That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(14)

Instead of digging deeper into the complexity that is Eric, Rogan says, “Going to the Inn? Not to your apartment?”

“To the Inn. Just going to check on a few things, make sure the place is still standing, and then walk to my apartment.” It’s just a street away from the Inn, so it won’t be a big deal. “Kind of hoping Karaoke Night is still going on. Kevin Yodel swore he would be there, and that guy puts on a show.”

“Shit, Kevin is something else,” Rogan says. “Babe, we should go in and see if he’s performing. He has this whole Elvis impersonation that will have you keeling over in laughter.”

“I thought we were going to do the counter sex.” Harper pouts. “If you make me watch Kevin, I can’t guarantee I won’t pass out.”

I pat Rogan on the shoulder. “You don’t want to miss out on that counter sex.”

“Yeah, I sure as shit don’t. We’ll catch the next one.”



KARAOKE CANCELED.

Figures.

Not wanting to be alone in my apartment on one of the loneliest days of my life, I decided to stop at the Inn, see if they needed any help, maybe catch a song or two from some of Port Snow’s finest.

I stare at the sign on the door that leads to the Inn’s bar. Instead of locals hitting up the mic with some of the worst voices you’ll ever hear, they’ve lit up the karaoke area with multicolored flashing lights and a tiny disco ball that doesn’t even spin. Over the speakers, dance music plays, bumping and thumping loudly against the walls, setting a club-like mood.

Not a single person is dancing. They’re either hunched over at the bar or safe in their homes, away from the freezing weather that’s rolling in.

This was a bust.

But probably for the best. I should get back to my apartment before I have to hike through feet of snow to get there.

I spin on my heel and smack directly into what feels like a brick wall, but when my shoulders are steadied by large, sturdy hands, I look up to see Reid smiling down at me.

“Hey.” I rub my nose, which was just smashed against his left pec. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard Kevin Yodel was making an appearance. It’s rare these days.” He nods toward the sign. “Kind of wish I knew it was going to be canceled.”

“Yeah, me too.” I glance out the window at the snow that’s building and building on the sidewalks and parking lot, spreading a blanket of white as far as I can see. “Are you going to head home? It’s getting pretty bad out there.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He nods toward the bar. “Grab a drink with me.”

Since I have nothing better to do, I follow him to the bar, where we take a seat at the end. Barb is working tonight. She’s probably the worst bartender you could ever hire. She doesn’t ask you what you want but just serves you what she feels like serving. When Barb is at the helm, there’s never a huge turnout.

“Here,” she says, plopping two shot glasses in front of us, the clear liquid splashing on the chipped bar top. “Bottoms up. I’m going to the bathroom.”

I bring a shot glass to my nose and cringe—straight-up vodka.

Reid lifts his glass. “Bottoms up.” He raises mine too, his hand wrapped around my fingers, clinks them together, and then pushes the shot glass toward my mouth before dropping his hand back down to the bar top. He downs his shot in one smooth motion and then waits for me.

“Don’t be a pussy, Roberts. Down that.”

“Don’t call me a pussy—that’s so crass.”

He barks out a laugh. “When did you become the polite police? I’m pretty sure you told me to eat my own shit the other day.”

True.

“Well, we’re in public.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’re always in public. Stop stalling and down the drink.”

“I don’t want a headache.”

“Eve, drink the goddamn thing.”

“Why?” I ask, my fingers tightening around the small glass. “Are you trying to take advantage of me, Knightly?”

“No, I wouldn’t have to take advantage. I’d just give you the go-ahead, and you’d be all over me.”

“Oh fuck off, I would not.”

He turns on his stool and leans against the bar, his arms propping him up as he stares out at the derelict dance floor. He tilts his head to the side to talk to me.

“Please, you’ve had a giant crush on me ever since middle school. I know you want all of this.” He gestures up and down his body. For a brief moment, my heart catches in my chest, wondering if he actually knows about my crush . . . that is, until I see the wicked teasing in his eyes.

I snort, spilling a little bit of vodka on my jeans.

“Yup, you figured me out. I’ve been pining after you all this time,” I deadpan. “Been saving myself too. Only want one penis, and it’s yours.”

“You don’t have to tell me. I know you’ve been. Read it in your diary two weeks ago. So drink up, and I’ll get you another shot.” He’s such an ass. I don’t have a diary.

“We are not having another,” I say right before throwing back the shot, the burn down my throat making me shiver. Why I did that I have no idea, but when I open my eyes, Reid is reaching over the bar, grabbing a bottle of tequila, and pouring us each another.