Page 93 of Perfectly Complicated
And then, to my absolute horror, he starts singing to her. Loudly.
If that wasn’t enough, he’s singing a melody that I think is a Taylor Swift song, but he’s making up the lyrics as he goes—a train wreck of a remix that should never see the light of day.
“Oh, no,” I mutter under my breath. This is even worse than him punching Jaxon.
Janie grabs my elbow. “Is he seriously singing to her right now?”
“Yep. And he’s going to hate himself tomorrow.”
I step forward, tapping Brendan’s shoulder lightly. “Brendan, maybe you should?—”
He waves me off. “Wait, I’m not done!”
“Please stop,” I say. “You’re not even singing the right words.”
“I know that!” he says, then immediately softens his voice and continues singing off-key.
Scarlett covers her mouth and her shoulders shake with laughter. Apparently, this song is some kind of inside joke between them.
When he finally finishes, Scarlett shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “Brendan Marco…” she calls down to him. “That was the worst song I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“I know,” he agrees. “But did it work?”
She bites her lip, considering his question. “Ask me when you’ve had less champagne.” Then she disappears from the railing.
Brendan stands there, grinning at the place where she was standing, before turning around.
“She liked it,” he murmurs. Then he frowns as the reality of what he’s done finally sinks in. “Wait, did I just…?”
I clap him on the back. “Yeah, man. You really did.”
His eyes widen in horror. “OH, NO. I’m never showing my face again at a party.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say gently as Brendan heads toward the door.
I shake my head as Janie steps next to me. “Well, that could have gone worse.”
“How?”
“He could’ve tried to dance.”
She takes my arm and squeezes it. “You’re a good friend, Rourke—for stepping in like that.”
“It didn’t help,” I say with a shrug. “I couldn’t stop him from humiliating himself.”
“No, but youtried. That’s what matters.” When I turn to her, there’s pride in her expression.
I clear my throat, needing to focus on something other than the way she’s making me wish we were alone.
I pull out the list again. “Do you want to finish the game?”
“The scavenger hunt? I almost forgot!” She scans the paper to the last item on the list. “A hockey jersey that’s never been worn.” Janie frowns. “I saw a few in his hockey room, but they had all been used.” She spins around, scanning our surroundings.
“Janie,” I say, taking her hand. “I need to tell you something.”
“Rourke, we don’t have time right now. We need to find that jersey?—”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain.” I squeeze her hand. “I already have one.”
