Strum Your Heart Out (27 page)

Miles groans in agony. "You're so bad at doing me."

Pete clears his throat. He rises to his feet then stands on the table in his best Miles impersonation. "Hey baby." He scans the imaginary crowd, landing on Miles. "This one is for you."

He blows a kiss.

The song starts. Pete does his best imitation of Miles's breathy, throaty singing. He's way off-key, but he brings the energy.

The song gets to the guitar solo—a polyphonic version of it. Pete scans his audience. He blows us all kisses.

"It's just, ugh, I hurt so bad deep inside that I can't even bear to wear a shirt. There's too much paiiiiiiiiiin in my chest." He plops his mic into one hand, pulls his shirt over his head, and tosses it to the ground. "That's better."

Tom and Drew crack up.

Miles pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. "I am not like that."

Pete claws at his chest. "Yeah, baby, look at my hot tattoos."

Meg stifles a laugh.

He growls. "Oh, you think this is funny?"

"Hilarious." She paws at him.

The verse picks up. Pete ups the breathy factor of his singing, stopping every syllable and a half to grunt into the mic.

It
is
hilarious. I fall onto the couch next to Drew and revel in the imitation. It's quite the performance.

When the song ends, Miles is beet red and everyone else is dying of laughter.

Tom taps something into the karaoke machine.

Another Sinful Serenade song.

He grabs the mic and blows Miles a kiss. "This is too much fun."

"Don't make me leave," Miles says.

“Check the book.” Pete motions to the book of songs by artist. “We’ve got about six more to go.”

"You can't leave." Meg draws a line over his chest. "I need you to serenade me."

"My impressionists aren't getting you there?"

She shakes her head. "Only the real thing will do."

The song intro plays. Tom grabs the other mic and jumps onto the table next to Pete. "This one is going out to my biggest fans, Mr. Miles Webb and Mr. Drew Denton."

The song is a ballad, very much about love and affection. Pete and Tom take turns singing one line at a time in their best throaty, breathy voices.

Miles is red and huffy. Meg whispers something in his ear. It must be pretty good because his frown turns upside down.

Drew moves a little closer. He runs his fingers over my lower back. We're positioned across from everyone. No one can see him touching me.

How can he still be so hot and cold?

Is he ashamed to be with me?

I shake off the thought in favor of watching the performance. The song ends. Pete collapses on the couch in hysterical laughter. Tom pours another round of shots and passes them out.

Everyone except Miles drinks.

That shit burns.

My head spins just enough to make me dizzy. I hang back while everyone takes turns singing. Tom serenades us with a Disney song. Pete performs some Aerosmith. Meg does her best Britney Spears.

When it's Miles's turn, he shakes his head but obliges. He pulls Meg onto his lap and he sings "I Want Your Sex" while staring into her eyes. She blushes like a tomato.

Everyone else groans.

Then it's my turn, supposedly. I shake my head. "I don't sing."

There must be a song that goes something like,
What the hell are we doing, why are you afraid of the word "girlfriend?"

It doesn't really have a good ring to it, but it's an honest sentiment.

Drew nudges me. "You sing very well."

"Um, no, you sing very well," I say.

Tom laughs. "Drew doesn't sing. He won't even sing backup."

I fold my arms over my chest. "Shows what you know."

"Damn, I guess there are certain perks to—" Tom clears his throat. "Whatever you two are."

Drew shoots Tom a death glare. I sigh. Whatever. Been there, done that, couldn't find a song to describe it accurately.

I grab the mic and pick my favorite No Doubt song, "Don't Speak." I'm way off-key, but I do my best to sell the enthusiasm.

I stare at Drew as I sing. He watches me closely, like he's looking for some meaning in my eyes. Truth is, I don't know what I'm thinking except
Your two weeks are over. Time to put up or shut up.

After I finish the song, I do a little bow and set the mic back on the table. Drew pats the spot next to him, inviting me to sit with him.

I make eye contact. "Can I talk to you outside?"

"Is it important?"

I bite my lip. "Tom, repeat that last thing you said."

"What thing?" He plays dumb.

I shoot Tom a death glare.

He shakes his head like he finds it a bad idea. "This is not the time, kid."

"Kara, what are you doing?" Drew asks.

I shake my head. "How about another round of shots?"

"That I can do." Tom passes out another round of shots. One for everyone but Miles. "Anything more, and I suggest you actually take it outside."

I slam my shot back. Beautiful liquid courage. No more shyness. I slide onto Drew's lap and kiss him.

My chest heaves against his.

He kisses me back for a second. Then he's pushing me away, pushing me off, staring at me with this look that says
What the fuck?

Behind me, someone clears his throat. Someone else.

Drew just stares at me.

All this hurt in his eyes.

Like I've betrayed his secret.

I slide off his lap and plant my ass on the bench seat. My arms fold over my chest. Everyone is staring at me. At us.

Pete breaks the silence. "Am I really the only one with the balls to say something?"

"You're going to make it worse," Tom says.

"How could it get worse?" Pete looks at me. "Drew good in bed?"

"Yeah," I reply.

"As good with his hands as he always says?" Pete asks.

"Better."

Drew snaps at no one in particular. "What are you doing?"

Pete waves him away. "The better question is what are
you
doing?"

Meg looks to me.
Are you okay
? I nod. I'm not, but I need to hear this.

"I’m not even going to ask if you’re with Kara, because we all know you are." Pete takes his shot. He stares at Drew. "And I’m not going to ask if you’re in love with her, because we all know you are."

The room is dead silent.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Pete asks. “Why are you trying so hard to throw away the only person you’ve been able to tolerate in years?”

Drew takes his shot, like that will somehow absolve him of answering the question.

Tom shakes his head. "Jesus, fuck this. Drew, answer the fucking question. Your girlfriend is about to cry. Are you fucking stupid or just desperate to be as miserable as possible?"

Drew scowls.

Tom shakes his head. "I'll give you five seconds. Five, four, three—"

Drew presses his palms into the seat.

"Two, one."

Nothing.

"Fuck me." Tom sighs like he's about to commit ritual suicide. He pushes off his seat. It's fast, a flash, and he grabs me and kisses me.

Tom is kissing me.

What the hell?

And then he's not. And there's this loud thud of flesh pounding into flesh. And a scream. Meg's scream.

Someone lands on the floor. Tom. And Drew is standing there shaking his fist, this embarrassed look on his face like he can't believe he did that.

Drew punched Tom.

"I told you not to touch her." Drew's eyes turn to the floor, like he's confused by his reaction.

He turns. His eyes catch mine. It's a split second and then he pushes past me. Pushes out the door.

And he's gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Three splashes of cool water on my face and I'm still this awful mix of hot and cold. There are two other girls in this little bathroom. They teeter over the sink with their stripper heels, adding another round of lipstick to their already made-up lips.

One of them, the younger, blonder one, looks at me with pity in her eyes.

"Boy troubles?" she pouts.

Can't blame her for asking. Mascara is running down my cheeks. Eyeliner smudged beyond meaningful description. My lipstick isn't doing much better.

I grab a paper towel and wipe my face as clean as I can. "I'm fine, thanks." The most obvious lie in the history of lies, but it's not like blondie cares.

I hide out in the handicapped stall, resting my ass against the metal bar. There's a plentiful supply of toilet paper for wiping the smudged makeup from my eyes. I can't see it, but I'm sure it still looks like shit.

The main door open and all the noise—half a dozen different songs being sung off key—fills the room. The party girls teeter out and someone else comes in.

"Kara."

It's Meg.

She knocks on the stall door. "You want to talk about this?"

"Not really, no."

"You want to get blind drunk?"

It's a tempting offer. Certainly would help me forget that word that starts with a D and rhymes with screw.

But it will feel worse in the morning.

"No thank you," I say. "If it's all right with you, I'd like to find some way to disappear and never have to think about him again." I toss a mascara-stained piece of toilet paper into the trash can. "I'll take a cab... somewhere."

"You can spend the night at my place," she says. "Or we can go to the Malibu pad. Plenty of room and Miles always has a fridge full of food."

"No Miles right now," I say. "Your boyfriend is nice and all, but—"

"I get it." She taps the door. "Want to open up?"

"Not really, no."

"I've got your purse. We can leave right now and call a cab. You don't have to talk to anyone but me."

I go to open the door. "You swear no one else is in here?"

"On my love of sashimi."

A tiny laugh breaks up the tension in my throat. So it's possible to feel something good besides the desperate need Drew stirs inside me. That's a start.

I open the door. Meg steps inside. She squeezes me with a very tight hug.

"I blame myself," she says. "If I hadn't been in relationship land, you wouldn't be forced to spend so much time with Drew."

"Yeah, I really dreaded all that time with him." I tear a piece of toilet paper in half. "It was all awful. Not like I was desperate to be around him constantly."

"Still. I haven't been around as much as I should be. You've always been the world's best friend." She steps back and looks me in the eyes sympathetically. "I'm sorry. This sucks."

"You can say that again."

"This sucks."

I laugh and cry at the same time. "I was doomed from the start. He's so..."

"Oh, yeah, he's so... possessive and overprotective and unable to communicate."

"And caring."

"I'll take your word on it."

"And hot as the sun."

"Can't object to that one." She grabs a few sheets of toilet paper and wipes the messy makeup from my eyes. "I think I made it worse."

"Eyeliner was never your strong suit."

She leans down as if she's examining my face. "You want me to make sure Tom gets another black eye?"

"He was trying to help."

"Funny way of doing it."

"Same plan as you," I say. "Make Drew jealous. Pray that gets him talking."

"It worked a lot better when I did it."

"Yeah. He said he wanted to try."

She points me to the mirror. My makeup is mostly tamed. Still messy but not
I've been crying over my not-boyfriend in the bathroom
messy.

Meg hands me my purse. "We can sneak out now."

"Please."

***

Fuck my life. Tom is sitting in the lounge, checking his black eye with his cell phone camera.

And of course, Miles and Pete are next to him. An audience. Just what I need to shred whatever is left of my dignity.

Everyone looks at me like I am a poor, unfortunate creature.
Poor, damaged Kara. What can we do to help her?

As crazy as Drew drives me, he never looks at me like I might break.

Meg points her finger at Tom. "If I don't hear an explanation or an apology in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to disembowel you with one of your drumsticks."

"How the hell would you?" He shakes his head. "Don't tell me. I'll have nightmares."

"You have about twenty seconds left," she says.

"Babe, I like this side of you but, maybe give him a chance to explain," Miles says.

"Forget it. Kara and I are going home by ourselves. We have had enough Sinful trouble for the night," she says.

Tom looks to Pete. "You think we'll ever find another guitarist as good as Drew?"

"No." Pete shakes his head. "Better hope he forgives you."

"Fuck that asshole. He better hope I forgive
him
." Tom's attention turns to me. "You all right?"

"Not really," I say.

Tom frowns. "He'll come around."

Pete stares at Tom with incredulity. "You wanted to help Kara."

"No way," Tom says. "Just don't like seeing women get jerked around."

Pete's jaw drops. "You cared more about her feelings than about the band. This has never happened."

Miles nods. "Never."

Tom looks away like he's embarrassed.

"I appreciate the sentiment," I say. "But please don't help me anymore."

Miles waves Tom away. He looks at Meg. "You need a cab?"

"I've got it." She kisses him goodbye. "If you do kill Tom, call me. I want to hear him scream for mercy."

***

The cab ride to Meg's place is fast and mercifully silent. Her building still smells vaguely like sushi, but hey, there's no one here to interrogate me or kiss me or drive me out of my damn mind.

I look to the bed and its soft, inviting comforter. "Are your sheets clean?"

"Changed them this morning."

I flop onto the mattress with a tiny thud. Not as soft as it looks.

Meg sits next to me. She pokes my shoulder. When I roll over, she points to a can of green tea like it's supposed to tempt me. Fine. I take it and pop the top open.

"You hungry?" she asks.

"No."

"I have Frosted Flakes."