Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(18)

The crowd roared when she finished, and behind the bar, we were clapping and whistling and whooping our appreciation.

Annie waved and hooked the microphone back on the stand. When she wound her way through the crowd to the bar, I made sure to put myself where she landed, which was at the end near Bayleigh and out of the way of the crowd.

Harrison and Beau took over, covering me without a word spoken. After a couple of years of working together, we were a well-oiled machine of efficiency in the square feet of space behind that bar.

She brushed her hair out of her face, beaming and energized. “Hey!” she called.

“You are a woman of many talents,” I said, trying not to beam back with quite a bit of difficulty.

A blush colored her cheeks. “Thanks. Mostly I just sing in my shower. Karaoke is my exception.”

I laughed. “Something to drink?”

“Oh, that would be great. Water, please.”

I reached for a glass and dumped a scoop of ice into it. “So, ’80s music, huh?”

“I know. I was barely even born in the ’90s, but my mom loves ’80s music. I grew up to Journey and The Police and INXS and Eurythmics. Daddy was more into classic rock. So I didn’t listen to a lot of pop music as a tween. Total freak, I know,” she said on a chuckle.

“Please, don’t ever apologize for not listening to Miley Cyrus.”

She full-on laughed at that and took the water once it was poured and offered, downing half of it in a series of pulls. On a sigh, she set the glass down. “How about you? Are you gonna sing?”

“And bust a hundred people’s eardrums? Probably not.”

“Aw, come on.” She leaned on the bartop, smiling. “There has to be a song you love to sing. Everyone sings in the shower when they think nobody’s listening. And if they don’t, they should.”

I snickered and rested my forearms on the bar across from her. “I’m tone-deaf.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile grew even wider. “So? It’s not about how you sound; it’s about how you feel. I know you have at least one song. You sing it…” She tapped her chin in thought. “Ah, you sing it in the kitchen while you’re making pancakes. Or in the car when you’re driving—wait, you don’t have cars here. Hmm…when you’re getting ready to go out with your friends, you sing it into your brush in front of your mirror.”

She looked so sure of herself, I had to laugh.

“In the shower,” I corrected, my cheeks warming a little. “I sing it in the shower. Or I used to.”

Annie bounced, satisfied at her rightness. “What song?”

“Styx, ‘Come Sail Away.’”

A lovely, happy laugh burst out of her. “Power ballads! ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ is my go-to; it’s Mama’s favorite. Come on, we have to sing yours.”

“Not on your life, kid.”

Her smile shifted to a pout in a heartbeat. I wasn’t sure if it was for the refusal or for calling her kid.

“Have you ever done karaoke?”

“Never. Tone-deaf, remember? You wouldn’t even be able to tell what song I was singing.”

“I’ll back you up. Come on! Just once in your life, you have to sing your favorite song with a microphone in your hand.”

I gave her a look.

She started to sing “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley.

I didn’t waver.

She switched to “I’ll Be There for You,” shimmying around with a corny look on her face.

I fought to keep my lips flat.

When she launched into the hook of “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths, I gave up, laughing.

“All right, you win.”

She clapped, her green eyes twinkling. “I’m going to go tell Cam! And don’t worry; I’ve got your back—promise. Be right back!”

She turned to go and ran smack into a guy, who grabbed her, chuckling.

“Whoa, you okay?” he asked.

I watched through narrowed eyes.

“God, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m such a klutz.”

“A klutz who can sing like an angel.”

I involuntarily rolled my eyes at him, not that he was paying any attention to me.

She laughed, totally unaware that he was looking at her like she was an ice cream cone he’d like to treat exactly like an ice cream cone.

“You come here often?”

“I work here, so…yeah.” Another laugh.

“I’m here every Tuesday. Tell me I’ll see you again here.”

She shrugged and stepped around him. “Probably! Nice to meet you!”

Annie bounded off, and the mystery douche and I watched her go.

No clue. She didn’t have a single clue. And I wished it hadn’t left me relieved, but it had.

I wondered briefly how many guys she’d inadvertently blown off. Which, naturally, made me wonder what kind of man would get through to her. He’d have to be clear about his intentions and obvious. Persistent. Because subtlety didn’t seem to be something she responded to. I got the impression that Annie took everything at face value, accepting what was simply by what it appeared to be.

The thought sent a flash of unfounded worry through me.