Page 7 of Rogue’s Path (Sweet Chaos #1)

Dylan

Why did I ever think karaoke was a good idea?

I haven’t drunk enough to get up on that stage.

“Me either,” Cordelia whispers.

Maybe I have if I’m talking out loud without realizing it. “Can we do this?” Somehow between the fancy bar and karaoke, the two of us became friends.

She turns to me wide-eyed. “You made a date with a strange man at a bar that you’re pretty sure has killed people. What’s this in comparison?”

Nothing. But now I need a drink more than ever. Dahlia must be tipping well. It doesn’t take but a second to get the waitress' attention. An activity like this calls for a wild drink. “We’ll take two fuzzy navels please.”

“That sounds terrible.” Cordelia grimaces as soon as the waitress walks away.

She’s right. What woman would ever want a fuzzy navel? What would you say? Like please excuse the weird moss growing in my navel. Let me just wear a bikini and show it off. So gross. How could I put that in a book?

A woman who’s been teased for her entire life because of her abnormal hair growth lashes out and starts murdering women on the beach… It would definitely work as a thriller. But I’d probably gag every time I had to write a description. “It’s a peach liquor with orange juice.”

“That kind of sounds like a peach smoothie.”

It does. Maybe I can order that from room service tomorrow morning along with half a dozen pancakes to soak up all the booze we’re drinking.

Daria, Fiona, and Knight step onto the stage. Daria can’t speak. How is she planning on—Their hands start moving with the music and the room goes quiet. About the only things I’ve learned in ASL are hello and help. This is on a whole new level of beauty.

This has to be the best form of karaoke I’ve ever seen. They had to have prepared this in advance.

“We’re up next,” Cordelia whispers.

What? No. I needed to go after someone who sounded like a cat screaming while dragging its fingernails across a chalkboard.

Not this.

There’s no way my not-wonderful self can stand up and sing after them.

No way.

No how.

The waitress sets my drink down, and I down it like it's liquid courage and not stupidity in a glass.

Why did I agree to do this? I wobble a little as we step up the two stairs onto the stage. Smart not making it too high up for the semi-drunk people who force themselves to do this.

In every book and movie, they always say the lights shine in their eyes blinding them. Right now I wish that was happening. Everyone…I can see every single person sitting in front of me waiting, watching, preparing to judge me.

Why didn’t I get the shining lights? I should stop looking at all the faces. But today doesn’t seem to be my day to make smart choices. Who let a sexy man in here? This space is reserved for crazy women. Or at least I thought it was. I certainly fit that description.

There’s another one. And another one. And another one. We’re being invaded.

Why hasn’t this music started already? I cannot handle this. Next time, I’m drinking two fuzzy navels. Or maybe seeing if they can add them to an IV.

Cordelia gives me a smile as the music starts.

***

“We’re totally pretending that never happened. What karaoke bar? I didn’t sing off-key for three minutes while missing every fourth word.” This country honky tonk—can it even be called a honky tonk this far north—is filled with people in shiny boots and shirts with fringe.

Dahlia stops in front of us. “We can’t stay here long because we have one more stop! Anyone that wants to find a man to buy them a drink—this is the place. We will commence the choreographed dance in twenty minutes. So, find yourself a free drink.”

My body doesn’t need a free drink. Whatever it was that I drank right after embarrassing myself enough to last the next twenty years was stronger than I thought.

We should probably find food. Something to help with all this booze swirling around in my gut.

“Maybe I’ll get to wear the crown again if I get the most drinks. See you at the dance.” Cordelia bounces off.

Um…Getting the most drinks before our dance might not be the best idea. But she’s already at a table talking to a bunch of guys.

There’s no way I’m up for a repeat of earlier. I need to choose someone who won’t fry my already tipsy brain.

Why are there mostly couples? Because people came here to dance.

Oh, he’s interesting in a teddy bear kind of way. Why would a giant tattooed man come to a place like this, and then sit by himself in the corner nursing a beer?

A year ago, the woman he loved was murdered.

Ever since then, he’s been searching for her murderer, determined to bring him to justice one way or the other.

But he had to stop just for today to visit the place they met and remember her.

What he hasn’t figured out yet is that it wasn’t a random event. He’s hunting a serial killer.

Or is he the serial killer searching for his next victim?

He isn’t your normal serial killer—that’s definitely an oxymoron.

You’re procrastinating. Go get this thing done. Teddy Bear seems like the best choice. He doesn’t notice me until I’m almost at his table.

The dark eyes on his face would definitely lead me away from the lost love theory, but those tattoos of his seem pretty dark. It’s a good thing I’m drunk enough not to be afraid. “Hello.”

He tips his beer up to me.

“You mind if I join you?” Do I want him to say yes or no?

“It’s a free world.”

Well, that wasn’t quite either. I take a seat. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Can’t stop you.”

Is he smiling or frowning? It’s impossible to tell under that bushy beard and mustache. Which matches his wildly curly shoulder-length hair. This man is really a bear. “Are you the hero or the villain?”

He snorts with laughter. “Both. It depends on the mood you find me in.”

That would make him morally grey. Is there such a thing as a morally grey teddy bear? He mauls his enemies to save the weak.

“Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

There definitely sounds like there’s a hint of laughter in his voice. “To ask you to buy me a drink?”

He nods at the waitress.

She’s over in a blink. “What can I getcha?”

“Another for me and whatever the lady wants.”

“Coffee, black. And do you have anything to eat?

“We’ve got chips and pretzels.”

The Morally Grey Bear looks like he can eat. “One of both, please.”

She walks away as fast as she came.

I didn’t expect that to be so easy. “You see, I came with a bunch of friends for a bachelorette party. And we were each dared to get a guy to buy us a drink. But I’m a little tipsy already.”

“Do you always get tipsy at parties?”

Me tipsy… “A half a glass of red wine is normally my speed. But life has been weird lately.”

“How so?” He leans forward on his massive, tattooed arms.

Should I tell him? It’s not like I’m ever going to see this guy again. We’re random strangers who crossed paths in a bar. “It all started a couple days ago with a couple dozen roses.”

“You don’t like flowers?”

What is he crazy?

The waitress sets down our order and walks away.

“I love flowers, like just about every woman on the face of this earth. Flowers make me happy. But flowers from a stalker…they aren’t fun. Then when he threatens to tie you to a bed and murder you…Well, that kind of ruins your day.”

The Bear shakes his head and hair flies everywhere. “What?”

“It's not a big deal. At least according to the police. So I did what any mature woman would do with the means. Ran.” I take a sip of coffee. No, this doesn’t deserve the title coffee.

Burnt sludge describes it almost adequately.

“Now I’m hiding out here for a while thanks to a friend getting married.

And you’d think it would be all sunshine and rainbows, right?

No. I gave my number to a man three…no four bars ago.

The details are a little fuzzy about everything else but Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy.

” I lean forward and whisper. “He’s killed people.

And somehow, I sort of agreed to have lunch with him tomorrow without actually saying anything. ”

He whistles. “You’ve had a busy weekend.”

Right. I pop some pretzels in my mouth and chew. This guy is definitely the cuddly teddy bear type. No way is he the villain of the story. “It’s only going to get worse. After I eat these chips and hopefully sober up enough, I’m going to have to stand on that bar and dance.”

That’s definitely a smile.

Doesn’t he know it’s wrong to smile at a woman’s pain? “If I don’t fall down and kill myself, I’m going to be shocked. Also, I’m going to drink myself silly at the next bar to make sure I forget this night ever happened.”

“Don’t fall.”

Like I have any say in that? “Have you seen my shoes? Falling feels inevitable.” I poke my foot out from under the table so that he can see my totally fabulous shoes. “Stilettos weren’t made for dancing on bars mostly almost but not quite drunk.”

He just stares at them.

I’m so going to break a leg.

***

“I’m so not going up on the bar.” Cordelia stares at it with wide eyes and wavering feet.

Good idea. “How many drinks did you get?”

“Four.” She holds up three fingers.

Well, this is just a dumpster fire waiting to happen.

The music comes on and I shimmy, wiggle, and hop until it’s time to jump… climb up onto the bar.

Two burly hands surround my waist. “Don’t fall.”

Then I’m on top of the bar.

Shorts were the right choice

But I get why people do this. If I can do this, I can do anything.

Shimmy, shake, walk, and stay on the bar.

Right as we get to the last kick, Mindy stumbles towards the wall of bottles.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see her crash into the glass.

But the only sounds are gasps, then cheers.

What? Someone caught her.

Crisis averted!

The music starts back up, and we get rowdy!