Page 8 of The Dating Game

“Yeah,” Will drawls back, but I’m still frozen, so the crowd has to both tell Will about the party I’m having and ask if he wants to come. But then it gets to the singing part of Will’s part and my head positively whips around as he croons, “Aww, baby.”

In a completely unanticipated turn of events—Will has a really good voice. Like Luke Combs and Ed Sheeran good. Country yet soulful all at once.

Oh my.

Vocal talent is my kryptonite. Which means I’m in so much trouble.

Two more weeks, I try feebly to remind myself but my shoulders have already started to shimmy to the beat and a second later my feet—acting of their own accord—move me closer to Will, and I declare that I’m having a party.

A spark of excitement runs through my body as I engage in this performance. I always feel most alive onstage, which means now that I’ve accepted this role ofWomanInviting Man to Private Party, I’m all in.

Will, who’s been in this since the beginning, makes a show of saying he can’t come. So I go all the way up to him to convince him he’s going to want to come to this party. He crosses his arms and plays up his disinterest, but when I add that it’s going to be hot, he drops his arms and gives me his full attention—playing his part well.

We’re face to face now, both singing our hearts out. Exhilaration is thrumming through my body. This is just so fun!

We make it through the refrain, and as I mention how he’s going to look sexy in his socks, Will makes a grand show of kicking his shoes off, then slides across the floor.

The crowd is going wild and I have to fight a smile at his antics.

“C’mon, c’mon,” we croon back and forth as the song draws to a conclusion. We’re only inches away from each other now, and for a glimmer of a second I forget that this is a performance, and my eyes dip to his lips, wondering what a kiss from Will would feel like.

Donny plays the final notes of the song, but we remain in position, staring at each other, chests rising and falling in tandem. The audience is up off their feet hooting and hollering.

“Give it up for Brooke and Will!” Donny shouts. His words break whatever spell I was under, and hastily I hop away from him. Almost simultaneously he does the same, looking a little sheepish. Meanwhile I’m completely mortified by my behavior. I scan the crowd for Grant, alarmed when I spot him stalking toward the exit. I am not a swearer by nature, but as I realize that I am almost certainly about to lose my very important bet, a plethora of four letter words run through my mind in quick succession. Shoving my mic into Will’s chest, I take off after him.

“Grant!” I cry. “Wait!” But he either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care to listen.

“Oh, um,” for the first time Donny sounds unsure, like maybe he’s finally realizing he made the wrong call pushing me into singing a duet with a stranger. He clears his throat. “What a performance,” he says. “Thank you, uh, Will. That’ll be a tough act to follow, but we do have someone on deck brave enough to give it a try.”

I don’t hear anything else. Grant made it outside, and I hurry through the door after him.

“Grant! Wait!” I cry as the cool night air rushes over me. He’s already halfway across the parking lot, and he keeps going, ignoring my calls. I pick up my pace, practically sprinting across the space between us—an impressive feat given the heels I’m wearing. “Grant! Let’s talk about this!”

He finally stops, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning to face me, his features a storm of anger.

“Why are you leaving?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. “Grant?” I prod.

“You don’t know why I’m leaving? Are you really that dumb?” Grant explodes, and I wince, his words like a slap across the cheek. “I didn’t come here tonight to watch my girlfriend get all flirty onstage with another guy.”

A thousand rebuttals run through my mind. It was just a performance. He’s the one who said we weren’t exclusive yet. I asked him to go up there with me; it’s his own fault he didn’t. It’s not like I planned on any of that happening, it was supposed to be a performance with my sister! Oh and there’s that word again: performance!

But I say none of these things. After all, I’m trying to preserve this relationship. For Sydney’s sake. Maybe she’ll go on a few dates and still decide she wants to remain single. But at least she’ll have given men a try again, rather than letting fear hold her back. She needs this kick in the pants!

“I’m sorry,” I plead. “I got caught up in being onstage. You know how I am.” I wave my hand around my head. “When I’m onstage I forget about everything else.”

“Clearly.” He snorts derisively.

“Grant–” I start, but he cuts me off.

“So tell me,” he bites out, “have you been seeing him this whole time behind my back?”

“W-what?” I’m so taken aback by the question I take a literal step back from him.

“You heard me.” He juts his chin out in challenge. “Did you really think I didn’t recognize that guy? He was your skydiving partner. Funny how he showed up at your karaoke bar on the very night that you told me to stay home, then was all too eager to come to your aid up there. So tell me, how long have you two been seeing each other behind my back?”

Irritation pricks across my skin. I try to control my temper, but it bubbles up inside me like lava that can’t be contained any longer. Boom. Volcanic eruption. Watch out.

“First off, I haven’t been seeing him behind your back. I haven’t been seeinganyonebehind your back, because unlike you, I think relationships should be exclusive from day one. Tell me, Grant, have you been seeing anyone behind my back? Because you’ve certainly made it a point to regularly remind me that we’re not exclusive yet.”

---