Hillbilly Rockstar (17 page)

Still, when he ended the song, he knew what was next.

Devin picked at the strings until he sensed the kids getting restless. Enough stalling. “Michelle requested ‘You Are My Sunshine' and I'm thinkin' it must be a Michelle thing, since that was a favorite song of my little sister,
Michelle, as well.” He strummed the opening chord and started
to sing. But when he hit the fourth line, his voice didn't falter; it plain gave out.

Liberty jumped in with her pure alto, and the wave of relief brought tears to his eyes. By the time she started the chorus, he'd chimed back in and harmonized with her to the end.

The nurse in charge took that as her cue. “Everyone say thank you to Devin and Liberty for stopping by to entertain us today.”

When the kids mobbed him, Liberty hovered—but not for the same reasons as she usually did. And as they walked out of the hospital, she held her hands out for the keys, knowing he was too distracted to get behind the wheel.

She didn't ask where to. She just drove, leaving him to work through the things he normally tried so hard to forget.

When Devin finally snapped out of his stupor, he realized they were parked in front of a . . . ? He craned his neck to look up at the flashing neon sign with a pin and two bowling balls that resembled a cock and balls. “Where are we?”

“Duh. At a bowling alley.”

“Why are we at a bowling alley?”

“Because the name of this joint is Liberty Lanes. Come on, Devin. That's a sign!”

“I think the gigantic dick and balls sign is what first caught your eye,” he said dryly, “not your name in neon.”

“That too. The big dick and balls reminded me of you, baby,” she cooed with total sarcasm.

“Nice. So we just parked here until I got my head out of my ass or what?” Jesus.
Being a dick much?
Liberty had been such a godsend to him today. He hated that he couldn't stop that snappish tone.

But she gave it right back to him. “No, smart-ass. I've let you wallow long enough. You promised me supper of my choosing, and I'm choosing greasy bowling alley food.” She tapped on the windshield. “And look. It's karaoke night!”

“You've
got
to be fucking kiddin' me.”

“Nope. Usually I'd avoid bringing you into a place like this, but look at the parking lot. Totally empty.”

“Don't you think that might be a sign that this place, oh, I don't know . . .
sucks
?”

“Again with the attitude, guitar slinger. Where's your sense of adventure? Besides, being here kills two birds with one stone. You can make good on both promises you made me.”

“Food is one. What's the other?”

Liberty grabbed his hand and looked so sincere he automatically went into defensive mode. “Last week when you forced me to sing a little duet with you on the bus? You promised to sing any song I wanted onstage.
Any
song. And you didn't do it that night, so I'm picking this night and this stage for you to fulfill that promise.”

“You're joking, right?”

“No, sir, I am not.”

He was so fucked. So, so, so fucked.

But he'd show no fear.

Devin grinned. “Bring it.”

After thirty minutes passed and no one recognized him, Devin started to relax.

Liberty was in rare form—sarcastic, hilarious and sweet. He realized she needed a place to let her guard down besides the bus. He also realized how much he liked her as a person, beyond her persona as his bodyguard and his uninhibited lover.

The burgers and fries were excellent. As was the enormous piece of lemon meringue pie the waitress insisted was homemade.

They ventured into the lounge. Although smoking had been banned years ago, the place retained that musky odor. It reminded him of the years he'd played in tiny bars and any place that would have him. So he couldn't resist checking out the jukebox to see if any of his songs were offered.

“What're you grinning about?”

Devin pointed to “Broken Beams” on the selection page. “It's corny, but
I still love seein' my name and my song on one of these. When I played these places . . . I dreamed I'd see this one day.”

Liberty handed him a beer. “We'll each have one.” She sipped. “Besides, you'll need it when you see what song I've picked out for you to sing for me.”

“Foo Fighters?” he said hopefully.

She laughed. And it had a mean edge.

Shit.

She'd selected a booth right up by the stage. He looked around. There were a total of six patrons in here. Two at the bar, two watching professional bowling on TV, and them.

Devin slid next to her in the booth. “You're really makin' me do this.”

“Yep.”

“Technically, you can't
make
me do it, but I will do it if you sing a duet with me.” He offered her a dazzling smile. “Which I get to pick.”

“I'm game.” Her eyes flashed a warning. “Just as long as the song isn't ‘I Touch Myself' by the Divinyls.”

“Deal.”

The stage lights came up—a sickly neon green—and the female MC tapped the microphone twice. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, it's that time—time to get up here and shine. Time to strut your stuff. Time to sing your heart out. To get us warmed up for tonight's karaoke, brought to you by Grain Belt beer, I'll get things started.”

“Fifty bucks says it's ‘The Rose,'” Liberty said.

“You're on. I'm betting it's Patsy Cline's ‘Crazy.'”

The MC nodded to the sound guy.

When the repetitive piano chord started, Liberty held out her hand. “Pay up, rockstar.”

Devin took out his wallet and slapped cash in her hand. “For the record, ‘The Rose' was my first choice for her too.”

“Better be quicker on the draw next time. Ooh, and speaking of next time, you'll be up next.”

“Take pity on me.”

“Not. A. Chance. You could've sung a Maroon 5 song to me the other night, but you blew it.”

“You're a Maroon 5 fan?”

“A
huge
Maroon 5 fan,” she corrected.

“Why?”

“Have you seen Adam Levine? Dude. He's the hottest man in the universe.” She patted his hand. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“That's it? You like them because the lead singer is hot?”

“Oh, knock off the indignant act. Your good looks have helped more than they've hindered you.” She sipped her beer. “But, honestly, I love their music. From songs that evoke pure sex, to heart-wrenching ballads, to catchy pop tunes, to songs you can dance to. They mix it up on every album.”

She'd hit it dead-on why he appreciated their music too.

The loud, totally off-key rendition of “The Rose” ended.

Liberty handed him a folded slip of paper, trying—and failing—to hide a smirk. “You don't get to look at that until right before you hand it to the DJ.”

Devin took a big swig of beer before he stood. “I'm gonna sing the hell out of this song.”

Why was he so damn nervous as he walked up to the DJ booth? He sang in front of thousands of people almost every night. When he peeked at the song she'd written down, he had every right to be nervous.

Christ. He needed a shot. Or ten.

His cheeks were flaming when he stepped onstage. He adjusted his ball cap and grabbed the microphone, waiting for the words to appear on the screen behind him.

The distinctive brass sounds of horns started off Shania Twain's “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” and Devin dove right in.

After he finished the first chorus, he looked over at a laughing Liberty,
who gave him two thumbs-up. So he hammed it up, doing his best hip-swiveling, shoulder-shaking Shania impression.

Liberty laughed so hard he swore he saw beer come out her nose.

She leaped to her feet in a standing ovation when he exited the stage.
Then she threw her arms around his neck. “That. Was. Fantastic. You rocked my world.” She kissed him with such pure happiness that he had to laugh.

The MC returned to the stage. “Thank you. That was, ah . . . interesting. If we don't have any other takers, I've got a favorite or two I'd like to share with you tonight.”

“Wanna go double or nothin' on her next selection?” he challenged.

Liberty said, “You got a Benjamin in that wallet you wanna part with? Sure. You pick first.”

“I say she sings, ‘My Heart Will Go On,'” Devin said smugly.

“Nope. She'll be warbling a different Shania tune. ‘You're Still the One.'”

They clinked bottles, sealing the bet.

Devin's jaw dropped when Liberty won the bet again. He handed her a hundred. “Dammit, woman. Are you psychic?”

She shook her head. “Just spent way too much time around karaoke. Not a lot of other activities to choose from during deployment.”

“You ever get up there and sing?”

“Huh-uh. Much easier to make fun of people than to do it myself.”

“Well, that's not an option tonight, darlin'. And I know what duet we're singing.” His eyes gleamed. “I want a chance to earn my money back. Fifty bucks says you can't guess what song I'm picking.”

“Oh, honey, I'm starting to feel guilty about taking all your money, but I'm game. You gotta give me a second to work this out.” She tapped her chin as if in deep thought. “A Faith and Tim song is too obvious. You probably want me to think you'll choose a country song, when you'll be thinking of something like ‘I Got You Babe' by Sonny and Cher or ‘You Don't Bring Me Flowers' by Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand.”

“I ain't got all night. She's about done.”

“Hang on. ‘You're the One That I Want' is too clichéd. As is ‘Don't Go Breaking My Heart.'”

“Ticktock, sweetheart.”

She grinned. “Got it.” She scrawled on a piece of paper, folded it and handed it over.

“Let's go.” He held her hand as they walked to the DJ stand. Then he held her eyes when he said, “Do you have ‘Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man' as a selection?” to the DJ.

Huh. No look of victory on Liberty's face now.

Imagine that.

Devin made a big show of unfolding the paper. “Wow. Guess you were
wrong
, darlin'. I didn't pick ‘Jackson' by Johnny Cash and June Carter.”

“You suck.”

“Aw, now, is that any way to speak to your duet partner?” He nudged her. “Go on, now. Let's do this thang.”

“Jesus.”

But he knew she was having a good time when she twirled her microphone cord like Loretta. His pants weren't tight enough for a Conway Twitty impersonation, so he didn't even try. After they finished the song with zero reaction from the bar, she said, “I'm picking the next duet.”

Which, of course, was “Jackson.”

Back at the table, she scowled at her Coke. “I really want another beer.”

“Have one. I'll drive.”

“Thanks, but I'm guarding your body after we leave here, remember?”

Devin ran his knuckles down her cheek. “I was havin' so much fun with you that I forgot.” He kissed her. Sweetly, but as always, it was laced with heat. “Let's go.”

“Wait a sec. Have you ever karaoked one of your songs?”

“Never. Why?”

Liberty brushed her lips over his. “Because this is your perfect chance to do it. Sort of like seeing your name in the jukebox. Won't you feel a little vindicated that you're singing a chart-topping song in a dive bar like you used to play in?”

“No.”

“I dare you.”

He snorted. “Like that'll work.”

“Then I'll make it worth your while.” She placed her hand on his groin and started to rub his cock.

“Dammit, Liberty. The last thing I need is a fucking hard-on in here.”

“Because you're gonna go up there and sing for me, aren't you?” she cooed. She kept rubbing his cock. His cock kept liking it.

His mind took a hike for a second.

His mind must've taken a longer hike than he realized because when he came to, Liberty said, “See?
That's
the spirit!” and practically shoved him out of the booth.

His cock pouted.

So just for shits and giggles, Devin picked his least favorite song, “Beat-up Truck.” At first he planned to totally massacre it, but then he decided to pretend he was just a guy, singing a song to impress his girl. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how he felt the first time he'd ever sung this song.

After he finished the last note, he looked over at Liberty just as someone from the back of the room yelled, “You suck! Get off the stage!”

The MC tried to smooth things over by exclaiming, “Well, I didn't think he was
that
bad. It ain't easy to get up on this stage. Karaoke is a great way to define your vocal limits.” She smiled at Devin encouragingly. “If you have the guts to get up here again, I know just the song that's better suited to your abilities. That's why I'm here. To help!”