Muffin Top (Page 45)

“So let’s do that.”

And they did, holding hands right there in the middle of the bathroom. Lucy didn’t pray often—to be honest, she didn’t remember the last time she had—but this was a moment that called for it. If adding her voice to Constance’s was all the comfort that she could offer, then Lucy figured God would listen. After they were done praying and finished touching up their makeup, their gazes locked in the mirror.

Constance gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for everything—for this week, for last night, and for back in school. I let my own bitterness back then and fear for my daughter now find an outlet by picking on you. It was wrong. Can you forgive me?”

A few days earlier, Lucy’s reaction may have been different, but tonight she didn’t even have to think about it. “Absolutely.”

Peace treaty signed with another hug, they walked out together into the deserted hall. There was a crowd gathered just inside the open double doors leading to the gym and a god-awful sound coming out. It took Lucy a second to process, but once she did she rushed inside the gym. There, sweating in the spotlight onstage, mic in hand, eyes glued to the karaoke screen like a man staring down the headlights of a runaway semi, was Frankie doing his best Danny Zuko bragging to his boys about summer loving. It was the worst singing she’d ever heard, and she loved it.

She loved him.

Oh shit. That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t—anything she could change, she realized with a sinking sensation. She’d fallen for the guy who’d slept his way through most of the women in Waterbury and had driven across the country to take her on a pity date.

This was bad.

It was really bad.

But she wouldn’t think about that now, not while he was standing up on stage and singing—badly—for her. She’d deal with the rest later.

Really, it would all work itself out when they got back to Waterbury, and he went back to the women with legs for miles who never got called out by strangers for eating cheeseburgers.

Until then, she was going to pretend that the world outside of Antioch didn’t exist.

…

There were two things universally acknowledged in the Hartigan family. One, the Ice Knights were the best hockey team in the league. Two, a drowning cat’s desperate caterwauling sounded better than Frankie’s singing. Standing up on the stage, hearing the hideously out-of-tune sounds coming out of his mouth blaring over the sound system, he had to agree with the family. So why was he up in front of everyone showing his ass figuratively, if not literally? For the look Lucy was giving him right now.

A happy amusement tugged at the corner of her full, lush mouth as she watched him from the doorway where she stood with Constance. Sure, there was a general shell-shocked haze to it, but there was no denying the soft appreciation on her face that bordered on something more, something that made him belt out the line about summer lovin’ a little louder than necessary—much to the wincing misery of the people sitting at the tables surrounding the dance floor.

“Take pity on these poor people,” he said into the mic during an instrumental break. “There’s no way you’re worse than me.”

Thank fuck, she took him up on it. The real shock, though, was watching her hook her arm through Constance’s and bring her up on stage with her. The two made it up in time for Lucy to sing the line about the boy she met over the summer and for Constance to join in on the chorus when she asked Lucy to tell her more. He was pretty damn sure there was a story behind this truce, but he couldn’t say he was surprised.

Lucy had a way of making things happen.

It showed in everything she did, from her job wrangling misbehaving athletes to how she handled Gussie to the way she’d managed him. There wasn’t another woman like her in the world.

He needed to send a case of beer to that asshole in Marino’s because if it hadn’t been for him, Frankie may not have ever gotten to know this amazing woman.

By the time the final chorus came around, more than half of the women in the gym were singing along with Lucy and a solid quarter of the dudes were singing along with him. And after the final notes were sung, he grabbed Lucy’s hand and got off that stage faster than the one time he’d exited a burning building with an armful of newborn puppies.

“I’d rather get my nuts waxed than ever do that again,” he said before downing the cold beer the guy working the bar set back into the corner had given him.

Lucy, who was obviously not dealing with the aftereffects of a singing-in-public freak out, sipped her brew. “Then why did you do it?”

He could tell her that it was because he didn’t have a choice, that he was forced at gunpoint onto the stage. He could tell her it was because she deserved to win that crown. He could tell her it was to get back at Constance for all of the shitty things she’d put Lucy through. All of those would have been true—well, except for the part about the gun—and he could have done that. Instead, the truth came out.

“I did it for the look on your face right now.”

Her eyes lit up, and everything in the known universe shifted for him. He was a selfish fucking bastard. He hadn’t made a total ass out of himself for her. He’d done it for him, because he wanted to be the guy who made her feel like she did right now. And he wanted to do it again. And again. And again. He wanted to do it until they were old and yelling at the youths to get off their lawn.

“Wow. They’re going to be talking about that performance for a long time around here,” said the guy who was working the master of ceremonies job, practically stepping right between Frankie and Lucy. “But you better get a move on. They need you both onstage.”

The guy strutted off toward the stage in his mint green tuxedo that would give an eye sore to an eye sore. Hand-in-hand, they made their way up to the stage, where all of the other participants in the reunion decathlon were waiting. One by one, each couple was introduced, scores given, and polite claps offered as they were sent offstage until it was only him and Lucy and Constance and Bryce left.

Considering it all came down to the popular vote on who sang better during karaoke, he wasn’t holding his breath. He’d given it his best shot, and if Lucy really wanted a crown, he’d go buy her one.

“And the king and queen of the Antioch High School reunion are”—the master of ceremonies paused for a recorded drum roll—“Frankie Hartigan and Lucy Kavanagh!”

As the gym erupted into cheers and clapping, he turned to Lucy, who mouthed “Oh my God” to him and was holding onto his hand like he was tethering her to earth. He didn’t want to let go of her hand, but he relinquished it anyway so she could receive her crown.

Thank God he didn’t have to wear one, because that was so very much not his thing. But dancing with Lucy? That really was.

Moving in an easy rhythm to a slow song, he couldn’t help but draw her in close so he could feel her against him. She felt good, right in his arms. This might be Lucy’s reunion dance, but he sure as hell didn’t want it to end. The fact that it was going to, though, hung over him like a thirty-pound anvil.

“So, did you have a good class reunion week?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Yeah I did,” she said softly, raising herself up on her tiptoes as they swayed to brush her lips across his cheek. “Thanks to you.”