’t even have time to put down her beer.
“How many drinks have you had, Dylan?”
“Maybe a few shots of whiskey. Jealous?” He winked.
“Erm, not really. Hey, there’s only one microphone. How will we duet?”
“We’ll make it work. Trust me, I’m a karaoke king.”
“Dylan Mostyn, has anyone ever told you that you are full of surprises?”
“Just about everyone who knows me.” He grinned and whispered into her ear, “And I’ve only had two shots of whiskey in case you were actually wondering. All this happiness is just me simply being glad to have a night free from work.”
Darn it, he was a hottie and she was one hundred percent drawn to him whether she wanted to be or not.
There was no escape. Sooner or later, they’d fuck.
It was inevitable.
The opening measures of their song played. Dylan held the microphone so she had to lean into him to reach.
He sang the first line, so raw and full of grit and so completely unaware of how sensuous his vibe was. His rasps trickled into her ears and caressed her, enveloped her like smooth velvet chocolate with hints of decadent caramel melting in her mouth. Oh, my, this Leo sang well. Knicker-throwing good, as Betty would say.
She belted out her notes, the memorized lyrics flowing on autopilot. She boogied, and she smiled. Inside, she swooned and counted down the words until the end of the song so she could…argh, the possibility of this guy killed her, squeezed at her insides, and pounded at her common sense.
The chance that her break from men would refocus her life seemed more and more unlikely the longer she spent with Dylan. All she wanted to do was drag him into the restrooms and make like bunnies.
When they finished, he took her hand in his and squeezed, forcing her to join in his bow to the applauding audience.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” he boasted. Then he side-eyed her and whispered, “Are you all right? You’re pale.”
“I could use fresh air.” She snapped free and started toward the bar.
David waved to her and patted a seat beside him, his grin as slick as they came.
“Go on, get yourself off outside, catch your breath. I’ve got this.” Dylan thwacked her ass.
She jerked and yelped, “Hey.”
Throwing his arms up as if to say “it wasn’t me,” he instead said, “By the way, your singing isn’t too bad.”
“Thanks.” Rubbing her butt to make like he’d hurt her, she added, “I think.”
She reeled outside. The brisk night air hit her, and she sucked oxygen deep into her lungs. Coolness breezed through her outfit, and shivers attacked. But she reveled in the freeze. Finally, she was able to cool her desires down a notch. One more second with Dylan and she was destined to throw herself at him. And he’d spanked her. Actually spanked her. Oh, lordy. She prayed for restraint and reminded herself why she was avoiding men. Why she was avoiding him.
Dylan’s baritone voice thrummed through the oak door. Her nipples tightened. Perhaps a reaction to the cold night? She blamed her prince not-so-charming, or rather prince farming.
“Let’s get this done.” Shoulders pinned back and a pasted-on smile, she rejoined the warmth of the pub.
He sang “Never Met a Girl Like You Before.”
“Oh dear, this won’t do. This won’t do at all.” Betty pushed her back out of his line of sight behind a group playing darts. “No. No. No.” She wagged her finger. “Didn’t I warn you away from Dylan? What’s the matter with you, girl? You’re gonna break his heart when you leave at the end of your stay.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I see it, girl. Don’t be acting coy. Close your mouth. You’re drooling.”
She slammed her lips tight.
No, I’m not. Am I?
“Look at you, practically dripping for the guy.”
Zoe shook her head. “Honestly, Betty, your nephew is safe with me. Where is all this coming from?”
“I thought you were after David,” she snarled. “What are you, a slapper?”
“Whoa.” Zoe threw her arms up, not sure what slapper meant, but it had to mean something bad. Whore or some such. “I think our wires have gotten crossed. I’ve never wanted to date David.”
Betty narrowed her glare and pressed her lips together, much like she had when they’d first met. She pushed a breath through her nose, nostrils pulling wide, and she stormed away with her hands tucked into her pockets and shoulders taut. And now the Welsh Dragon likeness Flo had tagged her with made sense.
Wow. Unexpected.
Zoe started after her, to make sense of the hatred, but she caught sight of Dylan rocking out a number on the stage. He switched songs, and the theme to the movie
Dirty Dancing
began.
That was a duet, yet he sang it alone.
Mesmerized by his swagger, she slammed to a halt. Bangs hanging over his eyes, and his shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbow, he seemed confident and oh-so-off-limits.
He pulled the microphone off the holder and leapt the ten-inch platform as though it were a waist-high stage, knees tucked in and arms high. He knew his stuff, and, by God, he was strutting the heck out of it.
Singing his lines and gyrating like a pro, he headed right for her and crooked his finger to draw her in.
Their gazes caught. Her heart flipped and her sex heated.
Yup. She was hot for the guy.
David tapped her on the shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She dismissed him with a nudge of the shoulder, her gaze glued to Dylan. “No, I’m covered.” No doubt David had a certain “something” that would be quite enjoyable, and at least getting laid would be simpler with him.
“Since when do you do simple?” Zoe chastised herself.
“Sorry?” David asked with a shrug.
“Talk later.”
Zoe moved through the crowd, her stare locked in Dylan’s, and met him halfway. She leaned into the microphone and sang the female part in the song.
He took her hand, and together they made their way to the stage while playing the parts of Johnny and Baby from the movie. She could totally see him playing Johnny, if he shaved. He moved just as well as any professional dancer she’d ever seen.