Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

“Lance and I can pick you up tonight for karaoke,” she says. “Seven?”

“Nah. I’ll meet you there,” I say.

I’m doing pretty good with the Lance-Parker relationship. As well as can be expected. But I avoid hanging out with just the two of them as much as possible. Again, it’s a self-preservation thing.

The rest of my afternoon passes quickly. Gym. Shower. Take a call from my sister and listen to her ramble all about the uh-mazing new guy she’s dating. Do laundry, which I hate more than ever.

I’m still living alone. I keep meaning to put up an ad for a new roommate, but over time I start fantasizing that maybe Parker will come home, and I find an excuse not to do it.

It’s like I said. I really need to get to Seattle. Need to get on with my life and get my relationship with Parker back to a purely platonic, non-longing kind of place.

By the time I show up at the karaoke bar at seven, my mood is veering toward irritable, and I’m wishing I had said no to the invitation.

And then it gets worse.

The seating arrangement ends up with Lance between me and Parker.

Night. Mare.

Thankfully the rest of the group is hyper and fun, and I feel my spirits start to lift despite the fact that Lance won’t stop fiddling with Parker’s earring like a total weirdo.

I talk to Parker’s new friend Eryn, whom I’ve apparently met before but don’t remember. She’s actually kind of funny in a very forthright, Oh my God did she just say that kind of way.

Parker finally manages to detach her ear from Lance’s fingers and the girls all traipse onstage to sing some girl-power anthem I’m only vaguely familiar with, while all the guys at the table take the opportunity to drink heavily in case we’re next for getting dragged onstage.

“You know, I’ve never tagged along when Parker’s done the karaoke thing,” Lance shouts in my ear. “Always thought it was stupid. But she’s really good, huh?”

I nod, because hell, yes, Parker’s good, and this shrieking song doesn’t showcase it all. It’s mostly a bunch of them jumping around and shouting.

My brain’s already running through our usual duet options when it hits me that maybe a duet with Parker is off-limits now.

As Lance just told me, he’s never come out with us before on our karaoke nights, which means he hasn’t seen just how good Parker and I are onstage. Together.

And suddenly I want to show him how good we are.

I want to show Parker. I want to remind her.

But the duet opportunity never presents itself. Lori and her new boyfriend sing an off-key version of “Yellow Submarine,” and it’s terrible.

Eryn gets up and sings a country song that I think might have a subtext of stalking, but I can’t be sure.

Parker tries to drag Lance up onstage, but he flat-out refuses, and her eyes meet mine before looking warily at Lance, and I know she’s feeling conflicted. That she wants to sing with me, too, and knows that maybe we shouldn’t.

Lori saves her from the choice. “Hey, Parks, get up there and do a ballad.”

“A ballad?” Eryn asks, wrinkling her nose. “Isn’t that kind of a buzzkill?”

“Not when Parker does one,” Lori says confidently. “Just watch. The room will fall quiet, but in the totally entranced way.”

“Do it, babe,” Lance says. “I love your voice.”

He’s looking at his cellphone as he says this, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Ass.

Still, if I can’t sing with Parks, hearing her voice—just hers—is the next best thing.

I glance up, surprised to see her watching me. Almost as though she’s looking for permission, although for what, I have no idea.

“Do it,” I say, lifting my drink to her.