Page 39 of Book Boyfriend
There’s a collective “Hi, Macy!” I lift my hand without turning around and slide down in my seat. I beg Fisher to stop with my eyes. I even mouth the word “No.” He only smiles brighter. He removes his jacket and tosses it to me. I catch it and watch as he rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt. What is it about rolled sleeves that make every man that much hotter?
“This song is for you Macy. You might want to chug that drink.”
It’s then that I notice a small screen on the floor. Fisher nods to someone off to his right and a screen comes down on the side of the stage. I assume for the audience to see the words.
The music starts and I realize I’m back in my book. He just re-wrote the scene.
With the opening notes I know what he’s singing. It’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”Dammit, Fisher. I thought we were done with this.
He starts to sing and my frown turns upside down. I can’t help it. He’s not bad, but he’s not great. No one in the crowd seems to care. His overabundance of confidence makes it enjoyable and fun. Before the chorus he announces, “If you know it, sing along.”
The whole bar follows his lead and lifts their drinks in the air. His singing is drowned out as the bar shouts the lyrics along with him. I can’t help but laugh as he finishes the song and takes a bow. The bar whoops and hollers like Adam Levine just finished a set. He hops down from the stage and bends down, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Where’s Amy Taylor?” the man on the side shouts. A girl takes the stage and sings another song. I guess there’s a list of people waiting for their chance to perform. Who knew so many people were that confident?
He smiles as he sits across from me and lifts a menu. “I heard they have good wings.”
“Oh no you don’t. What in the hell? I thought I told you to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“This stupid thing you have with following my book.”
“I didn’t rent the place or send a limo.”
I sigh.
“And I can’t play the piano for shit, so I improvised. Again.”
How do I explain this to him? How can I get him to understand what I’m saying? Why is he so hot? My mind can’t help but wander. I take a long swig of my drink and hope it kicks in to give me the confidence to figure this out.
Turning my head, I try to find the location of the bathrooms. Once I see them, I stand and curl my finger at him to follow me.
Once we round the corner, I push him up against the wall.
“I like where this is going already,” he says, pulling me into him.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“What’s your name? Answer the question.”
He seems confused. “I thought we were past introductions.”
“Is your name Patrick Fisher or is it Penn Fitzgerald?”
He smirks. “My name is Patrick.”
“Uh-huh. So why in the name of Elvis Presley do you insist upon re-enacting every scene from my book even though I’ve repeatedly asked you to stop?”
“Is Elvis Presley a new holy term I’m not aware of? Did he get canonized?”
“It’s not a joke.” I slide my hand around his collar and run my fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “I don’t want you to be Penn. I’m not falling for him, I’m falling for you.”
His lips part and I think I hear and feel him inhaling a breath. Did I overstep? I push off his chest and take a step back. “Anyway. Just cut it out.”
He pulls my arm and I crash back into him. He bends his head down so his mouth is an inch from mine. He cups my cheek in his hand and his eyes search my face. He’s doing that smoldering thing and now I can’t breathe.
