“I love karaoke,” Maddox announces, causing us all to groan.
He might love karaoke, but karaoke doesn’t love him. A dog is more in tune than him.
“Barbra’s it is,” Beau yells, taking Faith’s hand.
“Have a good night,” the bouncer announces, heading back to the entrance.
*** *** ***
My upper body sways to the beat of the music, my hips wiggling in my seat. Mingles had me interested for a second, but I’m glad this is where we ended up. Men in drag are the best.
When we first arrived, they had a drag queen called Luna doing stand-up. We hadn’t even been seated before we were laughing.
It must be a regular night here because pictures of them are mounting the walls, along with advertisements of what else is happening in the week.
“Whoohoo,” I howl when another tray of shots is placed on our table. I reach for mine, then shoot it back, the dark liquid burning my throat.
“Your dad and uncles are up to something,” Clayton yells as he leans in, his cologne reaching my senses.
Twisting my head to their table, I note that he’s right. Dad, after monopolising time with a red-headed drag queen, questioning her with random crap, finally sits down with Malik, Mason and Myles, not letting anyone sit next to them. I’d noticed not long ago that he kept looking over, but until now, I didn’t see his cunning expression.
The minute they spot me watching, they glance away so quickly I’ll be surprised if they don’t have whiplash. Uncle Malik, however, seems bored, his attention on Aunt Harlow.
I sigh, sitting back in my seat. “You’ll be fine. After they nearly killed Jaxon, they promised they wouldn’t overreact again.”
“That really does not make me feel better.”
“Next up for tonight, we have a hot totty, Clayton Cross,” Cindy, the stage diva, announces.
Liquid sprays across the table as Clayton chokes on his drink.
“Really?” Maddox mutters, wiping the alcohol off his arm.
Clayton turns to me with wide eyes. “Please tell me I didn’t hear my name.”
I grin, because this I have to see. “You really did.”
“Did you do this?”
“Nope,” I admit, turning my head to Dad’s table, where he’s laughing it up with the others. “You really can’t back out. They’re counting on that. Live a little.”
He turns away from their table and focusses on me, his lips pulling into a smirk. “Then you won’t mind doing it with me.”
“I’m not drunk enough,” I yell, grabbing a shot off the table and downing it when he pulls me up.
We reach the stage, where Cindy greets us. “Hey, sugar. Hey, hot pie,” she drawls, running her gaze over Clayton. I can’t blame her. Tonight, he’s skipped his black slacks and gone for dark, navy-blue jeans and a white shirt with light blue stripes on, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Brown shoes and a brown belt to go with it.
He looks good enough to eat and smells even better.
“Hey,” I greet, giving her a small wave.
“Do you still want to sing ‘It’s Raining Men’?” Cindy asks, her voice scratchy.
“God no,” I mutter, shuddering. “Do you have ‘Islands in the Stream’?”
“Dolly Parton? You’re a girl after my own heart, darlin’,” she gushes, pressing her padded chest into my arms as she hugs me.
I twirl a strand of her hair around my finger, grinning. “This is Dolly all over.”
She winks, her long, glittered lashes fluttering. “Maybe later we could sing ‘Jolene’ or, my favourite, ‘9 to 5’.”
I push away, smiling. “You’re on.”
Clayton rubs his hands down his jeans before reaching for the mic.
“Why this song?” he whispers as we walk onto the stage, to where the screen sits, facing us.
“It has a lot of intro,” I explain on a whisper, beaming out at the crowd.
He chuckles under his breath as the song begins to play. “Baby when I met…” he sings, shocking me to my core when it turns out he’s pretty good.
I shake my head, grinning like a fool when our duet comes. “You do something to me…”
His lips spread into a wide smile as he arches his eyebrows. I’m not one to brag, but I’m pretty fucking good.
The female members and a few male members of our group stand, cheering and singing along with us. I sway side to side, bumping my hip with Clayton’s when he slips up.
A laugh breaks from his chest during the middle of the song. He gazes down at me, wrapping an arm around me as he continues to sing.
I’m so caught up in his crooked smile that I don’t realise I’ve stopped singing. Joy and happiness radiate from him, and I’m unable to turn away.
I startle when someone slips up behind me. Everything hits me at once. The sound of cheers, the light intro music playing, and Cindy standing between us.
“Singing like that, this couple will go far,” she shouts into the microphone.
“They aren’t a couple,” Dad yells. “Fake news.”
The crowd laugh, and I snigger at his crestfallen expression. I take a bow before standing, raising my arms in the air. “Thank you for coming. I’m here all week.”
“Not so fast, short stuff. We need you for the next game,” Cindy reveals.
“What?” I ask, forcing a laugh.
“We have a hen and stag party in attendance. Can the bride-to-be and groom come to the stage,” she declares, before scanning the crowd. “You two love birds swallowing each other’s faces… yeah, you, come on up. And you two hotties.”
Aiden and Bailey slowly push up from their seats, reluctantly making their way to the stage, along with Beau and Faith and, to my horror, Mum and Dad.
“Oh God,” I groan, standing closer to Clayton.
Another drag queen steps out from behind the curtain, carrying four balloons.
“Please tell me they’re to throw in the air and not for what I think they’re for.”
“Bucker up, buttercup, we’re doing this. My dad has his ‘I’m going to win’ face on.”
“Seriously? You want to do this because of your dad?”
“We’re a competitive family,” I argue.
“First couple to get the balloon from their waists to their mouths, without popping it or touching it with their hands, will win a bottle of champagne.”
“Prepare to lose, spawn of mine.”
“Bet you fifty quid I win.”
“You are on. Get that fifty ready. I’ll be cashing in.”
I roll my eyes, yet it’s Mum I address and not Dad. “You’re going to need his favourite pudding to pacify him after he loses.”
Dad snorts. “Pudding is a euphemism for sex.”
“Really,” I snap. “I’m already piling up things to talk to my therapist about when I get one. You had to add to it?”
“Ignore him. He’s lying.”
I scoff because her deep blush says differently.
“Get ready,” Cindy yells.
Clayton puts the balloon between us, before lightly placing his hands on my sides, just below my boob area. He clears his throat, jerking them away and placing them lower down.