Page 50 of Behind the Bench

Which is exactly why I’m sticking to beer. Beer is safe. I can slowly sip my beer and keep my wits about me.

Hunter taps my shoulder and nods to the far corner behind me. I take a look over my shoulder and see that they’re setting up a stage for karaoke.

Ah, hell. “I’m with Ellie on this one. There’s no way I’m getting my ass up there and singing.”

Flashbacks to college and drunken karaoke nights play through my mind. It’s the hangovers that followthose nights that I remember the most. You’d have to get me blackout drunk for me to willingly go up on stage and sing in front of people.

The thought of Ellie singing to me the day I had my panic attack flashes through my mind. “Besides, I’ve already had to suffer through Ellie’s singing once before. That was more than enough for me.”

Ellie’s eyes bulge, and Hunter looks between the two of us, clearly confused. Sadie sits back in her chair and crosses her arms, clearly pouting over our absolute refusal to participate. She even sticks her bottom lip out like a small child.

“You two are such buzzkills.” Then, she must remember we’re not the only two at the table and turns to Hunter with an evil glint in her eye. “What do you say, Hunter? Wanna sing some terrible Garth Brooks karaoke with me?”

To my utter surprise, Hunter chugs the rest of his beer, shakes his arms out then cracks his neck like he’s preparing to go to battle. “Hell yeah, I do! Let’s go sign up!”

Hunter and Sadie take off to go chat with the karaoke DJ and I realize I’m now alone with Ellie. This is either a magnificent gift or a very, very bad thing. I silently watch Ellie as I try to determine which one it is.

Ellie is pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher the waitress left us when she catches me staring.

“What?” she asks as she sets the pitcher back down on the table.

I lean back in my chair, savoring this moment alone with her. “I know why I’m so against karaoke, but I’m wondering what wild stories you’re hiding over there that make you hate it as much as I do.”

She takes a drink of water, probably contemplating how much she wants to tell me. God knows I’d rather not share my college horror stories with her but I am dying to know anything about her. It’s becoming clearer to me each day thatshe is nothing like the monster I made her out to be in my head.

Ellie puts her arms on the table and clasps her hands in front of her before looking at me seriously. “If I tell you this story, you have to promise not to tell a single soul. I mean it, Lincoln. Not even Hunter. Only Sadie knows about this and I’d like to keep it that way.”

A piece of her hair falls in front of her face and I have to clench my fists tight to fight the urge to push it back behind her ear myself.

I’m not sure why she’s choosing this moment to trust me but I’m not about to complain. I mirror her seriousness and lean down against the table and clasp my hands together as well. “You have my word, Coach.”

“Let’s go to the bar. I’m going to need a shot before I tell you this story.”

She stands before I can respond and I’m out of my chair at record speed. I’d follow this woman anywhere.

We take the two empty spots at the far end of the bar, as far from the karaoke as we can get. The bartender makes his way down to us after cashing out the lone patron at the opposite end of the bar. “Back so soon?” he asks as he throws a towel over his shoulder.

“We need shots,” Ellie blurts out.

I let out a small chuckle and she responds by giving me a dirty look. I love that she is so straightforward and blunt in every aspect of her life.

No small talk. Straight to the point every time.

The bartender seems to find her outburst as charming as I do because he smiles at her in a way that has me grinding my teeth.

Okay, dude. You’re not allowed to look at her like that.

He leans down in front of her. “What can I get you, gorgeous?”

Yeah, I totally hate this guy.

Ellie seems completely oblivious to him, which has me mentally fist pumping.

“Two shots of tequila. Salt. No lime.”

Tequila? I know she likes her margaritas based on how fast she downed hers at the table, but tequila and me are definitely not friends. “Whoa. I can’t do tequila.”

She raises her eyebrow at me. “Who said one was for you?”

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