Page 17 of Something like Desire

“The drinks are flowing and the night is young!” she announces. “It’s time for our talent night to get underway.”

“Talent night?” I repeat, looking around at the other bar patrons who look equally surprised. What is it with this place and the constant need for around-the-clock guest involvement? Forget Hibiscus Resort, they should call it Participation Paradise. “I hope she doesn’t think that we?—”

“It’s going to be fun,” the redhead interrupts. “We hope you’ll join in. There’s a cash prize for the winner.” The woman makes eye contact with Zach and then me, and I feel like I just unwillingly signed a contract.

I feel my pulse quicken and my body temperature skyrocket. “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper, then push my chair out and stand up.

The liquor must be catching up with him because his scowl subsides and he cracks a wide grin and gestures for me to sit back down. “What’s wrong, Lexi? Don’t you have a talent you’d like to share?”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” I say. “Let’s go to a quieter bar so we can figure out our strategy.”

“You said it yourself. The ball’s not in our court. We’re playing the waiting game. Why not earn some money while we kill time?”

Is his prickly attitude giving way to something more fun? Who is this guy and what did he do with Zach? I point at his camera. “It’s going to be hard to go around and show each guest your photos on that tiny screen.”

“I have other talents,” he says, and I feel my face heating up because the way he says it almost sounds like an innuendo. Or an invitation.

I freeze for half a second, then recover. “Um, like what?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he says with a cheeky half-smile.

I try to ignore the sensation that shoots through me by concentrating on moving around the salt and pepper shakers on our table.

“Be right back.” Zach slips his camera strap over his neck and goes over to talk to the MC, who nods enthusiastically at whatever he says to her.

He holds up a finger to signal he’ll be back, and I sip on my drink as—one by one—almost everyone sitting in the beach bar takes the stage. There are songs played on metal spoons. A man who can run backward through the alphabet without hesitation. A woman who can make a variety of bird sounds. I’m trying my best to look inconspicuous because the last time I did a talent show, I was in the tenth grade, and I recited a poem by memory—only to be met with complete silence until a few teachers felt sorry for me and applauded half-heartedly.

I check my phone. No messages from Mom to the catfish. It shows her last login as a month ago, so maybe I shouldn’t hold my breath. It’s also after nine. Maybe Zach chickened out of showing his talent and called it a night. Or maybe he was lying about it, and just left me here like an idiot, waiting around for him to reappear. Either version would be rude, leaving me here, but having any expectations of him is probably stupid. I barely know the guy.

I signal to the waiter for my tab and take out my wallet. By the time I look up again, Zach has taken the stage, a guitar strapped across his chest where the camera used to be. Ofcoursehe plays the guitar.

“And next up, we have a musical number,” the redheaded woman says into the mic.

Zach grabs one of the barstools and pulls it onto the stage. He sits down, relaxed, and shoots me a quick grin before turning to face the room.

Then he starts to sing.

It’s “Hallelujah.” I’ve heard the song a million times before—but not like this. He sings it with so much passion that I feel like singing along with him, using it as an outlet to release all the less-than-pleasant feelings I’ve had over the last week. His tone is beautiful, and he has just a hint of bravado without being over-the-top. He has the type of voice that sends goose bumps running along my arms. Giving me a sensation I have no way to control.

By the time he finishes, the bar falls completely silent. And not like after my poem, back in school. No, this silence feels more like people are still processing what they just heard.

Then the applause comes, loud and enthusiastic. Some people cheer, others clap slowly like they’re still caught in the moment.

Zach gives a small smile, looking slightly surprised by the response. His eyes flick over to me, and he looks at me like he actually cares whether or not I’m impressed.

“Nice job,” I mouth to him, which is a whole lot more toned down than what I really want to say—something along the lines of,Holy shit, I didn’t know you had a voice like that.

He grins and mouths back, “Thanks.”

“That was incredible,” the host says, beaming as she steps back up to the mic. Then she turns and looks right at me. “I wonder if your girlfriend’s also a singer...?”

I stiffen slightly.Girlfriend? I should probably correct her, but I just shake my head and avoid her gaze, hoping she’ll move on.

“What’syourtalent?” she asks, undeterred. “It could be anything. Cartwheels, naming capital cities, yodeling.”

Before I can answer or make a run for it, Zach appears behind me, leaning in close. “Come on, Lexi,” he says quietly, teasing. “It’s just for fun. Want me to play a few chords? You could sing something. I could even sing along with you if you’re nervous.”

I glance at him, half amused, half mortified. If he heard my singing voice, there’s no way he’d be asking me to make a fool of myself like that. Let’s just say I take after my mom in that department. The more expectant looks I get from the other bar patrons, the more I figure maybe I should just do it. I don’t want to be the only one killing the fun.