Page 41 of Arranged To Be Mine

Beau grabbed the other microphone and joined in, his voice not much better than mine. We belted out the chorus together, both of us laughing between lines, neither of us caring that we sounded like dying cats.

By the time the song ended, I was breathless and grinning like an idiot. My cheeks hurt from smiling. When was the last time my cheeks had hurt from smiling?

“That was terrible,” I said.

“The worst,” he agreed. “Want to do another one?”

“I’m gonna need another beer,” I said. “You get that and I’m going to see if you’ve got any Poison in here.”

“Oh, it’s in there,” he said. “All the greats are in there.”

13

BEAU

Iknew she was drunk when she started doing karaoke without me having to beg. By the third song, she was fully committed, belting out Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” with the kind of enthusiasm that only came from a blood alcohol level well above the legal limit.

By the fifth song, she’d moved on to Guns N’ Roses.

I watched from the couch, nursing my own beer, as Darcy Corwin headbanged to “Welcome to the Jungle.” Her platinum hair whipped around her face. She played air guitar like she was auditioning for a spot in the actual band.

“You’re so nice,” she said when the song ended, dropping onto the couch beside me. Too close. Her shoulder pressed against mine. She leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Like, really nice. Why are you so nice?”

“I’m not that nice.”

“You are, though.” She turned her head to look at me, her eyes slightly unfocused. “You bought me a fox. That was so sweet.”

“A wooden fox,” I corrected. “That’s probably an important detail.”

She waved her hand and then frowned. “Can you buy a real fox? I have a little bit of property.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe.” She grinned. It transformed her whole face. She looked young and carefree and nothing like the woman who’d walked into that coffee shop ready to verbally eviscerate me. The Ice Queen melted. “But you’re still nice.”

She tried to hug me then, her arms going around my neck in a clumsy embrace that was more collision than affection. I caught her before she climbed in my lap.

“Okay,” I said, gently disentangling myself from her grip. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“No, but you’re drunk.”

I stood up and offered her my hand. She took it, letting me pull her to her feet, then immediately swayed. I caught her elbow to steady her.

“Oops. I might have drank a little too much.”

“You drank your body weight in beer.”

“I did not drink my body weight.” She paused, considering. “Maybe half my body weight.”

I guided her toward the stairs, keeping one hand on her arm in case she decided to take a tumble. She was surprisingly cooperative, following my lead without protest.

“Where are we going?” she asked as we climbed the stairs.

“Guest room. You’re not driving anywhere tonight.”

“I wasn’t going to drive. I was going to call an Uber.”