Page 94 of Guys Can't Write Romance
“On karaoke or kissing me again?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Both. Maybe.”
He smiled and nodded. “Let’s show these people what karaoke’s about. What do you want to sing?”
“What’s a good baseball song?”
“Take me out to the ball game,” he said. “It’s an all time crowd pleaser.”
“We’ll do that one, then.”
She took his hand again as he led her through the crowd to the guy manning the karaoke machine. “Do you have ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’?” Chad asked him.
“Sure do,” the guy said. “Got another group ahead of you, then you’re on.”
Daisy nervously wiped her hands on her sweater.
“You got this, Fields,” he said, giving her back a soft rub.
When it was their turn to take the stage, she held his hand in a death grip as they walked up to the microphone. A moment later, the music started, and the lyrics scrolled across the screen.
‘Take me out to the ballgame…’they started off to the organ music grinding over the speakers,‘take me out with the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don’t care if I never come back…’
Several tables joined in, swaying their beers in the air.‘Let me root, root, root for the home team…’Daisy smiled and leaned into Chad, the two of them swaying with the song.‘If they don’t win, it’s a shame…’
By the time they reached‘For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out…’, Daisy remembered why she used to love karaoke so much. It was shameless and silly and just fun.
‘At the old ball game.’
As the song concluded, Daisy took Chad’s hand and dragged him over to the guy manning the machine to add their names to the song queue. There were four groups ahead of them, and theirs would be the last song of the night.
In one of the romance books Daisy had assigned him for homework, Chad read that love happens slowly, and then all at once. And that’s how it happened for him. Somewhere between watching her repeatedly scratch at pool, and closing out the night with an ear-watering rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline,’ Chad fell in love with Daisy Fields.
Chapter twenty-three
Barefoot Stumbles and Gentleman Couch
“Let me root, root, root for the home team…”
With the exception of Daisy’s drunken singing, the Venice boardwalk was much quieter now at the late hour. A soft breeze drifted in from the ocean, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed, and the distant sound of waves accompanied them as she and Chad headed back to his apartment. The nearly full moon cast everything in a silvery glow, transforming the familiar daytime strip into something almost magical.
“It’s a… something, something, something…” she sang as she wobbled slightly next to Chad, her heels dangling from her fingertips by their straps. Her bare feet and carefree smile were a stark contrast to her usual carefully composed expression.
Chad chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as he watched her, his arms ready to catch her in case she wobbled over too far. There was something unexpectedly endearing about seeing Daisy Fields, the woman who color-coded her Post-its andarranged her books by height, singing off-key baseball songs with absolutely zero self-consciousness.
“What?” she said, catching his gaze and looking at him like it was perfectly normal to be singing (and forgetting the lyrics) while walking along the boardwalk at 1:30 am.
“Nothing,” he said with a smirk, unable to keep the fondness from his voice.
“You were about to tell me my amazing singing talents are matched only by my sparkling personality,” she said, playfully nudging against him with her shoulder, and nearly losing her balance in the process.
“I was about to tell you, you’re a fun drunk,” he replied, steadying her with a gentle hand on her elbow.
“I’m not drunk,” Daisy protested, drawing herself up with exaggerated dignity, though her attempt to appear composed was, unsurprisingly, not working out as well as she thought. “I’m just a little…”
“Wasted?” Chad suggested, his arm moving securely now around her waist to keep her from leaning too far in either direction. The feel of her body against his side sent an unexpected jolt through him.
“No! Giddy. I’m a little giddy.” She emphasized her point with a wobbly finger gesture that undermined her argument entirely.
