“But if you really want quality karaoke chaos, you gotta get Lukas Novikov up on that stage,” Shelby says as we both crack up.
“Wait, Novikov’s the broody one with the scar on his face, right? He likes to sing?” I can’t reconcile the two images in my mind.
“At this point, I think I’ve heard him sing the entire George Michael catalog,” she replies with a solemn nod.
“No,” I cry with another laugh. “Not George Michael.”
“You haven’t lived until you hear him sing ‘Careless Whisper,’” she teases.
Before I can reply, a new voice stops me in my tracks. “Hey, sexy devil.”
All my breath leaves my body as I turn, seeking out that voice. Ryan is here. Fuck, I didn’t realize how much I missed him until now. He’s standing next to Mars, nursing a beer…and he’s dressed as Jax Teller.
Oh, holy fucking fuck.
I take him in from his mussed blond curls to those broad shoulders filling out his white T-shirt, to the ripped jeans and chunky boots. My attention settles on his black leather cut, complete with SOA patches.
“Oh my god.” I lift my gaze back to his face, taking in the apple green of his eyes and the curve of his smirk as he pins me in place with a look of open wanting.
Ryan.
Seeing him again, feeling his energy calling out to mine, a truth settles deep inside me: Ryan likes it when I laugh. From the moment we met, he’s spent all his energy trying to draw the sound from my lips. Lying in his bed late at night, pretending I’m helping him fall asleep, I’ll laugh at something he says, and he’ll brush a finger up the column of my throat, tracing the path of the sound. To him, my laugh is music. To him, my laugh is magic.
My Ryan.
I swallow down my nerves, holding his gaze. I’m having this man tonight.
