So long as I keep my gaze off Brendon, this feels good.
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.
Supposedly, he has a cock piercing.
And he has that colorful sleeve tattoo. Fuck, there’s something about a full sleeve that makes me weak in the knees.
But even with all that—the thought of Dean’s hands on my body makes me cringe.
The sight of Brendon’s shoulders in that snug t-shirt—
My heartbeat is already picking up.
My lips are already parting.
My body is already screaming more.
“Kay? You there?” Emma asks.
“Yeah.” Sort of.
She motions to Dean. Then to the karaoke book, currently up to Britney Spears.
She taps I’m A Slave 4 U.
Uh…
There’s no way I’m singing anything that sexual. And certainly not to Dean. But it’s a good idea.
I need the right song.
One I know.
One I can sell.
One that says everything I want to say.
“You don’t have to sing, Kay,” Walker says. “It is your party.”
“Yeah,” Leighton agrees. “Not all of us get off on blackmail.”
“Get off? Huh?” Dean jumps to his feet. “Am I needed?”
She laughs. “You think you’re that good?”
“Think? Honey, I don’t think shit—”
“That isn’t news,” she says.
“I know.” He motions come here to Leighton. “I’m more than happy to prove it.”
She sticks out her tongue no thanks.
Emma shoots me a concerned look.
I shake my head it’s fine.
‘Cause I’m in love with Dean. Yeah. Right.
I’m running out of energy to sell this.
Time to sell… well…
I just hope this gets through to him.
“Thanks. But I’m looking forward to my debut.” I plug the number into the machine. Take the mic from Emma. Step up to the front of the room.
The TV flashes with my song.
I force myself to turn back to the room.
To stare into Brendon’s dark eyes.
And I let Ariel’s words fall of my lips.
I find the intention to sell every line of Part Of Your World.
When I’m done, my body is buzzing with nervous energy. I can barely hear everyone clapping. Yelling. Teasing.
I can’t see anything but the softening in Brendon’s expression.
He knows I’m sorry.
And maybe he forgives me.
But that doesn’t mean he’ll be mine.
He might never be mine.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brendon
My eyes stay glued to Kay.
She moves back to her seat. Crosses one leg over the other. Smooths her skirt.
Fuck, that blouse is cut low. It does things to me. Makes me forget every one of the reasons why this shouldn’t happen.
I have more self-control than this.
In theory.
Now that I know Kay wants it hard and rough—
Fuck, she owns my thoughts.
She leans in to whisper something in Em’s ear.
Whatever Em whispers back gets Kay blushing.
I hate being away from her.
Hate being pissed at her.
Hate that I’m actually thinking about tossing aside every rational thought in my head.
I’m not that much of a caveman.
Even if my cock is making a hell of a compelling argument.
She could be pinned to the bathroom wall. Bound to my bed. Bent over my knee.
Dean kneels in front of Kay. He holds out his hand. “If you’ll please, madame.”
“I prefer Miss,” she teases.
He chuckles. “I didn’t know you were into this.”
“Huh?” Kaylee places the mic in his hands.
“Men on their knees.” He winks and he jumps—actually jumps—to his feet.