More Than Want You (More Than Words 1)

I’m not thinking about that tonight. Nope. Not happening. Right now, I’m just going to enjoy my time with Keeley after the nearly thirty-six hours we spent apart. Yeah, I was counting.

After a little discussion, we wind up at Pacific’O, a romantic spot for seafood and sunsets. Dinner and wine are nice. Watching her turn every male head is gratifying. Her company is the best part of it all, though. She looks vivacious, like she’s very comfortable in this skin. She has a renewed sense of self.

Or maybe I’m finally seeing her as she actually is.

I ponder that thought as the waiter sets down our check.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “Do you have an early morning tomorrow?”

“Not any more than any other day. What do you have in mind?” I feel the smirk cross my face. I can’t help it. I have a whole lot of ideas filling my head. I wonder if she’d say yes to any of them…

She glances at her phone. “I know it’s already after nine, but I was wondering if we could do one more thing before heading home.”

“Like?” Keeley already turned down dessert, so I can’t imagine what she wants.

“There’s this little pub around the corner that has karaoke on Wednesdays and Sundays. I’ve missed singing. It’s soothing.”

My knee-jerk reaction is a big hell no. I pause as I realize that she didn’t ask me to sing. That’s key. I don’t understand her assertion that warbling in front of a bunch of strangers is anything but an exercise in trying not to nervous puke. But she seems really excited. How am I supposed to say no?

“As long as you promise not to drag me on stage…”

“Totally. I just need to belt out a song or two.”

I’d love to hear her sing again. “Do I get to pick the songs?”

“When we get there, you can look at the choices and make suggestions. I’ll see if I can manage any of them. Deal?”

“Deal.” This could be fun.

When we get there, it’s dark and loud and a little crowded. We spot a couple leaving in the back and grab their high-top table and chairs. As soon as we’re situated, someone passes us the big binder full of songs. I hope Keeley gets to sing soon because some drunk tourist in platforms trying to be Beyoncé is already giving me a headache.

Keeley passes the thick tome of song selections my way. I riffle through absently as the waitress takes our drink order.

“Anything catch your eye?”

I grin. “‘Like a Virgin’?”

She gives me an adamant shake of her head. “Absolutely not.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“First, it’s really one of the dumbest songs ever, in my opinion. Second, I’m not in the habit of lying. But most of all, c’mon. How about a challenge?”

Point taken. “How about…‘Buttons.’ Who doesn’t like the Pussycat Dolls?”

Mostly I just want to hear her sing suggestive lyrics to me.

Keeley shakes her head. “I like the song, but Nicole Scherzinger isn’t hard to sing, either. How about something with teeth?”

“Britney Spears?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop insulting me. Harder.”

“You want it harder, baby?” I flash her a leering grin. I know I’m about to get smacked but it’s too fun to stop.

“Vocally, not sexually. Give me the book.”

Oh, I’m still making it too easy on her? Fine. “No. I said I’d pick something. I will.”

I whip out my phone and after a little Google, I choose three songs and dart up to the deejay. Despite having a bad-hair decade, the guy is really easy to talk to, and we soon settle on a great song I can’t wait to hear. He has me jot her name and info on the sheet attached to his clipboard. Then it’s done. All I have to do is wait.

When I head back to the table, Keeley looks beyond annoyed.

“We were supposed to discuss this,” she grits out as I slide onto my stool beside her.

“We did. But since you’re such a pro, and my selection wasn’t difficult enough, Google helped me go for the gusto.”

“What did you sign me up for?” Now she sounds almost nervous.

I just smile. “Not telling…”

It’s hard to find patience until Keeley is called, especially when I have to sit through a terrible rendition of “Smooth Criminal” and an even worse stab at “Waiting on the World to Change.” The bar finally starts to clear out. A version of “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” that’s only slightly awful follows.

Finally, the deejay, who really does the comb-over proud, grabs the mic. “Time for Keeley on the stage. Keeley, everyone.”

“What am I singing?” she asks as she gets to her feet.

“You’ll see.” I’m stubborn like that when I want to be.

“I’m totally getting you back for this.”

“You’re welcome to try…”

She sends me something like a snarl before she heads to the front. After a verbal interaction with the deejay that includes a little arguing and a lot of nodding, she finally grabs the mic off the stand and takes a deep breath. God, she really looks stunning, especially when the first note hits and she lifts her head to meet the song head on.

Three minutes later, I’m absolutely floored. She’s nailed “Titanium,” including every one of those high notes the deejay swore to me tripped up most. I didn’t give her this song to watch her fail, though. In my head, I could hear her singing it. I knew she could do it. I wanted her to know that she could, too.

But messing with her in the meantime was too much fun.

The crowd cheers. She smiles back. On her way off the stage, she speaks to the deejay. He looks over at me. Oh, that’s how she intends to get me back, make me embarrass the hell out of myself in public. No way. No how.

As soon as Keeley reaches the table, I grab her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Nope.” She plants herself firmly on the floor and raises a brow at me. “Your turn.”

“You promised I didn’t have to sing.”

“If I don’t get to have a say in my own song, I don’t have to keep my word,” she points out. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

“Not happening. I’m leaving.”

The waitress finally comes with our cocktails and hustles away before I can pay. I don’t even know how much the drinks cost. Shit.

“You were saying?” Keeley smiles and flutters her lashes innocently.

“This sucks.”

She laughs. “You’ll live.”

I’m nervous. It’s stupid because I know I’ll never see these people ever again. Hell, half of the patrons in this dive are so sauced I doubt they’ll remember being here at all tomorrow, much less some tone-deaf chump butchering a tune. That still doesn’t stop me from looking for the waitress, cash in hand, so we can find the exit.

“Maxon,” the deejay calls. “Where is…” He spots me and motions me over. “Come on down, buddy.”

With a groan, I get to my feet. I shoot Keeley a glare that promises retribution. When I reach the stage and grab the mic, I try really hard not to realize that about fifty people are staring at me like they expect awesome.

I will sorely disappoint them.

“Keeley says you’re a karaoke virgin,” the deejay begins.

I nod. “I haven’t been called a virgin in a long time.”

The crowd laughs. At least I’ve got a little comedic goodwill going before I burst their eardrums.

“Your fine lady picked an oldie for you. She said you’d want a challenge.”