Page 97 of Betting on the Bad Boy

I ignored him as I sat down to study the coffee bar menu. Caffeine. Yes, caffeine would help.

The server came around and took orders. I put mine in for an extra-large chai latte and sat back to wait for the show to start. Jess started up a conversation with a guy on her right. I recognized him from the fiction writing seminar I’d taken a couple of years ago. He had an interest in sci-fi, if I recalled correctly.

“I was hoping you’d be here tonight,” Murph said. With no one on my left, it didn’t take long for him to pull up a chair.

Great, just great. “Yeah, I needed a break, and Jess really wanted to come.”

“Did you bring anything?” he asked.

“What?”

“To slam? It’s a poetry slam, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. No, I don’t have anything.” If I didn’t engage, maybe he’d return to his seat. I scanned the crowd. How many of these people had a poem prepared? My last attempt had taken me a week, and I’d only come up with a few measly lines.

Murph’s mouth spread into a wicked smile. “I have a little something I’ve been working on.”

A voice rang out over the speaker system. “Hi, everyone. Welcome to The Roastery and our much-anticipated poetry slam.” Our server had stepped onto the small stage and spoke into a hand-held microphone. Hoots, hollers, and applause broke out.

Murph got up from the table and moved back to his original seat as the woman on the stage continued to speak.

“It’s an open mic format. Just make sure you state your name when you come up on stage. We need three judges. Anyone want to volunteer?” She put her hand up to shade her eyes from the lights and looked out over the crowd.

Jess grabbed my hand and pushed it up in the air.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I asked, trying to tug my arm down.

“Great! That’s one. How about two more?” the woman on the stage asked. Two more hands went up, and the server motioned for them to come over to the stage. “If my judges will head over to the table in front of the stage, we’ll get started.”

“Thanks a lot.” I pushed back from my chair and grabbed my mug. “I’ve never even been to one of these things before. What do I know about judging?”

Jess shrugged her shoulders. “You looked like you needed a little extra fun tonight, plus I didn’t want you to cut out early. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

I joined the other two judges at the table in front and sat down. The server explained that after each performance, we needed to hold up a sign with a score. Each performer could rate from zero to ten, with ten being the highest. Sounded simple enough. I settled in, ready for the first victim.

A short, wiry guy sporting multiple facial piercings and lots of ink took the stage. He launched into a dramatic telling of losing his virginity, complete with body motions for all the actions. He finished, and the crowd broke into enthusiastic applause.

My initial reaction was to give the guy a three, but I didn’t want to be too harsh. When I bent down to write my score on the paper, I sneaked a look at the judge to my left. Hmm, he gave ink guy a six.

I jotted down a seven, and in unison, we raised our sheets to show the crowd. Ink guy hopped up and down on the stage, apparently psyched to score a whopping twenty points. That wasn’t too bad. Judging should be relatively easy.

Three more slammers followed, each giving a more dramatic performance than the last. I continued sneaking looks to my left and right, trying to keep my scores in line with the other judges.

As I readied myself for the next performance, Murph took the stage. He stated his name and bent his head down low, the yellow lights making his hair look more orangey than usual.

You...

You with your good girl looks, you haunt me

You with your good girl smarts, you taunt me

What would they say, what would they do

If they knew, if they only knew

You’re a tease, just to please

Make me hot, that’s your shot