She laughed. And it had a mean edge.
Shit.
She’d selected a booth right up by the stage. He looked around. There were a total of six patrons in here. Two at the bar, two watching professional bowling on TV, and them.
Devin slid next to her in the booth. “You’re really makin’ me do this.”
“Yep.”
“Technically, you can’t make me do it, but I will do it if you sing a duet with me.” He offered her a dazzling smile. “Which I get to pick.”
“I’m game.” Her eyes flashed a warning. “Just as long as the song isn’t ‘I Touch Myself’ by the Divinyls.”
“Deal.”
The stage lights came up—a sickly neon green—and the female MC tapped the microphone twice. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s that time—time to get up here and shine. Time to strut your stuff. Time to sing your heart out. To get us warmed up for tonight’s karaoke, brought to you by Grain Belt beer, I’ll get things started.”
“Fifty bucks says it’s ‘The Rose,’” Liberty said.
“You’re on. I’m betting it’s Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy.’”
The MC nodded to the sound guy.
When the repetitive piano chord started, Liberty held out her hand. “Pay up, rockstar.”
Devin took out his wallet and slapped cash in her hand. “For the record, ‘The Rose’ was my first choice for her too.”
“Better be quicker on the draw next time. Ooh, and speaking of next time, you’ll be up next.”
“Take pity on me.”
“Not. A. Chance. You could’ve sung a Maroon 5 song to me the other night, but you blew it.”
“You’re a Maroon 5 fan?”
“A huge Maroon 5 fan,” she corrected.
“Why?”
“Have you seen Adam Levine? Dude. He’s the hottest man in the universe.” She patted his hand. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“That’s it? You like them because the lead singer is hot?”
“Oh, knock off the indignant act. Your good looks have helped more than they’ve hindered you.” She sipped her beer. “But, honestly, I love their music. From songs that evoke pure sex, to heart-wrenching ballads, to catchy pop tunes, to songs you can dance to. They mix it up on every album.”
She’d hit it dead-on why he appreciated their music too.
The loud, totally off-key rendition of “The Rose” ended.
Liberty handed him a folded slip of paper, trying—and failing—to hide a smirk. “You don’t get to look at that until right before you hand it to the DJ.”
Devin took a big swig of beer before he stood. “I’m gonna sing the hell out of this song.”
Why was he so damn nervous as he walked up to the DJ booth? He sang in front of thousands of people almost every night. When he peeked at the song she’d written down, he had every right to be nervous.
Christ. He needed a shot. Or ten.
His cheeks were flaming when he stepped onstage. He adjusted his ball cap and grabbed the microphone, waiting for the words to appear on the screen behind him.
The distinctive brass sounds of horns started off Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” and Devin dove right in.
After he finished the first chorus, he looked over at a laughing Liberty, who gave him two thumbs-up. So he hammed it up, doing his best hip-swiveling, shoulder-shaking Shania impression.
Liberty laughed so hard he swore he saw beer come out her nose.
She leaped to her feet in a standing ovation when he exited the stage. Then she threw her arms around his neck. “That. Was. Fantastic. You rocked my world.” She kissed him with such pure happiness that he had to laugh.
The MC returned to the stage. “Thank you. That was, ah . . . interesting. If we don’t have any other takers, I’ve got a favorite or two I’d like to share with you tonight.”
“Wanna go double or nothin’ on her next selection?” he challenged.
Liberty said, “You got a Benjamin in that wallet you wanna part with? Sure. You pick first.”
“I say she sings, ‘My Heart Will Go On,’” Devin said smugly.
“Nope. She’ll be warbling a different Shania tune. ‘You’re Still the One.’”
They clinked bottles, sealing the bet.
Devin’s jaw dropped when Liberty won the bet again. He handed her a hundred. “Dammit, woman. Are you psychic?”
She shook her head. “Just spent way too much time around karaoke. Not a lot of other activities to choose from during deployment.”
“You ever get up there and sing?”
“Huh-uh. Much easier to make fun of people than to do it myself.”
“Well, that’s not an option tonight, darlin’. And I know what duet we’re singing.” His eyes gleamed. “I want a chance to earn my money back. Fifty bucks says you can’t guess what song I’m picking.”
“Oh, honey, I’m starting to feel guilty about taking all your money, but I’m game. You gotta give me a second to work this out.” She tapped her chin as if in deep thought. “A Faith and Tim song is too obvious. You probably want me to think you’ll choose a country song, when you’ll be thinking of something like ‘I Got You Babe’ by Sonny and Cher or ‘You Don’t Bring Me Flowers’ by Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand.”