Staring into space, Hayden continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Something no one would expect.”

“I don’t feel like you’re grasping the urgency behind my karaoke idea.”

She gulped down her drink. “Oh, fine. One song. Maestro!”

Story and Hayden wobbled onto the stage and handed their request to the young man running the karaoke equipment. For some reason, he moved them right to the front of the line and microphones were placed in their hands on the spot. From their viewpoint, the bar looked much bigger and as if on cue, everyone turned to face them.

“Oh, shit,” Story said out of the side of her mouth. “I thought we’d have time for one more drink before we did this.”

“This was your idea, Story girl. No time for regrets.”

“No regrets. So I’m taking lead? Crap, I haven’t sung this song since college. I barely remember the words.”

Hayden patted her shoulder. “Oh honey, they’ll come up on the screen.”

“Right. Right. God, I’m drunk.”

Their song selection popped up on the screen accompanied by squeals of excitement from some women seated at surrounding tables, which went a long way in boosting Story’s confidence.

With Hayden singing backup, Story launched into the all-time classic song about not wanting any scrubs.

…

“So what’s her name?”

Daniel dragged his attention away from the invisible pattern he’d been tracing on the table and answered Brent. “Story.”

“Story? What the hell kind of name is that?”

“She’s from California.”

“Ah.”

Matt caught the last part of the conversation as he returned from the bathroom. “And besides the fact that she’s Brooks’s daughter, what exactly is stopping you?”

Daniel stared at him. “Are you serious? What other reason do I need?”

“You think Jack would disapprove?”

“I know he would. He told me straight up to keep my hands off of her.”

“Oh shit.” Brent shook his head. “He laid it out for you. You can’t pretend to misinterpret that.”

Looking highly curious, Matt tipped his beer bottle in Daniel’s direction. “Since when do you mope around like a midcentury poet over a girl? Shouldn’t you have already found someone else to move on with?”

Daniel could barely hear Matt over the godawful singing that had started at the back of Quincy’s. Jesus. Karaoke night. He’d forgotten. “I’m not moping.” He waved halfheartedly toward the bar. “There’s just no one here that interests me.”

Brent gave an exaggerated shrug. “Fine. Just sit there picturing her on the lap of some Wall Street finance mogul. I’m sure Jack would prefer someone like that over you, anyway.” He squinted as though he could see Story’s evening with an imaginary man take place before his very eyes. “They’ll be amazed how much they have in common. You like blueberry pancakes? I love blueberry pancakes! Then they’ll go back to his place and spend hours discovering what other things they have in common, if you know what I—”

Daniel shot to his feet, jostling the table. “Fuck this. I’m going to go find her.” He dug into his wallet to extricate some bills, frowning as he realized every man in the bar had started cheering and whistling. He’d been so deep in thought, it had escaped his notice that the male customers now stood on their feet, facing the rear of the bar. “Jesus, what the hell is going on?”

Looking over his shoulder toward the back of the restaurant, the wallet slipped from his hands.

Story, along with a brunette, stood on a makeshift stage under the bright spotlight singing into microphones. Justifying his earlier worry, she still wore the flimsy white dress from that morning, only now, thanks to the spotlight, her bra and panties were almost completely visible through the thin material.

Fists clenching at his sides, he kicked a chair out of his way and approached the stage.

Chapter Eight

Eyes focused on the blurry screen with lyrics scrolling past on its surface, it took Story a moment to notice the hush falling over Quincy’s. Abruptly, customers stopped singing along. Beside her, Hayden ceased chiming in with backup vocals. The TLC song continued playing, but without their voices, it merely sounded like a continuous thump of bass.

Following her friend’s confused line of vision, Story’s eyes slowly tracked downward to find Daniel standing at the foot of the stage, scowling up at her.

His hair stuck out at one side, looking as though he’d been harassing it with his fingers all night. She could smell his rich cologne. The knowledge that it smelled different on his skin clouded her mind. In jeans and a gray T-shirt with the police department logo, the hard body she’d imagined existed underneath his work clothes was revealed to perfection. He looked rough and ready, as if he’d stepped right out of her naughtiest fantasies.

“You’re interrupting my song,” she informed him. And the entire bar, since she still held the microphone up to her mouth.

Before she could blink, he’d climbed on stage with her and easily pulled the microphone out of her hand. “You’re welcome.”

She made a sound of outrage. “This is exactly how Taylor Swift felt when Kanye West stole her thunder at the VMAs.”

His scowl deepened. “I don’t know who or what those things are.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’ve had too much to drink.”

A new song started, drawing her attention to the screen. Story’s lips spread into a smile. “And you’re holding the microphone. You have to sing the next song. House rules.” She looked at the DJ, who confirmed with a nod.

“If you think I’m going to participate in the drunk Olympics, you’re crazy,” Daniel leaned in close and scoffed.

“If you sing, I’ll let you take me home.” Ho-ly shit. Where had that come from? That honest part of one’s psyche that only makes an appearance when one is half in the bag, apparently. In that moment, she realized that whether or not the thought had been a conscious one, she’d been hoping to see him tonight. Now, he stood right in front of her looking broody and handsome and frustrated. She wanted nothing more than to go home with him and give him something to smile about.

Daniel’s eyes flared at her statement and he went perfectly still. Around them, bar customers laughed and high-fived in their seats. Apparently, once again she’d issued her challenge directly into the microphone. Awesome.

She raised an eyebrow to let him know she was waiting for his answer. “Well, what’s it going to be, big boy?”

His jaw flexed. “Nothing will ever be easy with you, will it?”

“I hope not.”

The lyrics came up on the screen. After a long-suffering sigh, Daniel began to sing. Or tried to, at least. His voice came out sounding mostly flat and monotone, but it still counted.

Story stepped off the stage next to Hayden in order to watch him, positive that she was grinning up at him like a complete lunatic. In between verses, wherein he sang about a guy named Mickey being so fine he blows people’s minds, he cast dark looks in her direction, only succeeding in making her grin wider. To her right, two men she assumed to be Daniel’s friends were doubled over laughing as they watched, wiping tears from their eyes. As much as she was enjoying herself, after about a minute passed of what had to be torture for Daniel, she decided to put him out of his misery,

Story climbed back on stage with the intention of helping him finish the song, but he looked so grateful for her intervention that she had the sudden urge to kiss him. Rising onto her tiptoes, she locked her arms around Daniel’s neck. Then she laid a kiss on him that sent the entire bar into an explosion of boisterous applause and shrill whistles. A couple of customers even pounded thunderously on the bar, cheering them on. Story didn’t register any of it, however, because after a brief moment of surprise, Daniel’s arms circled her waist, lifting until her feet were off the ground, her body flush against his larger, muscular frame.

&n

bsp; He tore his mouth away. “I can’t do it. I can’t stay away from you,” he growled, barely audible among the yells and catcalls being leveled at them.

“Good.” She planted another swift kiss on his lips. “Daniel?”

“Tell me, sunshine.”

Inhaling his scent like a lifeline, she leaned in and spoke urgently against his ear. “Take me home. Make it better.”