Page 7 of The Dating Game

We give him our selection then, because there’s only one performer in front of us, we hang back waiting our turn.

Next to me Jill starts singing along to the current performer as they belt out Tom Petty's “Free Falling.” Spurred on by the lyrics, my mind drifts back to that day five weeks ago when I jumped out of a flipping plane and experienced my own free fall. Then, because it’s late and my mental defenses are low, I think back to Will. The man I threw up all over.

How awkward was that? He was pretty gracious about the whole thing. But still, if I never had to see him again that would be too soon. I mean, there were chunks of my breakfast in that vomit.

Eww.

I shudder. Such a shame, though. He was really…nice. That’s the only adjective I’ll allow myself to think. I may have thought other ones while I was up on that plane, but when you think you’re about to die you really can’t be responsible for the direction of your thoughts. Back on solid ground I am fully capable of remembering that I have a boyfriend. Albeit one I don’t like very much.

“And now welcome to the stage our lovely owner Miss Brooke Garza and her sister Jill,” The piano player Donny booms from the piano. “They’ll be performing 'Party For Two' by Shania Twain and Billy Currington.”

Jill and I head up on stage to loud cheers. Donny begins to play the familiar tune and we turn to face each other, mics at the ready, but then Jill frowns and fumbles for something in the pocket of her jeans. Her phone.

“It’s Max,” she tells me— and the rest of the bar since she forgot to lower her microphone.

“So call him back,” I hiss.

Jill looks torn. Seriously? I know her and Max have thisnever ignore each others’ phone callsrule, but c’mon! This song is less than three minutes, surely he can wait that long. But no, clearly Jill does not think he can.

“Sorry, it’s my husband. I have to take this,” she tells the audience. Then she hurries off stage, tossing Donny her mic as she goes.

I stare after her in shock. I cannot believe she just did that!

“Well, well, well,” Donny actually sounds pleased by this turn of events. “It looks like we have ourselves a karaoke damsel in distress!”

The crowd cheers excitedly, and I glare at Donny. “No, no,” I begin, “I’m fi—,” but Donny cuts me off.

“We’re looking for a gentleman, any gentleman at all, to sing with our lovely Miss Brooke here. Only requirement,” he adds as Jerry Dolber—a regular with a penchant for getting up onstage and making people cover their ears—starts to get up, “is that the man in question be able to carry a tune.”

Looking pointedly at Donny, I slash my hand forcefully across my neck in the universal signal to cut it out.

“Not you either,” Donny says to a guy at a table in the front, ignoring me. “No offense, but your rendition of Styx’s 'Lady' was a bit pitchy. It’s not your fault,” he adds as the guy plops down looking dejected, “those are some tough notes.” I’m right next to the piano now, fully ready to lay into Donny and also to remind him that I’m his boss, but then his eyes light up as he catches sight of something behind me.

Donny is so going to be out of a job after tonight.

“Look at this!” he exclaims. “We have a winner!” I freeze then, along with everyone else in the room, turn to see who it is walking up. I almost drop my microphone. It’s Will.

He saunters onto the stage with his signature amiable grin on his face. The I’m-just-happy-to-be-here one.

Somehow, over the sudden rushing in my ears, I still hear Sydney’s loud cheering.

“Yeah, Will!” she shouts, then lets out a whistle. Which, what? How does she know Will?

Does Sydney have a secret skydiving habit I don’t know about? Has she too been strapped to this man?

“Woo!!” Belinda joins in on the cheering. “Go Will!”

The rest of the room catches on to his name and soon everyone is chanting his name.

“Looks like we have ourselves a karaoke knight in shining armor!” Donny couldn’t be more thrilled. I…I’m not sure how to classify the strange mix of emotions I’m feeling. So I just stand motionless by the piano, unsure what to do. Will offers me his hand to shake, and I stare at it for a long second—mentally replaying when he did this same gesture on the plane—before finally accepting it. His grin widens and he uses his grip on my hand to pull me back toward the center of the stage. The crowd loves it.

Grant is not going to be happy. Despite his own statement that we aren’t exclusive yet, he gave me a very big earful after skydiving, berating me for my flirtatious behavior.

I suppose that—given the errant direction of my thoughts on the plane—it wasn’t a completely undeserved lecture. But still. I could’ve gone without his repeated use of the phrase ‘Flirty McSquirty”—a witty reference, he claimed, to both my flirting and my vomiting.

Donny starts playing the song again, but I’m so busy trying to figure out how to play this thing that I miss my first line. Luckily the crowd supplies it for me, altering the first name a bit to fit the situation.

“Hey, Willy,” they chant.

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