Managed (VIP 2)

Brenna grins suddenly and leans in close. “I love hip-hop too. Which is why I totally rigged the game to choose that.”

“You evil genius,” I say with a gasp.

Her grin goes wider before she gets it under control. “I’m pretty sure Killian is on to me.”

So that’s what the look was about. I don’t mention that Rye seems very pleased by Brenna’s pick as well, as if she’s done him a favor too.

“I thought you’d be freaking out,” Brenna says, eyeing me.

“Now you know better.” I give her a nudge on the shoulder with my own.

She nudges back. “If Scottie hadn’t already claimed you, I just might.”

I drop right out of my happy place, and clearly my expression shows it because Brenna winces. Thankfully I don’t have to hear any awkward apology or deflated ego soothing. Whip starts up with a beat.

Killian begins to play the guitar, and they’re on.

Brenna and I squeal with glee as Jax and Rye begin to rap RUN-D.M.C.’s lyrics. I expected Rye to own it, but not Jax. We can’t stop laughing, but we lose it when Libby—not Killian—takes up Steven Tyler’s part, making her voice screechy and throaty just like Aerosmith’s legendary singer.

Killian is grinning so wide, I think he might strain he cheeks. But his playing is on point.

I’ve always wanted to live a life less ordinary, see the world in a way few others have. And I know I’m not alone in that desire. Who wouldn’t want to escape the mundane? Yet, I’ve always known I was ordinary. Not in a bad way, but I was simply Sophie Darling: mostly happy, likes people, has a talent for taking snapshots of daily life. Nothing amazing. I tried to soak up the excitement of fame by being an entertainment journalist. But that only left me feeling tainted and foul.

I’m not certain where my future lies. But I’m here now, living this life. And it is extraordinary. I have one of the best rock bands on Earth singing karaoke for me. Even better? They’re my friends, these funny, talented, generous people. They like me, past wrongs and all.

I soak in the moment, laughing and watching them dance around. And yet, there’s a cold spot along my back, in the center of my chest, that won’t go away. I yearn for the one man who isn’t here, who left me behind.

It hurts, and I have to swallow down the pain, my smile too brittle.

The song finishes, and they’re all giving happy high fives, while Brenna and I wolf whistle and cheer.

Whip plops down next to me, a sheen of sweat shining on his brow. He flicks a lock of inky hair back from his face and smiles. “That’s gonna be hard to top.”

“Show off,” I tell him, nerves fluttering in my belly. I know the song Brenna and I chose by heart. Still, I have to perform it in front of these freaking music virtuosos.

“No stalling,” Rye says, sitting on the other side of me. “It’s your turn now.”

Brenna stands up and smoothes her skirt, taking a mic from him. “We’re doing ‘Shoop’.”

Everyone cheers, and I rise on unsteady legs. Libby hands me her mic.

Brenna is taking Pepa’s lyrics, and I’m Salt. And because neither of us can play an instrument to save our lives, we’re using the karaoke machine. We glance at each other. Brenna’s eyes are gleaming, but her smile is nervous. “All in?”

“All in,” I say, giving her a fist bump.

The song starts, and I can no longer worry. Brenna is true to her word, delivering her lyrics with sass, her hips gyrating. She slaps her butt, and Rye howls, laughing so hard tears stream down his face.

But they’re all looking at Brenna with pride and encouragement.

And then it’s my turn.

I don’t think. The song takes me. I dance, gyrating, and Brenna joins me. It’s so freeing; I understand why these guys sweat their asses off night after night.

“Kill it, Sophie,” Jax yells, clapping.

So I do. I’m rapping about nice dreams and big jeans, my ass wiggling, when he walks in.

It’s pretty impressive, actually, that the man can simply enter a room and everything stops.

I mean, the background music plays on, but all of us have halted as if he’s pressed pause.

Gabriel freezes too, his brows knitting over that arrogant nose. Impeccably dressed in a blue suit, platinum cufflinks glinting in the low light, he’s king of all he surveys. The guys in this room might be the biggest rock stars in the world, but they stand silent before him like recalcitrant kids caught stealing liquor from Dad’s stock.

As if to punctuate that thought, Rye suddenly points at me. “She made us do it!”

“We didn’t touch a thing,” Killian wails dramatically while flailing his arms out. “The lock on the liquor cabinet was already busted!”