Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Avril.
The woman who feels so good in my arms, in my bed, over my kitchen counter.
She’s standing next to Deacon, grinning up at Aurora, who’s just finishing up her rendition of Dolly Parton’s finest tune.
Avril hollers and cheers like she’s at a Beyonce concert as Aurora takes a bow.
“Who’s next?” Aurora asks, holding out the microphone. “Ryder?”
Avril turns to scan the crowd and her gaze finds mine. Her eyes fill with disappointment and it’s like a blow to the stomach. But I get it. She’s pissed off because I wouldn’t help her because we have history—even if it was very recent history.
Avril turns back to the stage. “What about Ben? He should sing since he was late to arrive.”
“I’m not late,” I say, raising my beer as everyone turns to stare at me. “I came as soon as I was invited.”
“Come on,” Deacon says. “Let’s hear you sing.”
I shake my head. “I’m only one beer in. Give me a second to catch up.”
“No excuse!” Aurora says. “I’m no beers in.”
Maybe it would have been better for all of our auditory faculties if Aurora had passed on the microphone, since she wasn’t drinking.
Aurora takes the stairs down from the stage and hands me the microphone. “Come on, Ben. Don’t be a killjoy.”
Urgh. That’s literally the worst thing you can say to me. I hate the idea that I’m the cause of anyone not having fun. I take the microphone and Ryder hands me the iPad with song choices on it.
I scroll down, trying to find something that I know the words to. Something classic that people are going to sing along to. I also want there to be something about the lyrics that maybe sends a message to Avril.
Then I hit on it. Bruno Mars. “Just the Way You Are.” I press the buttons to play the song and take to the stage.
Jesus. There’s only one way not to look like a dick in a situation like this and it’s not to take yourself too seriously and to fully commit. I take a breath.
I start to sing. Lucky for me, I can sing a little.
Avril eyes me from the bar. Her eyes narrow. She’s probably wondering if I’m going to make a fool of myself. What she doesn’t know about me is that I’ve worked my entire life to make sure I don’t fail at anything. Including karaoke.
I begin and people start whooping. It’s probably relief that they don’t have to listen to Aurora anymore. And then the people on the benches get up and everyone starts dancing in front of the stage, singing to their significant other or whoever is next to them. The last thing anyone is doing is paying attention to me. I couldn’t have planned it better.
At the end of the song, I find Avril, lock gazes with her and sing to her. I sing that she’s amazing. Just the way she is. She’s not beaming up at me with love hearts in her eyes, but she doesn’t break our gaze either.
I’ll take it.
Everyone claps, and I hand the microphone over to Scarlett.
I take a seat on one of the back benches as people get more drinks from the bar and pore over the song list. Part of me hopes Avril will come over and offer a truce. But she doesn’t. Instead, she talks to Poppy, Aurora, Scarlett, Ryder, Deacon, a couple of other people I don’t know. Basically, she talks to anyone who isn’t me.
After Scarlett’s had her turn, Deacon goes up and sings Abba—which will haunt me for the rest of my life. And not in a good way.
Then Avril, along with Poppy and Aurora, gets up on the stage, and the familiar opening of “I Will Survive” starts.
I chuckle and lean against the back wall, ready to enjoy the show. Avril warned me at Deacon and Aurora’s engagement party that no one wanted to see her rendition. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I can’t wait.
They all commit like they’re on Broadway, which I appreciate.
Everyone is whooping and clapping and it’s almost impossible to hear the words. But they’re all having a ball and it’s fun. A couple of times, I lock eyes with Avril, and she sings to me like she’s a scorned ex-girlfriend. It’s adorable. She’d hate me for thinking it, but it’s true. She clearly wants to put people off with her spikiness, but I find it completely charming.
At the end of the song, I decide to take the bull by the horns and I go over to Avril.
“Great show,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s a great song.”
“A classic. And you were wrong. I absolutely did want to hear it. Can I get you a drink? I presume you don’t own this place?”
“Ha,” she says.
Before she can answer, Poppy joins us. We greet each other with air kisses. “Avril explained how you wouldn’t help her with the Boston site.”