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Eddie heaved a heavy sigh and picked up his drink. "Trini's right. You're a total lost cause."
Sam almost spat up his water. "Trinity said that?" he demanded. "When?"
Eddie smiled sadly and shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not available to discuss anything other than the onboarding at the moment. Oh, is that the check?" he asked as the female bartender returned to slip him a piece of paper. She sashayed away, and Eddie held up the receipt to look. "Nope. Something better." He grinned and presented the handwritten digits for Sam's inspection. "Her number. Looks like you're the only one going home alone tonight, brother."
Eddie downed the remainder of his drink, slapped Sam on the back, and strolled off down the bar. As always, he left a sticky mess behind him for someone else to clean up.
Sam stared at his water, and tried not to think how out of place, and completely inadequate, it really was.
Chapter Four
Trinity
Days after her little tête-à-tête with Sam at the old bar—and days after another failed singles' night—Trinity found herself back in the same compromising position. This time, there was a booth and table involved, which meant she sat in close proximity to Sam regardless of her feelings on the matter.
And she was having a lot of feelings.
Sam leaned into her, almost as if he could read her thoughts and knew she was already unbalanced by his proximity. "I know it was you who approved this karaoke bar for Eddie," he murmured, "instead of Eddie taking the time to actually call them and setting it up himself. Well done."
Trinity shook her head, even though she knew there was no use denying it. What she was really trying to do was disguise the fact that Sam's whispered accusation, and the hot breath that it came to her on, had raised the hair on the back of her neck in aroused anticipation. Did he mean to talk directly into her sweet spot? He knew she was sensitive there.
Bastard.
"I may have gotten it approved for him, but Eddie did his research," she whispered back. Her gaze flickered across the table to where Eddie and Mr. Hikamori were laughing and commiserating as they pointed toward the stage. "It just so happens that our guy likes to belt out 80s hits with abandon. Eddie did some snooping around his more private social media pages."
"Above and beyond," Sam muttered as he sat back.
Trinity's eyes narrowed. Eddie was going above and beyond, but he wasn't likely to keep with it if he didn't get some positive encouragement soon from someone other than her. "You're just grumpy because the song bucket's stopped in front of you," she said. Sam's bright blue eyes, normally so quick to fix on an object of interest and squeeze out every scrap of information, downright refused to alight on the pail full of paper slips.
"C'mon! While we're young!" someone called from the booth over.
"Well, Sam?" Eddie prompted. He was the one sitting closest to their potential client, his arm casually draped over the back of the booth. Their client, the Japanese CEO of a tech start-up, glanced between the two brothers, obviously picking up on the current of tension that ran between them. It wasn't the first time that night that Trinity wondered what they had talked about at the bar after she left.
"Pull one," Sam said.
The straw in Trinity's (incorrectly made) greyhound nearly shot down her throat. She pulled back quickly with a spluttering cough, drawing three pairs of concerned eyes as she fought to regain her composure. "I'm sorry?" she asked as she scrambled for a napkin. "You want me to...you want me to pull a song for you?"
"Yes." Sam's eyes on her were unblinking, and their familiar icy-blue hue sent a shiver of longing through her. She still fell asleep every night thinking about those eyes. "I trust you," he added.
"It's not really a matter of trust, but thanks for the vote of confidence," Trinity muttered as she dipped her hand inside the bucket. And I think you might be needing that vote of confidence more than I do, she mused as she drew her hand back. "'This Kiss.' Faith Hill." She showed the slip of paper just in case there was any doubt. Eddie rocked forward with a startled bark of laughter; Hikamori looked less certain of the pop country standard, but grinned as he took in their expressions. He must have known he was in for something good.
"He's going to sing?" Hikamori asked in surprise. Trinity glanced sidelong at Sam. She was also wondering the same thing.
"I'll sing it," Sam said. "If you accompany me."
His eyes locked on Trinity, and she could barely believe what she was hearing. Did she really just watch Samson Jameson not only agree to, but personally suggest, a karaoke duet? "You're on," she said. She nodded toward the stage. "And it also looks like you're up."
"We're up. Come on."
Sam grabbed her and pulled her out of the booth. Trinity slid after him, still too unnerved by his sudden change in behavior to focus on their linked hands. What on earth had come over him? It's not like he had all that much to drink. Sam never overindulged, and tended to thumb his nose at the people who did.
Which was why Trinity received her second surprise of the evening when they arrived at the stage. She handed the DJ their slip of paper; the DJ took one look at Sam's rigid posture and poured him a heavy, complimentary shot into a rocks glass, courtesy of the bar's fireball overstock. He passed the drink to Sam and urged him on with a nod toward the stage.
"Wrong glass," Sam muttered as he downed the fireball in one swig.
Trinity forked her fingers. "We'll need two mics, please," she said. The DJ handed her a second one, and she climbed up onto the stage after Sam.
The music started up almost immediately. Trinity glanced wildly between screens, still trying to get her bearings. It had been a long time since she sang karaoke—which, compared to Sam's never, she supposed wasn't that bad
