Killian grabs his guitar. “I get it. Libby and I are singing Aerosmith’s part, right? Because someone thinks he can rap.”
“Knows, Killian. Not think, knows.” Rye takes a mic and glances at Whip. “You good with the beat? Or are we using the karaoke machine?”
“You’re seriously asking me that?” he scoffs. He’s only got his small electric drum kit, but he’s already messing with it. “Don’t piss me off, Ryland.”
“Instruments it is,” Rye answers easily.
“This is going to be so good,” Libby says, her eyes bright. She doesn’t seem to be the type to get excited over trying to mimic Aerosmith, but she’s clearly in her element.
She and Killian put their heads together to plan, and the guys do the same in their corner.
“You know we’re next,” Brenna says to me.
I laugh a little. “I was terrified when I thought I’d have to sing in front of these guys. Because screeching cats is an understatement.”
Brenna grins. “So annoying, isn’t it? When they make it look effortless?”
“Daunting as hell,” I agree. “But rapping? Ha. I can rap.”
She raises one perfectly plucked brow, and I feel a twinge of heartache. That look reminds me of Gabriel. His brows are thick and imposing, but he and Brenna both have that elegant way of expressing themselves with a simple look.
“Most people would be more afraid to rap,” she says.
“Eh, it’s all about owning it. Besides, I had a babysitter who loved hip-hop. This is literally the music of my childhood.”
Brenna grins suddenly and leans in close. “I love hip-hop too. Which is why I totally rigged the game to choose that.”
“You evil genius,” I say with a gasp.
Her grin goes wider before she gets it under control. “I’m pretty sure Killian is on to me.”
So that’s what the look was about. I don’t mention that Rye seems very pleased by Brenna’s pick as well, as if she’s done him a favor too.
“I thought you’d be freaking out,” Brenna says, eyeing me.
“Now you know better.” I give her a nudge on the shoulder with my own.
She nudges back. “If Scottie hadn’t already claimed you, I just might.”
I drop right out of my happy place, and clearly my expression shows it because Brenna winces. Thankfully I don’t have to hear any awkward apology or deflated ego soothing. Whip starts up with a beat.
Killian begins to play the guitar, and they’re on.
Brenna and I squeal with glee as Jax and Rye begin to rap RUN-D.M.C.’s lyrics. I expected Rye to own it, but not Jax. We can’t stop laughing, but we lose it when Libby—not Killian—takes up Steven Tyler’s part, making her voice screechy and throaty just like Aerosmith’s legendary singer.
Killian is grinning so wide, I think he might strain he cheeks. But his playing is on point.
I’ve always wanted to live a life less ordinary, see the world in a way few others have. And I know I’m not alone in that desire. Who wouldn’t want to escape the mundane? Yet, I’ve always known I was ordinary. Not in a bad way, but I was simply Sophie Darling: mostly happy, likes people, has a talent for taking snapshots of daily life. Nothing amazing. I tried to soak up the excitement of fame by being an entertainment journalist. But that only left me feeling tainted and foul.
I’m not certain where my future lies. But I’m here now, living this life. And it is extraordinary. I have one of the best rock bands on Earth singing karaoke for me. Even better? They’re my friends, these funny, talented, generous people. They like me, past wrongs and all.
I soak in the moment, laughing and watching them dance around. And yet, there’s a cold spot along my back, in the center of my chest, that won’t go away. I yearn for the one man who isn’t here, who left me behind.
It hurts, and I have to swallow down the pain, my smile too brittle.
The song finishes, and they’re all giving happy high fives, while Brenna and I wolf whistle and cheer.
Whip plops down next to me, a sheen of sweat shining on his brow. He flicks a lock of inky hair back from his face and smiles. “That’s gonna be hard to top.”
“Show off,” I tell him, nerves fluttering in my belly. I know the song Brenna and I chose by heart. Still, I have to perform it in front of these freaking music virtuosos.
“No stalling,” Rye says, sitting on the other side of me. “It’s your turn now.”
Brenna stands up and smoothes her skirt, taking a mic from him. “We’re doing ‘Shoop’.”
Everyone cheers, and I rise on unsteady legs. Libby hands me her mic.
Brenna is taking Pepa’s lyrics, and I’m Salt. And because neither of us can play an instrument to save our lives, we’re using the karaoke machine. We glance at each other. Brenna’s eyes are gleaming, but her smile is nervous. “All in?”
“All in,” I say, giving her a fist bump.
The song starts, and I can no longer worry. Brenna is true to her word, delivering her lyrics with sass, her hips gyrating. She slaps her butt, and Rye howls, laughing so hard tears stream down his face.