Page 19 of Grace on the Rocks

TheCatholicguilt was strong with this one.

“It’sourtrip,”Gracereminded her. “Youwant to make fools of ourselves, we’ll make fools of ourselves.”

Wes grinned and they crossed the pub to pick out a song and put their names down.Theteen had finished his timid but perfectly pitchedTSwiftsong to hoots and hollers from his rowdy friends, and the emcee shoed him off stage before glancing back at the list.

He pulled out a pair of reading glasses to check it again, much to the amusement of the crowd.

“Thought me eyes were playing tricks,” he quipped, and they all chuckled. “Canit really be?RyanMacNeil, the prodigal son, returns?”

Grace’s head snapped up to seeMr.Beehimself making his way up to the stage, his permanent glower in place.

“B-B-B-Bryan!” someone shouted, and he gave them the finger before leaning over to whisper to the emcee, who looked equally annoyed as he changed over whichever song had already started to play.

“This one’s for you,MitchellMurray,” he growled as the song switched to the opening beats ofPink’s“BlowMe(OneLastKiss).”

Wes leaned in close. “Justme, or does this feel like an inside joke we’re outside of?”

“Wait, is itBryanorRyan?Everyone’sbeen sayingRyan, right?”Gracewhispered, butWes, merely shrugged, bopping her head in rhythm with the song.

Mr.Bee’sforearms flexed as he gripped the mic in a possessive sort of way.

WasGracejealous of a microphone right now?No, of course not, but his gravelly purr did something to her, like a swarm of bees rumbling deep in her belly.Suddenlyshe found herself shouting the lyrics alongside him because, after all, it truly had been the shittiest of days up until they landed onBarra’spristine white beach.

Eyes shining,Wesgleefully joined her for the refrain.

As she watched him sing,Gracehad the oddest sensation that she was transfixed by his lips, physically unable to stop staring at them, at their shape and the way they moved.HehadBonolips—the only other man whose mouth she’d ever noticed, during an interview she’d seen in college.Thistime, she had the rather ridiculous urge to trace those lips, first with her finger, and then with her tongue.

What was wrong with her?Wasjet lag causing her system to go haywire?Shedidn’t lust after men, she wasn’t here for that.Shewas here to write a book, damn it.

Vacation is for food and orgasms,Weshad said, and they were fresh out of food.Goodthing forGracethis was work and not a vacation.

But it sure felt good to scream out her frustrations withPink.Bythe end of the song, she andWeswere practically louder than he was and they’d gotten the whole crowd to join in.

When he finished,Mr.Beeglanced around the bar with a smug little smirk, andGracehated how much she liked it.Boyswho could sing had always been a weakness, even more than boys with accents.Buthe was a jerk, she reminded herself.Hemight have good taste in music and facial hair and dumb tattoos, but he hated books—her literal life’s work.Hethought he could just glower and flex his forearms and get his way.No, thank you, sir.

“That’s us!”Wesshoved her towards the little stage.

“I didn’t hear our names.”

“He called us ‘theAmericanlassies who apparently cannae wait their turn,’ so…”Wesrolled her eyes along with herR’sas she imitated the old emcee.

To reach the stage, they had to squeeze along a row of tables near the wall.Mr.Beestepped between two chairs so they could pass, butGrace’sshoulder grazed his upper arm, sending out a spark of heat as though she’d brushed against a hot oven.

“Sorry,” she whispered up at him, catching another waft of smoky sandalwood.Hisgreen eyes, serious and scowling as usual, almost singed her.Whathappened to the smirk?Washe angry at them for drowning him out?Forstealing his thunder?

As she took the stage, still burning from the way he’d looked at her, the pleasant buzz from her wine suddenly fled, but too late.Theopening notes of “BadRomance” were already skittering through the speakers.

She ran her hands down her waist, past the weight of the worry stone in her right pants pocket. “Thisis what you picked?” she askedWesley, who smiled angelically.

“I’m going through things, remember?”

“You don’t seem like it.”

Wes shrugged.

Grace reached in her pocket to grasp the cool soothing stone and twist it in her anxious fingers.Whynot go for it?the stone seemed to ask.Shedidn’t know these people and would never see them again.Mightas well sing her heart out.

Together, she andWesgave the anthem everything they had, every last shred of energy and confidence and dignity, and when it was over, jet lag hit like a 747.

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