Page 76 of Playing With Matches
“What does she mean?” Marco asks, looking from me to Jackson. “What is the treat Alexis has mentioned? Have you arranged for a special dessert for Marco?” He licks his lips.
“I can sing,” Jackson rolls his eyes. “It’s not a huge deal. I used to take voice lessons when I was a kid.”
“You can sing?” Marco looks doubtful. “Like you surf? This I believe when I see it.”
“Buckle up, Buttercup,” Jackson waves Marco’s comment away and turns back towards me. He smiles goofily. “Hi, Isla,” he says.
“Hi,” I reply. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“Just a little,” he tips his finger to the side of his nose like he’s trying to share a secret. “But it’s nothing serious. Just enough to take the edge off. Make me a little less chickenshit. I still know what I’m doing. And I’m doing it, Isla. We’re doing this. Do you have your mint oil? Can I get a touch-up?” Jackson holds out his hands like a beggar, looking into my eyes. “Please?”
“Sure,” I say, applying the mint oil to his palms.
“Oh, I love mint essential oil,” Paula says, sniffing the air delicately.
“Do me, too!” Marco demands, thrusting his free hand at me.
“No!” Jackson slams his hand down on the table. “Back off. This is our thing. Mine and Isla’s!” He shakes a warning finger at Marco. “Get your own thing, Buddy.”
“Okay, okay,” Marco holds up his hands defensively. “It’s just a little mint.”
“Holy fuck,” Jackson whispers, rubbing his temples and holding his head in his hands. “Those truth bombs pack a punch.” Almost immediately, he pulls his hands away. “Shit, I did it again!”
“Oh no. Did you touch your eyes? Can I get you anything?” I lean forward to look into his eyes, which are watering, even though he’s laughing. I place a hand on his smooth cheek. He must have shaved recently. He locks eyes with me, suddenly seeming a hell of a lot more sober.
“No, Isla. I’m fine. I’m good,” he takes my hand and turns it over, bringing my wrist to his mouth. Then he brushes his lips across the tender flesh of my pulse point, where surely he can feel the way my heart is hammering. “I’m better than fine.”
A loud crackle of static and the buzz of microphone feedback breaks the tension as a massive black man with dreads and a tie-dyed tee steps up to the mic. When the MC speaks, his childlike voice is surprising, given his size. Just one more reminder that you cannot always judge a book by its cover.
“Testing, testing, one-two-three. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to karaoke night at Peaches. We’ve got a full house tonight and a full line-up of performers. The bar is open, and we’re ready to get started. Our first act is a karaoke duet! Without further ado - I present Darwin and Ryker!” Rob runs up on the stage and whispers something into the man’s ear. That’s when I notice that there’s a cameraman in the corner. Nobody mentioned they’d be filming tonight, but of course, they’re filming. Whywouldn’tthey be filming? I see one of the PAs passing out consent forms, while another places a sign just inside the door informing onlookers that this is a live set.
“So everybody,” the MC continues, “I stand corrected. What we have here is a karaokeduel, sung by Ryker and Darwin. And I need someone else - Lacey? Is Lacey here? I need you to come sit here in the middle.”
Lacey, who has turned her injured hand into a fashion statement by wrapping a colorful silk scarf over the injury, totters over to the chair in her platform sandals. People start to clap, and she gives a little wave, bats her lashes, and pats her hair. She looks around, trying to spot the two men vying for her final shell.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chloe, seated at the bar with the dive instructor, rolling her eyes. Ryker and Darwin are nowhere to be seen.
“Hit it!” shouts the MC.
Suddenly lights are flashing and the music is thumping as the opening chords to a sped-up, bass-heavy version of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” pours out of the speakers. The crowd goes wild, standing and cheering as the two men enter from opposite ends of the bar.
Cappy, Owen, and Alexis slip back into their seats at the table, angling their chairs so they can watch the show.
Lacey is lapping up her time in the spotlight. One at a time, the men pull her to her feet and spin her around. At one point Ryker dips her and behind the cameras, I see Rob and Rory high-five each other. It’s all so perfectly choreographed that I have to wonder if they rehearsed it.
“Looks like they rehearsed that, don’t you think?” Jackson mutters in my ear.
“There are three cameras on them. Something’s up,” Alexis comments.
“Mmm. Marco agrees. Something big is happening,” Marco nods sagely, if a little jealously.
The song ends in a crescendo, followed by a three-way embrace, with both men kissing Lacey on the cheek, and then without any warning, locking lips with each other.
Everyone’s eyes go wide except for Owen’s.
“What?” he says. “You didn’t see that coming? It was obvious.”
“To you maybe!” Alexis swats him. “And you didn’t say a word to me. That’s two days of premium dishing you’ve cost me.”
