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Ken chuckled. “I had to, man. They did that cover of—”
“‘Bizarre Love Triangle’! I know! It’s amazing!”
“I don’t even remember where I first heard it. Probably on MTV, back when they still—”
“Played videos!” I cackled. “Now it’s all goddamn Real World and Road Rules and—”
“Fucking Cribs,” Ken added.
“Fucking Cribs.” My giggles morphed into a gasp as the next track on the CD we were listening to began to play. “Oh my God, I love this song! It’s about me and Juliet!”
Ken smirked at my enthusiasm and turned the volume knob to the right just a little. We were listening to Weezer’s Pinkerton album, which I also didn’t know anyone else on the planet owned, and “El Scorcho” had just come on. It’s a silly, almost-spoken-word jaunt with a chorus like a barroom sing-along.
“Goddamn you half-Japanese girls,” I shouted along with Rivers Cuomo.
“Do it to me every time,” Ken quietly sang back, eyeing me sideways as he drove.
What the…
Turning toward him in shock, I grinned and belted the third line about a redhead.
And, right on cue, Ken took the fourth, singing quietly and with much better pitch. His stern mouth curled upward just a little, but when the chorus kicked in, it spread into a full-blown smile as we sang the rest of the song together, Ken watching me out of the corner of his eye the whole time.
Holy shit! Ken, the enemy of fun, is actually having fun!
“Dude! You should come do karaoke with me sometime!” I blurted once the song was over. It seemed like a great idea. I liked to sing. Ken could actually sing. “We could do a duet!”
Ken’s face fell as he pulled into the parking lot of Gusto’s Trattoria. “I don’t do karaoke.”
“Aw, why not? You’re so good!”
I could see him shutting down before my eyes. His face paled under my stare, and he seemed agitated as he threw the car in park and cut the engine.
“It’s fun!” I pushed.
Ken jerked up on the emergency brake.
“And, if you’re too embarrassed to sing, you can just rap. That’s what I do. Nobody deserves to hear me sing into an actual microphone.”
Ken opened his car door without a word, so I followed suit, hopping out and scurrying to catch up with him.
“Man, you really don’t want to do karaoke, do you?”
“No,” he snapped.
I looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head as he held the wooden door open for me. His features softened a bit under my glare.
“I don’t like attention,” he offered as I walked past him.
Who doesn’t like attention? It’s basically my favorite thing ever.
“Welcome to Gusto’s. Table for two?” the young brunette at the hostess stand asked, her eyes bouncing from me to Ken.
I paused, waiting for Ken to be a typical guy and speak for us, but he said nothing. When I glanced up at him, he flicked his chin toward the hostess, gesturing for me to answer her question.
“Uh, yes?” I said, not meaning for it to come out as a question. Turning toward her, I clarified, “Table for two.”
Gusto’s was dark, dripping in Old World charm, and smelled like they’d soaked every board and plank in garlic butter before building the place.
