London

Lab was...interesting, and so was the Uber ride to Sound. I’m eternally grateful that the driver was so talkative. Apparently, his child has plans on attending SU, as well, and that’s why he is driving Uber, so he could afford the tuition. He also hopes that he could get some help with scholarships. He, however, thinks it is unlikely because, “The kid’s attitude sucks.”

How do you even reply to that?

Once the Chrysler minivan speeds away after dropping us off, we all look at each other and giggle.

I sigh loudly. “I am so ready to have fun.”

“Same,” the whole squad but Fletcher responds.

“Not you?” I ask, nudging him with my elbow before grabbing my ID out of my crossbody purse.

“If I’m being honest, I’m not a fan of karaoke.”

“I’ve never done it,” I admit. It’s not a lie. I have sung with a microphone a million times, but always with Dad or Maddox. “I’m gonna watch tonight. See what it’s like.”

“The hell you are.” Jamie links her arm in mine and drags me inside.

I look back at Fletcher and mouth, “Help.”

“Oh no.” He shakes his head. “If I have to, you have to.”

When we walk in, we are immediately ID’d. It makes me anxious, but we pass through without issue.

“Put those IDs in your bras or pockets,” Fletcher tells us, and we all give him the same what the hell look. “The cops walk through here. They can look through your bags, but they can’t search your person. I’ve seen it. I’d rather none of you get arrested tonight.”

“I’d rather we not get arrested either,” I say, shoving mine in my bra immediately.

He points to a table. “I’m going to go save that table for us.”

“What do you want to drink?” Lisa asks him.

“Water or club soda is fine with me.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out some cash and hands her a twenty.

“I’ve got the water.” She smiles at him before turning to walk away.

I look at Christy. “Do you mind grabbing me a water, too? I’ll go keep Fletcher company.”

“Seriously, water?” She titters.

“Early morning?” I offer an apologetic excuse.

I follow Fletcher back to the high-top pub table and watch as he talks to a pretty blonde girl at the table beside us. What is it with freaking blondes? She smiles at him, nods, and he pulls a chair to our table.

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” I laugh, more at myself for assuming he was putting the moves on the woman. I’m also wondering why it would bother me if he was.

Logan.

“Believe it or not, I try to be a gentleman whenever possible,” Fletcher says with an undertone of annoyance.

“I don’t doubt that at all,” I assure him. “I hope you didn’t think otherwise.”

He sits and looks down at his wrist, fidgeting with his watch. “I understand the draw to a guy like that.”

No, you don’t, I want to tell him, but I can’t.

“But he doesn’t have your best intentions in his heart, Elle. He will use you and throw you away. He’ll leave, and you will never see him again.”

Yes, he does. He hasn’t even tried to touch me. And yes, I will. I see him more often than not.

I say nothing.

“You can do better than a spoiled rich kid who probably doesn’t need to get an education because he’ll have daddy’s money to play with for the rest of his life.”

Money doesn’t matter. We all want to make it on our own. I hate that people assume that of people like me, like Logan. It’s just not true. Yet, I keep it to myself.

“I see how comfortable you are with him. Your hand...” He pauses and shakes his head from side to side. Now I know he saw my hand was indecently high on Logan’s inner thigh. It’s embarrassing. “And what you may think of as protective isn’t. It’s possessive, Elle. He wants to own you. And when he no longer wants you, your heart will be discarded as easily as yesterday’s garbage.”

“I like Logan,” I begin, and he sighs and shakes his head. “Let me rephrase that. I like Logan when he’s not being a total douche.”

He looks at me, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“I can assure you I am not his type, and he has never crossed a line with me.”

His eyebrows rise skeptically.

“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him when he made similar comments about you.”

“He what?” he gasps.

“He thinks because you and I are friends, that you want me in a different way. And I know that’s untrue. But he clearly has never had female friends, so he doesn’t get it.”

“So, you’re to be his teacher and temptress?”

I shrug. “It’s not like that with him. But as I was saying, I’m not going to just allow a man into my bed because they seem interested in me.”

“I hope you stand your ground, Elle.” His hand covers mine. “You have a genuine and kind heart; don’t let someone break it.”

Five shot glasses hit the table, and I look up to see Jamie smiling.

“Squad shots.”

“I’m fine.” Fletcher holds his hand up to her.

“Gotta do at least one.” Lisa sets his glass of water in front of him. “Then you can hop right back on the wagon.”

His lips curl up slightly in the corner. “Just one.”

“To us.” Lisa holds up her shot.

“To us.” We all tap glasses and shoot down the nastiest tasting alcohol I have ever tasted.

I hold my hand over my waist, willing my dinner—what I ate of it—to stay where it should.

“You okay?” Jamie asks.

“Can we please never do shots of that gasoline again?”

She nods. “Sure, if you come with me and do just this one thing for me.”

Before I have a chance to agree or disagree, she has my hand and is dragging me toward the small corner stage.

Ugh.

I look behind me for some moral support, hoping Lisa, Christy, or even Fletcher will have my back, but Lisa and Christy are following us, smiling from ear to ear.

Up on stage, I look down at the bracelet Maddox gave me. I think of how hard he worked to get through his past and this...minor issue of stage fright starts to fade.

“Okay, Christy and Lisa, melody. Me and Elle, harmony. We do chorus together, and each take one verse.” She smiles. “Let’s do this!”

“Wait, what song?” I ask.

“ ‘Hold on,’ by Wilson Philips,” Jamie answers.

“I don’t know it,” I admit.

“Then you get the last verse. You got this.”

The music begins, and I listen for recognition, finding absolutely none.

Dammit!

Jamie starts to sing, and the girls begin to add harmony to her melody.

Dammit.

I fumble through the chorus. Thankfully, Jamie’s harmony is carrying loud enough to mask my mumbles perfectly.

Lisa takes the next verse, and when the chorus begins, I join in with Jamie, harmonizing.

Christy takes the next, and as the words move on the screen, Jamie looks at me, eyes widening.

“Shit,” she whispers.

“What?”

“There’re only three verses. I’m sorry, Elle. I thought—”

“Seriously, it’s cool.” I laugh out my relief, and then the chorus begins again.

As we walk off stage, a couple walks up onto it.

Jamie squeezes my hand. “They clapped louder for us than the last performer.”

When we sit down, Fletcher’s arms are crossed over his chest, eyebrow arched, looking directly at me.

“What?” I sit down and take a drink of my water.

He sighs, pushes back in his stool, and stands.

“What?” I giggle awkwardly as he begins to walk away.

He stands in front of the DJ and bends down.

“Fletcher’s gonna sing.” Jamie claps excitedly.

I watch as he walks back, a coy smile playing on his lips. He walks behind me. “Come on, Elle. Me and you.”

“What?” I grab the table. “No. Nope. No—” I squeal when he pulls the chair out, which makes the girls laugh.

“You’re not getting out of it that easy.” He grabs my hand and gives it a tug, pulling me behind him.

The DJ waves him over. “Hey, man, I only have the Glee version. That cool?”

“It’ll work,” Fletcher says before he turns to me. “Did you ever watch Glee?”

“Watch it? I lived it.”

“Good, then you’ll know this one,” Fletcher says, leading me to the stage.

“What song?” I ask as the couple who sang Islands in the Stream walk off. God, I don’t want to sing a love song with Fletcher, who until Logan started having issue with him, I didn’t even think of him that way. Then I almost used it to entice Logan, which I now feel weird about.

“Come on,” he says, walking up the three steps.

Having no real choice—it is squad night after all, and I am liking this squad thing—I take a deep breath and look at him.

“This isn’t a dick statement, Elle, but this song is perfect for the Quad Squad.”

“We’re five now.” I nudge him with my elbow.

“Quad Squad has a better ring.” He smiles politely and nods to the monitor.

I look down at the monitor and laugh.

“Perfect, right?”

“Love it.”

“We need to nail this,” he says, looking into the distance.

“Of course we will.”

“I’ll take the first verse and we alternate.”

“Chorus together?”

“Of course.”

The music begins, and I can’t help smiling. I know he probably chose it because of Logan, but it carries a Mitch tune with me.

“A scrub is a guy who thinks he’s fly,” he begins.

He’s not just singing; he’s playing the small crowd, telling them a story. This is certainly where Fletcher opens up.

When he changes the last line to “And sits on his pompous ass,” I laugh as I begin singing the chorus with him.

“If you don’t have a car and you’re walking.” I point to Jamie, who covers her mouth and laughs, then claps and whistles loudly.

Lisa grabs Christy, and Christy grabs Jamie, and then the three of them stand in front of the stage as if they are at a concert, singing along and dancing.

When the song ends, the place erupts in applause and whistles. Christy’s two fingers in her mouth is the loudest of all.

I walk down and hug them. “You’re going to teach me how to whistle like that!”

She giggles. “I’ll try.”

“I’m up,” Jamie squeals.

“Again?”

“We’re doing this all night!”

When she starts singing “Single Ladies,” the three of us dance while Fletcher heads to the table.

Half an hour later, several people, including Christy and Lisa, have sung solos.

“You gotta get up there,” Jamie yells over the music.

“I’m good!” I yell back.

“No way! I’m gonna pick for you,” she yells, and before I can object, she’s pushing through the crowd who joined us on the dance floor.

“Oh, God.” I cover my face.

Christy hands me a drink. “Should have picked yourself. She’s had a lot to drink. You’re in so much trouble!”

I take a big gulp and nearly choke. “What is this?”

“Long Island Iced Tea.” Christy holds hers up. “Cheers.”

I let my glass tap hers. “What’s in it?”

“A little bit of everything,” she jokes.

Well, at least I thought she was joking until I force myself to chug it down so I don’t have to hold the glass and am now feeling the effects of a little bit of everything.

When Jamie returns, she is grinning from ear to ear.

“What song are we doing?”

“You’re doing a song. You,” she answers.

I consider allowing my nerves to take over, but a little bit of everything is making it easier to say, “Screw it. What song am I doing?”

“ ‘Something to talk about.’ I know it’s country, but—”

“I know the song!” I squeal.

The song reminds me of my maternal grandmother, Josie. A couple times a month, I would go to the bar she owns, and we would talk about school and all the drama. She would always tell me to, “Let them talk. Hell, give them something to talk about, sweetheart.” Then she would play the song and sing it while dancing around, making me laugh. After a while, whenever we were together, we would sing it and dance together.

Grandma Josie is a treat. She acts twenty, but is in her late sixties. She runs one of the two bars in my hometown, and she’s there all the time. On Mondays, she’s closed, and that’s the day she cleans the place like it’s spring every week.

“Well, good, you’re up in two more songs.” She hip-checks me as the next song begins and someone who looks an awfully lot like Logan’s type starts singing—well, trying to sing—Brittany’s “Toxic.”

“Oh, my God,” Lisa says through her laughter, “she sucks!”

“Shhh,” I say, unable to not laugh.

“Her tits don’t move when she jumps.” Christy points right at her, and I cover my face.

Jamie grabs my hands and starts making me dance. “Who the hell is she?”

“Toxic.” I giggle. “Her name’s Toxic, like all the other plastics.”

Jamie laughs.

On stage alone, my nerves are dulled and I’m focused on my friends as I begin.

I close my eyes and do the beginning hum, and when I open them, I begin the song. “People are talkin’, talkin’ ’bout people,” I sing and watch them smile and give me nonverbal tips. Jamie smacks her ass, Christy flips her hair, and Lisa moves her fingers across her collarbone and then up her neck.

This is exactly what I need. I can do this with the right direction. Heck, I can do it better because not only are they fabulous at giving constructive criticism and magnificent at nonverbal cues, but they are true friends. I can see it in their eyes, they want me to kick butt, just as much as I want them to.

Quad Squad.

By the first chorus, I am actually enjoying myself.

When Jamie nods to the bar, rolling her eyes. I look and see Logan, Mitch, and a few other guys I recognize from the roster of the countless games I have attended with my family over the past couple years. Smack dab in the middle is Toxic herself with her hand on Logan’s forearm.

I look from her arm to his face to see if he looks like he’s enjoying her attention. He’s looking right at me.

I look away quickly and whatever nerves were there are replaced with the need to give him something to “think about.”

With a little bit of everything’s encouragement, I channel Grandma Josie.

When I begin the next verse, I yank on the belt to my knit sweater wrap, and it falls open. I look away from Logan and seek encouragement from my friends.

Jamie raises both hands in the air and yells, “Woo-hoo!”

I shrug off my light pink sweater wrap and toss it to her.

On stage, I am in a bodysuit, a pair of jeans, and black pumps. I may not have plastic tits, but even Logan told me they were nice.

“I feel so foolish.” I let my fingers skim slowly against my body, from my waist, across my abdomen, and up between my boobs, then I run my hand up my neck. “Could you be falling for me?” I push my hair over my shoulder and shake my ass as I move across the stage, continuing the song.

When the bridge begins, I am center stage. I glance toward him briefly just to see if he’s catching the show I’m putting on. Then, when the song ends, I give a dramatic bow and blow a kiss before walking off stage where the girls surround and hug me.

“I’m next.” Jamie tosses my wrap, but not to me. When I look to see where it lands, it’s in Logan’s hands.

I look from his hands up to his face. He’s pissed, and I decide to do the only thing that makes sense in this situation. I turn my back on him and join my friends as Jamie takes the stage.

“This is how you do Britany,” she says and “Oops!...I did It Again” starts.

She kills it, and the whole place applauds as she skips down the stairs to us.

We all hug her tight and laugh.

“Jamie.” I grab her face and make her look at me. “The biggest applause of the night goes to you!”

“Eeek!” she says and then...then she kisses me hard on the lips.

Wow, um, what does one say to that?

She hugs me and whispers, “Makes the boys crazy. Just go with it.”

I can’t help laughing. Then I laugh harder when I realize Jamie, my friend, was my very first kiss on the lips from someone other than family.

“Jamie!” We hear Mitch yell from behind me.

She looks around me and at him, “It’s Britany, bitch!”

Lisa, Christy, and I burst out in laughter again.

“Come with me,” Jamie says, dragging me behind her toward the bathroom.

Laughing and talking about Toxic, Mitch, Logan, and the other guys who came with them, we pee, wash our hands, and check our hair and faces.

“Let’s get back out there and shake things up.” Jamie swings the bathroom door open, and we follow her out.

As we turn the corner, the song, “Hallelujah” fills the building.

“Oh, my God,” Lisa gasps.

“Hallelujah,” Christy yells in some southern Baptist minister voice.

“Whoever that is singing, he just stole the clap award right out from under my Brittany heels,” Jamie sighs.

“You just got robbed.” I pat her back, comforting her fake loss.

“Clap award.” Lisa giggles.

“Yeah, no one wants the clap,” Christy adds. “You should thank him.”

When we turn the corner, I see Fletcher on stage.

“He’s amazing.” Lisa covers her mouth then grabs Christy’s hand. “Let’s go, squad!”

Standing in front of the stage, we hold hands and form a line, swaying to the sound of Fletcher Reaves beautiful, almost hauntingly so, tenor.

I’m in awe at his range and voice control.

When the song ends, the room is so quiet you can hear him put the mic back in its stand.

I yell out, “Woo-hoo” and clap, and then everyone joins in.

When the next person takes stage, the applause finally stops.

We hurry to the table and congratulate him.

“You...God, Fletcher, you are amazing. I’m telling you...” I pause because I am seriously stumbling over my thoughts and words. I giggle and look up at him. “If you don’t get this part, I’m leaving the program. Because that means they’re idiots and wouldn’t know talent if it kicked them in the butt!”

He takes my hand and kisses it. “I’m so glad you fell into my life.”

“Hey, what about us?” Christy asks.

He takes his coat from the back of his chair. “You all, too, of course.”

“Are you leaving?” I ask, shocked.

“I adore you ladies; however, I need to take my responsibilities more seriously.” He forces a small smile.

“But—”

“Alcohol, minors, RA,” he cuts me off and winks.

“Well, what about the squad?” Christy asks.

“I swore an oath.” He nods. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“How about a weekly dinner out? Not at the dining hall, and no alcohol?” Lisa asks.

“I’m in.” He gives another nod. “Goodnight.”