Headstrong (14 page)

“You’ve lost a lot of flexibility in here.” Reece indicated his own hip and groin area as they cooled down and stretched. “We need to work on your crescent and hook kicks.”

“I’ve been reshaped in the last half a decade. Flexible hips don’t get you up to Kelburn on an eight-speed.”

“Maybe not, but—”

“Enjoy yourself all right, Libby?” Colin interrupted, clearly disinterested in continuing this conversation or, indeed, this teacher-student dynamic.

“Yes, very thrilling. I feel extremely confident about walking around tonight with you two thugs.”

“I was hoping to clock Reece in the head, maybe knock him senseless enough to sing.”

Reece smiled and shook his head. “Keep dreaming.”

After he and Colin showered and changed back into their street clothes, Reece tidied up the front desk and shut the computer down. It’d been a long day, but he was pleased to have finally succeeded in getting Colin in for a workout. It made him feel like his older brother again, and less like an interloper as he sometimes did, following the near-estrangement his years-long absence had created.

Libby turned to Colin as they laced their matching shoes. “So what are you thinking for songs, tonight?”

“I’ve got a few candidates I’d like to run by you. Unless you already have something in mind…?”

“Since you ask.” Libby unzipped her jacket pocket and extracted a floppy red crocheted hat with white polka dots and a green starburst in its center, fashioned to look like a strawberry. She cocked her head to model it for them. “Not bad, eh? What do you think? You promised me a Prince number.”

Reece shrugged his ignorance and Colin said, “It’s
raspberry
beret, genius.”

“Oh come on, this is so close! I found it in a secondhand store too. Pretty apropos,” she gloated, as energized as Reece had ever seen her.

“You get half-credit,” Colin allowed.

“I don’t see you making an effort.”

“My purple suit is at the cleaners.”

Reece locked the studio, and they started down the steps, the bike slung effortlessly over Colin’s shoulder. Just when had he gotten so strong? When had he grown up, and why hadn’t Reece been there for it?

“I’m so glad you guys are coming,” Libby said. “You can pick my tracks for me. I usually let the DJ do it, but if I get charged with one more Christina Aguilera song I’m going to strangle someone.”

Colin laughed. “Steady now, white girl.”

“There’s too much pop music. You know, like
new
pop music. They should really get one of those digital karaoke setups where you pick whatever you want and the system just downloads it. Although then I guess Tim would be out of a job.”

Reece held the door open and they stepped into the cool evening air.

“But
you
guys,” Libby went on, “you should get that for the bar! Like,
Karaoke, every Saturday at eight at Paul Nolan’s
.” She held her hands up as if envisioning the marquee. “You could get a whole new crowd in there.”

“A crowd, full-stop, would be a nice change,” Colin said.

“Have you forgotten some of us have to
sleep
above that pub?” Reece asked.

Colin derailed the argument, switching back to the musical fare as they headed toward Ghuznee Street. “For myself I was thinking ‘Brandy’, if they have it. Ultra-hammy?”

Libby nodded. “Always a classic. I’d also like to see you as Robert Palmer.”

“Intriguing. And I have a couple Phil Collins numbers in mind. Want to team up with me for ‘Easy Lover’?”

Reece raised an eyebrow. If he hadn’t been in on Libby’s not-so-scandalous little secret, he’d have found the idea of them singing a song about a cold-hearted cock-tease a bit too close to reality for comfort. It was, after all, Colin she had wrapped around her little finger both on stage and off.

“I like it,” Libby said. “But better yet—‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light’.”

“Oh, genius! And long. We’ll really make these people suffer before the night is over.”

Reece smiled until Colin said, “What about you, Reece?” just as Libby said nearly the same thing.

He glanced between them, his noncooperation crystal clear as they waited for a walk signal.

“Oh, come on. You have to sing
one
of these nights,” Libby insisted.

“You know,” Colin said, “you’re on to something with this karaoke-at-the-pub idea, Libs. Reece wouldn’t have any excuse for his sobriety. How many drinks would it take to get you to sing, eh?”

“You two conspirators can think again.” Reece caught them exchange a look he didn’t trust one bit as they crossed the road and reached the club.

“Just one little song, Reece?” Libby asked as he held the door for her.

He ignored her. She retorted with an impressed face and a semi-discreet slap on his backside, and sashayed off to the DJ’s table with his brother in tow.

Reece headed for the bar and took out his camera. There’d be no point taking photos of her while she was performing with Colin, but Libby on her own would be all right. There wasn’t anything inherently unseemly about karaoke, and her style of dress was far from revealing. The most incriminating thing about her—that breed of inflammatory, guerilla flirting she constantly engaged in—probably wouldn’t show up on film.

A hour and three soft drinks later, Reece was shocked to find that he was actually enjoying himself, watching his brother and Libby performing. If he didn’t know the two people on the stage, he’d probably assume they must be the most fun
couple on the face of the Earth. What his sister had said resounded again in his head—it was nice to see Colin so happy for a change.

He put his camera down as Libby slid onto a stool beside him.

“You having a good time?” she asked, flushed from her latest number.

“I might regret saying it, but yeah, I am.”

“Oh, good. Your brother is.”

Reece nodded. “That was a choice one—he does a mean Prince. Down one octave, I mean.”

“Getting lots of good documentation?” She leaned into him to stare at the little screen on the back of his camera. He turned it on so she could flip through the images, and her hair brushed his cheek, its scent making Reece feel as if he were at the ocean, tidal waves bearing down on him.

“None of me and Colin together?” she asked.

“I love my brother to death and he’s a bloody good bloke,” Reece said. With a pang, he recalled an occasion when he’d been prepared to attest to this fact as a character witness. “But Colin’s got to be the illustrated definition of a father’s worst nightmare.”

Libby frowned thoughtfully.

“But you on your own should be fine. You look about half as respectable as you sound up there, which is saying a lot. Your dad won’t be able to take offense, I don’t think.”

“He’ll manage to,” she said, but sounded pleased by it.

Reece looked her over, trying to square that devious expression with the timid one she’d worn a week ago when she’d first convinced him to kiss her. Then he turned to the stage, where his brother the reformed punk was belting out “Delilah” without a trace of shame.

Libby read his mind. “What was it they said about books and their covers?”

He nodded.

“Bet you were surprised when you got between my pages.”

He gave her a wry look. “How long had you been planning that, anyhow? When did you first decide to recruit me as your…kissing instructor?”

She grinned. “From the moment we walked into the emergency department.”

Reece shook his head. “The sirens should have been a tip-off.”

Another hour passed. Colin smiled to appreciative members of the audience as he made his way to the bar following another duet. He found his brother looking suspiciously content.

“Very nice,” Reece offered.

“Ta.” He ordered Libby’s wine and a tonic water for himself and took a seat. “Aren’t you going to ask me when we’re heading out?”

“Nah, you kids have your fun.”

Colin paid for the drinks as they arrived and nudged Reece’s shoulder affectionately with his elbow, heading back out into the fray to find Libby. He spotted her at a table in the center of the club.

“Oh, shit,” he heard her mutter in an urgent, low tone.

Colin stopped at her side. “What’s up?”

She grabbed the glasses from him and set them roughly on the table. Colin found himself grasped by the shoulders and drawn into a situation that nothing could have prepared him for—kissing Libby.

Out of the clear blue sky, or at least the glowing neon of the club, her lips were pressed into his. Mouth closed but as potent as a hand down his pants. After a few seconds of wide-eyed shock, he was pushed back to arm’s length.

Colin blinked. “Crikey.”

“Sorry. It’s him again—Rich, the idiot you saved me from this morning.” She glanced over his shoulder, scanning the crowd.

“Is he coming?”

“No, he’s gone now. Good work.” She rubbed her thumb at the edge of Colin’s mouth, at the lipstick she’d transferred during the assault.

“Crikey,” he repeated, heart pounding. He glanced back to make sure his brother hadn’t seen, and mercifully found Reece engaged in a conversation with the bartender. He turned back to Libby. “Are you trying to kill me? A hug might’ve done.”

“Sorry.”

He recovered somewhat, though every fiber of his being wanted to toss Libby across the sticky tabletop and make filthy love to her in front of fifty of their favorite strangers. He cleared his throat. “Just for that, I’m picking your next track.”

“That’s fine, I already picked yours. You’re probably up soon, actually. Better start warming up those lower octaves.”

“Barry White?”

“Way sexier. You’ll be beating the girls off with a stick.”

Colin shrugged. “We’ll see.” He’d just been kissed by the only woman in the bar he had any interest in. In the whole city, for that matter. “Wait and find out if I know the lyrics first.”

“Here’s hoping.” Libby raised her glass. “You’re on after this one,” she added as someone’s request for Amy Winehouse wound down.

“Duty calls.” Colin set his water by her elbow. “Watch my cocktail.”

Libby released a loaded sigh as Colin departed for the stage. A martini was set beside her wine, and she turned to find an acquaintance from the club, a local girl about her age named Sara. Libby thought she was an okay sort. For a girl. Sharp and sarcastic. Sang a mean Joan Jett.

“My, my, my,” Sara said with shifty approval. “You and Colin Nolan? Very well done.”

Libby felt a funny jolt in her middle. “Sorry to disappoint, but we’re just friends. He was saving me from that guy.” She nodded to where Rich was chatting up a mousy girl at a nearby table, glancing Libby’s way every minute or so to check if she was looking.

“You sure?” Sara asked. “That’s a shame. I just got here and I thought I’d stumbled onto some scandalous news.”

“How do you know Colin?”

Sarah shrugged. “Everybody knows Colin. He’s a Wellington fixture. Though I’ve never seen him here before.”

“He came the other week too. Wait ’til you see him sing.”

“Intriguing. And you’re sure you guys aren’t…?”

“Definitely not. I prefer his brother, actually,” Libby added, the wine making her more blabbermouthy than her sober self would likely prefer. She pointed to where Reece sat at the bar.

“The Ice Prince? Good luck. I couldn’t believe when I first heard they were brothers, hotness aside.”

Libby shrugged.

“You’re after the wrong Nolan, if you ask me. Colin’s got a bad reputation, in the best way.” Sara raised her eyebrows with lewd amusement. “I heard he’ll do
anything
.”

Libby frowned. She felt possessive of Colin, protective. Reputation or not, he was the most open person she suspected she’d ever met, and she didn’t like him being spoken about in hushed, snide tones, even if the words involved were technically flattering.

“He’s not my type,” Libby said dismissively.

“Right—Colin’s every girl’s type. A friend of mine calls him the Superette,” Sara said, using the Kiwi term for a convenience store.

Libby raised her own eyebrows, demanding an explanation.

Sara smirked. “Because apparently all the ladies ‘come again’. And again, and again, and again.”

Libby’s cheeks burned. “Have you…?”

“No, I’ve got a boyfriend,” Sara said in a regretful sort of singsong. “And he’s probably got a waiting list a mile long, anyway. That boy’s in high demand. Must be the whole dark, tragic, damaged-goods appeal.”

Damaged goods?
Libby didn’t like admitting to being out of the loop about anything to anyone. She chose to not probe this irritating girl for further information, even as curiosity burned away at her insides. And anyway, Colin wasn’t tragic…a bit melancholy sometimes, perhaps.

“Well, I’m not interested,” Libby said blandly.

“Too bad. I hear he gives
amazing
head—”

“Dude!” Libby gave Sara a fakely scandalized look to cover up a legitimately scandalized lurch in her stomach. “Do you mind?
So nasty. He’s
just
my friend.”

“Just as well,” she said, glancing at Libby’s wine glass. “I was going to tell you to switch to water. I heard he won’t go home with a girl who’s been drinking.”

Libby smiled to herself.

Sara caught it. “I know, a stallion with standards. Won’t hook up with a girl who’s got a boyfriend either. Quite the white knight in a black T-shirt. Except for…well, you know.”

Libby didn’t know, but she nodded in a knowing way to get Sara to shut up. “Excuse me, I think my song’s next,” she lied, taking her drink and slipping into the crowd.

Thanks to her tarty persona, people often felt compelled to share such sexual tidbits with Libby. Normally she just smirked and mustered some cool indifference, but not that time. Not about Colin. That was too weird. Not brother-sister-creepy-weird but definitely icky. It made her feel… Well, something. Disconcerted or intimidated. Curious, against her better judgment and way beyond her comfort zone.

Colin took the stage and slid the mic out of its stand as the dark synthesizer of his song began. One of his brows shot up, and he smiled out into the crowd, presumably toward Libby, though he probably couldn’t see her. He was clearly impressed and pleased with this assignment—Leonard Cohen’s “I’m Your Man”.