Page 13 of Popular (Private: The Extended Edition #5)
“You don’t really do jewelry,” finishes my pretend other half. “Between what was allowed for your performances and watching Gammie have to pawn off her collection when times got tough, you just never developed an affinity for it.”
“Her last boyfriend couldn’t even spell affinity let alone use it in a sentence,” my brother needlessly chimes in, attention still scanning the themed menu.
Flashing him my middle finger leads to J.T. chuckling prior to proceeding, “I also didn’t do ‘feet gloves’ knowing your distaste for them too.”
“Feet should be free to move and groove about the bridge, Captain.”
Another round of snickers is attached to him retrieving the object from his pocket. “Which is why I settled on this.”
The long red rectangle iron on patch featuring the phrase “Make It So” instantly causes me to clasp both hands over my mouth to catch my gasp.
“Not only because of the inside joke we have about it, but because when it comes to wherever your career takes you next, I want you to have something to remind that you are the captain of your course. You get to choose when to give the order and what that order is. And that those of us who care about you will always support that just like the crew supported Picard.”
Not allowing tears to come to my eyes requires every ounce of energy in my body.
This is the sweetest thing anyone who isn’t family has ever done for me.
Said to me.
Yeah, I’ve gotten flowers and candy and cards and a bunch of other material bullshit meant to communicate care or affection, but no one has ever gotten me something this…warm or personal.
Fuck me, if this isn’t Next Gen thoughtful, I don’t know what is.
“Thank you, Imzadi, ” I barely manage to croak out at the same time I reach for it. “This means everything to me.”
The tint of red that hits his cheeks appears alongside a bashful shrug. “No problem, Beloved.”
Bryn’s sudden return doesn’t allow for anymore sentiments to be swapped, “There, I did it.” Her hands fall to her jean shorts covered hips. “I nutted up.” She shoots her best friend with a smug smirk. “ Your turn, Puppet Boy. ”
He groans and grumbles and eventually lets his attention gravitate back to me, “Duet?”
“Can I pick the song?”
“Since I’ve never done this before you can take the lead on everything.”
“You’ve never karaoked?!”
“Hey, Bryn hadn’t either!”
“And I put my big girl thong on and did the damn thing.”
“Do not think about her underwear,” my partner states to my brother with a firm finger point. “Or her in a bikini.”
Jer lets his head fall slightly to the side. “Why would I think about her in a bikini?”
“Long story,” Bryn informs during her descent into the empty seat beside him. “One I’ll happily tell you while Ebony and Ivory over there get to the loading deck since they’re up after this dude.”
All of our stares momentarily swing to the pale, plump male proudly taking center stage to croon out “Rock You Like a Hurricane”.
“These songs choices just keep getting weirder and fuckin’ weirder,” Jer chortles on a shake of his head before flagging over the waitress.
I tuck the patch into my pocket and enthusiastically hop to my feet. “Let’s go, Bae!” Grabbing his hand leaves no room for objection. “We’ve got an audience to captivate.”
“Do some B.I.G.,” offhandedly suggests my brother. “Or The Mighty Mighty Bosstones.”
“Those are two very different fucking things,” Bryn loudly squeaks around snickers.
Joined by folded fingers, J.T. and I quickly skirt along the outside edge for the back table where the sign up and catalogue to search are guarded by an event employee.
Once we verify J.T.’s on the list, we’re given a large binder to scan through, although our limited timing makes casual browsing not really an option.
“We just gotta make fast decisions,” I sweetly inform. “Pick a genre.”
“Rock.”
“I’ll pick a band.”
“Incubus,” lightly chortles my song partner from beside me.
“Fast or slow?”
“Fast,” he answers without hesitation. “Sooner we start, the sooner we get off the stage.”
Confusion crinkles my forehead as I pause my searching to ask, “Are you afraid of public speaking?”
“Public singing .” The corners of his lips curl upwards. “Huge difference.”
I giggle, shake my head, tap the choice on the page for the host to inform the DJ.
Post the selection, he investigates, “We’re not gonna dance too, right?”
“That would not be very Klingon of us.”
“Agreed.”
“Just channel your inner warrior meets rage runs into limited awkward movements.”
“So, Worf?”
More laughter precedes me promising, “I’ll make sure you survive out there.” A single squeeze is given. “I’ll make it so.”
The sweet reminder receives a wide grin that I unfortunately don’t get to fully appreciate courtesy of my vibrating cell in my back pocket. However, grabbing it is delayed due to us being ushered onto the stage next.
Hand in hand we stroll out together greeted with loud hoots and hollers.
Thankfully, the stage lights are a bit too bright to get hung up on the size of the crowd, making it that much easier for me to aid J.T. in forgetting that they’re there completely.
Opening notes to the popular song “Nice to Know You” have him visibly untensing as does the seeing the large, propped up screen where the lyrics will be scrolling for us.
Our heads begin rocking ever so slightly to the music.
Finding the rhythm.
Connecting to the beat.
The performer in me instantly comes to life commanding that I ball my free fist and hit my chest like I envision the warrior species we’re imitating would upon hearing the tune.
J.T. immediately follows suit.
Does his best huffing impression.
Oscillates eye contact and watching my feet that are thoughtlessly stomping to the song.
We follow along with the music with me taking the lead; after all, I’m not the one who needs the words presented to me.
I know this song – this whole fucking album – by heart.
It got me and Jer through some of our roughest days.
Played while he lifted.
Did wind sprints.
Pushed himself running ‘til he was sick.
I stretched.
Tumbled.
Trained and strained and broke bones to the beats.
The band is one that’s sacred to us, so singing it is an easy choice, yet sharing it with the man I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen for is an even easier one.
In sync, our mouths get closer to the microphone and croon at the famous chorus, fists lifted and eyes closed. Hearing the crowd sing along inspires us both to sink deeper into character.
The experience.
Our once in a lifetime memory.
For the remainder of the session, we stomp around the stage, never breaking the Klingon mentality by adding appropriate grunts and additional marches.
At the end of our stretch, we’re given a warm reception, including unmistakable hollers from a voice I’d know anywhere.
One I’ve been trained to recognize everywhere.
Upon fleeing the stage in the direction we came, we wrap our arms around one another for a hug like no other. Being tangled in his arms instantly instills something I wanna feel again and again and again. Something I longed for post performances in the past but never had.
Which is something I wanna confess to him right now.
“That was probably the craziest shit I’ve ever done,” laughs my duet partner as he pulls back.
“Round of shots says your bestie taped it for blackmail.”
Horror immediately cuts through his face pushing him to fumble around his pockets for his phone to verify.
His checking reminds me to do the same during our stroll back to our table; however, the voicemail number abruptly stops me in my tracks.
Has me rushing to listen to the news that simultaneously fills my stomach with elation and dread alike.
“What is it?” J.T. gingerly asks. “Who called?”
“The Highland Hellcats,” I quietly inform, stare locking onto his, voicemail continuing to play, tearing my world in two. “They want me to come in for a second audition tomorrow meaning I have to be on the first flight out of here in the morning.”