Dakota is McKenna and Griffin’s daughter’s nanny, who just so happens to be living with Carson. I seriously can’t keep up with all the crazy shit they’ve got going on, but they’re some of the few people I let into my close circle.
The emcee says it’s our turn, so I nod to Carson before going on stage.
When the starting notes of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” sound through the speakers, my cocky smirk accompanies a rueful wink toward Little Red. She shakes her head at my antics but raises her beer to me in salute.
My hands tremble with nerves. God, it’s been a long time since I’ve been up on a stage singing. Taking a deep breath, I bring the mic to my mouth and sing the opening lines, all without taking my eyes off the auburn hair bombshell.
She stares back at me, utterly bewildered at the fact that I can, in fact, sing. When she mouths, “I’ll be damned,” to me, I have to fight back the chuckle rumbling to life in my chest.
As I sing the song’s last bars, Red tucks her beer bottle into her arm, brings both hands up to her mouth, and lets out a shrill whistle. After securing the mic back in the stand, I make my way over to her.
“So, was my mom lying to me my whole life?” I inquire.
“She may have been telling the truth. But it’s hard to know if I’m just nice and buzzed or if you actually sounded good. Perhaps a private show is needed,” she jokes, or at least I think she was joking. When her eyes widen, I realize she most definitely didn’t mean to say that last part.
I attempt to bite back my chuckle before asking, “How am I supposed to give you a private show if I don’t even know your name?”
“What about this—if fate puts us in the same place at the same time again, I’ll not only tell you my name, but I’ll give you my number too,” she suggests, stepping closer to me.
Holding back my groan of frustration, I sigh instead. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t leave anything up to fate—doing so means I forfeit control of a situation, and I don’t lose control.
“You’re killing me, Little Red.”
She tries to hide her cheeky grin as she takes a pull from her beer, but I don’t miss how her nose wrinkles and the upturn of her cheeks. I’m so fascinated watching her red lips wrap around the lip of the bottle that I don’t realize her friends have called out for her.
“Looks like we’re headed to the next bar on the birthday girl’s list,” she tells me. “Thanks for serenading me tonight, Benny.”
I’m not sure what possesses me to do so, but I grip the top of my straw cowboy hat with one hand and nod my head in goodbye to her.
What the fuck has gotten into me?
Red just shakes her head at me before turning to walk away, her hips swaying with each step.
I’m not a man who believes in fate, but if she were placed in my path again, I don’t think there’d be a chance in hell I’d let her slip through my fingers so easily. The odds of that happening, though, are slim to none.
One Month Later
Loosening the collar of my dress shirt, I curse Griffin for about the tenth time today.
I’m a great public speaker, but I’m shit with emotions, so I can’t for the life of me figure out why he and McKenna asked me to be the officiant of their wedding. Not only did he wrangle me into that, but I’m also performing their first dance song with Jackson.
I managed to officiate my first—and last—wedding ceremony without too many hiccups. Not that I expected any different, but the groom didn’t wait for my queue to kiss his bride—not once, but twice.
Slamming back my second shot of Jameson, I set the glass on the bar and turn to find Jax.
“You ready for your big debut, brother?” he mocks, knowing I hate that I’m about to perform on stage in front of people. I’m not nearly buzzed enough for this.
Turning back to the bartender, I nod for a refill.
“One more,” I murmur to Jax.
“Go easy, B. I don’t need you increasing your odds of yacking on stage. You were stone-cold sober the night of the high school talent show,” he reminds me as if I need that mental image at this fucking moment.
Narrowing my eyes at my idiot brother, I throw back the shot without breaking eye contact. The whiskey burns down my throat, and I welcome its familiarity.
I grab my Martin acoustic guitar and head to the makeshift stage set up in the backyard of McKenna and Griffin’s cabin. The ceremony was in the backyard of McKenna and Carson’s parents’ cabin, but the reception tent, if you can even call it that, is in the adjoining yard next door.
Jackson joins me on stage and sits on a barstool next to mine, adjusting our mic stands before giving me a reassuring nod.
