Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
When I finish, I say, “And now it’s your turn. Thanks again.”
Duke bounds back up to the stage, taking the mic and saying, “Give it up for the one, the only, Sam Silversmith.”
The crowd cheers and claps, and I wave as I head offstage while Duke invites audience members to step right up and pick their tunes. A woman in the front row who comes every week eagerly waves her arm, probably ready to belt out her favorite anthem, “Love is a Battlefield.”
I make my way to the bar, saying hi and thanks to a few people on the way.
“That was great,” a woman with a tight perm says.
“Thank you,” I reply, still amazed anyone comes to these shows—it is karaoke, after all, not a performance people come to just for me—but grateful nonetheless. I try to keep my interactions friendly and brief—I’d rather blend in and disappear at the end of the night, returning to my regular life.
Trouble is, my regular life’s caught up with me, and as I get closer to the bar, I count in my head. Three, two, one…
And there’s my regular life tapping on my shoulder.
“I believe you left this at work,” she says, waggling my phone.
Ah. That’s the answer to why she’s here. I don’t listen to music before I perform or even podcasts. They distract me. I didn’t realize I’d forgotten it till I got to Duck Falls. Once I realized I’d forgotten it, I’d already arrived. I’d planned to swing by Dog Tails later to grab it. But she brought it to me, and I like her thoughtfulness far too much.
Even though it’s exposed me.
“Thanks. Appreciate it,” I say, taking my phone and doing my best to keep my cool, then nod to the shelves of liquor. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I’m aiming for normal right now as I whip off the shades.
Her smile never leaves. It only grows more pleased as she parks her sweet ass on a stool. “You bet you can buy me a drink…Sam Silversmith.” She lets my stage name roll around on her tongue, and fuck, I like that too.
“That’s me,” I say, owning it, since what else can I do?
Her smirk grows smirkier. “And I guess your hot date…is with a microphone?”
“Yeah. Yes, it is,” I say.
She shakes her head like she can’t believe her luck. “Well, well, well. Looks like I discovered the secret of the karaoke boss.”
I cringe at those words. “Is that what you’re going to call me?” I really don’t want her to tell anyone at work. It’s bad enough that she knows my secret.
Her smile vanishes. “Oh, you don’t want me to say a word?” She sounds sweetly naive, but she damn well knows the answer.
“Shockingly, I don’t.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul,” she says, then taps her chin. “In exchange for a favor, to be determined.”
I lift two fingers and ask for a scotch, then turn to her. “And what’ll it be for you, Miss Blackmail?”
“A Coca-Cola, with a cherry,” she says, “and the full story.”
How does this woman always get my secrets out of me? From the smartwatch debacle to my secret life—it’s Chloe’s superpower.
After the bartender slides our drinks over, I lift my glass toward her, a reluctant admission. I’ve got to hand it to Chloe. She doesn’t back down.
She lifts her glass. “Oh, I’ll toast all right,” she says, nodding toward my drink. “To your tab.”
“Like I’d expect anything less from you than insisting I pay.”
“But I’d pay for this story,” she says. To her credit, she’s on point. She hasn’t once relented in her eager beaver-ness to extract the tale.
I clink glasses with her, half wishing this confrontation weren’t happening, half glad it’s her that found me out. “To my tab,” I say, but then I stage-whisper, “Truth be told, it’s all on the house.”
“But that’s not the secret I want, Sam,” she says in a flirty tone. So damn flirty. Like my stage name tastes good on her tongue. I try not to stare at her glossy lips, but it’s impossible as she takes a sip of her soda like she’s celebrating. I knock back some scotch. It burns going down, but it makes me feel alive. I set the glass on the beer-soaked wooden counter, marred by scratches from the years.
She sets her glass there too, seemingly no worse for the wear, then makes a beckoning gesture with her fingers. “Serve it up. Your story.”
“This needs to stay between you and me,” I warn, since I do not want the staff to know a single detail.
She shoots me a look like give me a break. “I believe I’ve already demonstrated my ability to keep secrets. Now, make it worth my while.”
She drives a hard bargain, but she’s holding the cards. I let out a long sigh. “I sing.”