No, Lily chose this bluesy, shit-eating country song with a chorus that used up entire lungfuls of air. It was like she needed to launch herself into this balls-to-the-wall song to get herself into the groove. Because she was a little hesitant at first, a little shaky during that very first right now of the opening verse. But soon she was belting it, leaning over when she got real into the best lines, swaying her hips across the floor during the sassy verses, and Jesus. What a star. By the end, her eyes would be sparkling, and everyone in the room would be a little bit in love with her.

Or maybe it was just me. But seriously, every time she sang about scratching her keys into the side of that dude’s car—well, I wouldn’t have minded if she wanted to carve her name into my leather seats. Or whatever. I would be one hundred percent down with whatever the fuck she wanted to do, was what I was saying.

And while I always felt this way, there was something about watching her sing tonight while I sat here alone that made the whole experience heightened. The table next to me had filled up with a bunch of people I didn’t recognize, and they were all chatting loudly with each other like Lily wasn’t singing “Before He Cheats,” and I sort of wanted to bash their heads in. Even though Past Me had probably chatted with my friends too during “Before He Cheats.” Because it was a bar, and that was what you did. And you weren’t drunk enough yet to loudly shout along with every dumb song every stranger chose to sing.

But Present Me had literally nothing else to do except stare and listen to every word of it. And fuck me, but it felt like Lily was singing directly to me. And it was magnificent. Every hair on my body stood on end.

Except. Maybe Lily was singing directly to me.

Because suddenly, that was what was happening.

My karaoke crush was staring back.

2

Lily & Sam

They were alone tonight, which was odd. Maybe that was what made my eyes snag onto theirs, the surprise of their solitude, and their eyes so intent on mine. I had felt their eyes on me before, of course—I was good at this, and I’d always gotten the sense from the way they watched, from the enthusiasm of their applause after I finished a song, that they knew I was good at this, too.

And even if you knew you were good at something, it felt fucking satisfying to have a stranger acknowledge it.