Once Upon A Half-Time 1(29)
Jack delivered her an unopened beer. “Well, well, well. Here’s the team’s newest lovebirds.”
Elle groaned. “And, with any luck, I can fly away from him.”
“Whadda think, rookie?” Jack held up an electric razor. “Want to tweet a nice little song for us…or are you gonna let me manage your hair style for the rest of training camp?” He pointed a couple tables over. A razor poised over our third-round draft choice’s head. “Frankie took the coward’s way out.”
No dice. “As much as I’d rock a dick and balls shaved into my head, I’m here for the music, baby.”
Elle stroked her camera. “Thank God this thing doesn’t pick up sound.”
“You’re gonna change your tune pretty quick, Red,” I said.
“You better order me another drink. This is going to be a long night.”
And it wouldn’t have to end if all went to plan. I accepted Jack’s challenge and hopped onto the stage as a chorus of cheers erupted in the bar. The house lights dimmed, and the stage spotlighted my full glory.
Jack baited the team, standing on a chair and drawing the attention of the entire bar. I counted only a handful of non-Rivets personnel. Less of a chance for this to end up on YouTube.
Unlike the last time I karaoked at college. But I doubted this one would end with the fire-breathing or the two girls begging for a ride home—and not in my car.
“For your entertainment tonight…” Jack announced me to great acclaim from the offense. “Our first-round draft pick, Lachlan Charming Reed, has offered his talents for our amusement. What’s he singing tonight, men?”
Someone foolish entrusted Caleb and Orlando to pick the songs. They cackled over the selection book before cueing a song with a malicious grin. I grabbed a wireless mic and braced myself for their particular brand of torment.
The poppy twang of Millennial country roared through the bar, and the guys and I both cheered.
Taylor Swift.
Yee-haw.
This was too damn easy. They thought they’d embarrass me? Hell, I was about to give them the full fucking concert. I even stole a cowboy hat from one of our less-fashionable receivers.
A kicky little beat started. Elle whistled as I spun, shaking it off like the song commanded. The lyrics scrolled on the screen, but who needed the help? I knew the words, and I dove across the stage in my best interpretation of the current Princess of Pop.
Elle was the first one to clap, but the team exploded. The linemen leapt out of their seats, shouting and cheering as I sang.
In fucking key.
Hitting every note.
Shaking my ass like Tay-Tay wished she could move.
I owned the bar, zipping from one side of the stage to the other. I held the mic out for the audience to sing, twerking what my momma gave me and making her proud.
I’d never met a problem I couldn’t solve with a good hip thrust. This was no different. I gyrated like Shakira and melted a song like Justin Timberlake, and damn if I didn’t collect the panties of five college co-eds giggling like banshees in the corner.
By the end of the song, I was sweeping away another thong, a pair of bikini panties, and a receiver’s boxer shorts.
Not bad for my first performance, but the Rivets demanded an encore.
And I was happy to oblige.
“God damn, rookie!” Jack hooted with the team. “After that dance, I don’t know if I should be buying you a drink or breakfast.”
I grinned. “You buying me either?”
“Fuck no, rookie. Give us another song.”
“As you wish.” I pointed to Elle. “Gimme a song, Red.”
Elle snapped a picture, but she didn’t answer.
I hopped from the stage and sipped her beer. “Not leaving until you give me a song,”
“Where’d you learn to sing?”
“Bast had colic as a baby.” I waved for the bar to quiet down. The team teased louder. “I had to sing or none of us would have slept in the house. Come up. Sing a song with me.”
“Nope.”
“It’ll be fun!”
“Noooope.”
“You’re gonna regret it…” I gave her a wink.
“What are you doing?” Elle practically dove after me, but I escaped to the stage. “I swear to god, Charming—”
I waved Caleb and Orlando away from the karaoke machine and chose my own damn song.
The music keyed up, the lights came down low, and I growled the words to my audience as the first beat trembled my hips into one sharp roll of my butt.
“This next song goes out to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling my wife.”
The co-eds groaned in disappointment, but Elle was already on her way under the table. The guys prevented her from bolting out of the bar. Jack and Orlando escorted her to a chair in the dead center of the room, somehow finding lighters. They waved the flame in the air and rocked to the beat.