I cross my legs. Tap my toes together.
When Walker finishes, he hands the mic to Dean. And Ryan picks up the other one.
Huh. Ryan sings.
Strange.
Walker plops next to Emma. Pics up the karaoke book, studies it closely, finds the song to plug into the machine.
The lyrics to a classic grunge song flash on screen. Dean jumps onto the table in the middle of the room as he belts out the first line.
He motions to Ryan let's go.
Ryan shakes his head, but he does get off the couch, move to the front of the room, and sing.
He really sings.
With passion and zest and enthusiasm.
It's like he's a different person.
The two of them are both there. In the song. Feeling every word.
The two of them aren't exactly great singers, but they're swinging for the fences.
And they're working together.
Like brothers who actually love each other.
Like it makes sense they have matching forearm tattoos.
Like they can fight and makeup and everything can be okay.
I check to make sure no one is watching then I pull out my cell and shoot him a text.
Kaylee: I really am sorry.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He looks up at me.
I nod check it.
He pulls out his cell. Glances at the screen. Then he's tapping a reply.
Buzz.
Brendon: I know. We'll talk later.
Kaylee: What does that mean?
Dean takes a bow as the song ends. He nods and waves to his adoring audience—we're clapping a little—then blows us kiss after kiss.
He winks at me. "Your turn."
"It's your turn, Kay." Emma takes my free hand. "Pick something or I'll pick for you." Her voice lifts to that encouraging tone.
She thinks this is my opportunity to finally tell Dean to be the one to "pop that cherry."
Dean is undeniably attractive. Tall. Tan. Piercing blue eyes, long, shaggy hair. He's funny. Confident.