Page 32 of Muscle Cub

“Um, zero, as in never going to happen.”

“Prof!” He put his hands on his hips. “Everybody needs at least one karaoke classic they can whip out when the situation calls for it.”

“Like, for what? A karaoke emergency?”

Austin nodded. “Absolutely. You need to be prepared.”

“Okay.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as if this conversation was giving me a headache. “I know you’re dying to tell me what your number is, so just get it over with.”

He rubbed his hands together. “I’ve been rehearsing ‘Strawberry Wine’ by the incomparable Deanna Carter.”

I knew the song, one of those ubiquitous hits you didn’t have to listen to country music by choice to recognize. I’d heard it in the background of television shows or while pumping gas at the convenience store. I prayed it wouldn’t get stuck in my head now.

Austin must have thought I didn’t know the song by only its title—or maybe he didn’t care—and instead of mumble-singing it or shyly humming a few bars like most people would, he launched into a full-throated, tone-deaf wail of the chorus.

It wasn’t country music terrible or can’t carry a tune in a bucket bad, this was hounds baying at a passing siren horrible.

God-awful.

I couldn’t breathe because I was laughing too hard. When I was finally able to compose myself, I gasped. “That was truly one of the worst things I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Austin’s mouth dropped open, and he clutched his chest as if he’d been stabbed in the heart. “How can you say that? My voice brings joy to others. Look how happy it’s making you right now.” He sounded so sincere. If he was acting, his talents were truly being wasted.

Against my will, I burst into another fit of laughter. I sounded like a hyena, but I couldn’t control it. Once I’d wiped the tears from my eyes, I saw that he was struggling to suppress a grin.

And I forgave him for not swinging by earlier.

“Another insult.” Austin shook his head at me. “Damn, Prof. You’re really coming for me today.”

“What? When did I insult you?”

“You totally bailed on my class.” The look on his face was serious. I didn’t know him well enough to be sure his feelings weren’t truly hurt, but based on my experience, he had to be teasing me.

I held my hand up between us. “You don’t want to get into it with me about being a no-show, sir. And I didn’t come to your class because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of you again.”

Austin pulled a face. “Again? When did you make a fool of yourself in front of me ever?”

“Uh, last night.”

“Oh, okay. Gotcha.” Austin nodded thoughtfully. “I guess my class was kinda like last night”—he paused—“not everybody came.”

My jaw dropped. He did not just call me out after feeding me that line about how everybody doesn’t have to get off every time.

“I’m fucking with you, Prof. I meant what I said last night. But I do love that pissed-off look on your face.” He toed at a rock in the grass and shifted tone. “Class turnout could have been better.” And just like that, it was as if we’d been having a straightforward conversation all along.

“Oh?”

“Five people.”

“Oh.” Only five? Shit. I grimaced.

Austin gestured toward the camp at large. “Yeah, there’s like five hundred people here this weekend. One percent’s not gonna cut it.”

“Do you have a quota for your job, or…”

“No. I’m not officially the campground trainer or anything like that. Yet. I’m a glorified pool boy for the summer. I know that. But I was kinda hoping the workout would be really popular so I could show Sawyer and Jim they do need to have a trainer on staff, and it might, you know, lead to something permanent.”

“I see.” I didn’t know much about the fitness industry, and I didn’t want to discount his ambition. I wanted to say something encouraging. “But it was the first one, right? Maybe you need to give it a little more time to catch on.”