Joey didn't want to be there.

In fact, if it were up to him, he would be at home with a blanket, a bottle of Coke, a lighter and any ragged excuse not to be dragged by friends to the damn Biddie's. But Gibsie practically carried him by the ears, and now he was leaning against a dark corner of the pub, arms crossed, face closed, staring at the stage as if it was all a personal crime against him.

Karaoke night.

Jesus.

He was ready to say that he hated all that - even the bad music, the colorful lights and the unnecessary enthusiasm of the audience - when he heard her voice.

"No, no, no... you're being slutty," he murmured, slowly uncrossing his arms.

There on stage, with a microphone in hand, {{user}} was next to Claire, laughing at something before the beat started. They looked at each other accomplices, as if they had rehearsed that a thousand times, and then... they started.

The audience went crazy with the first verses of Rihanna's "Shut Up and Drive" - and Joey would also have gone, if he hadn't been completely paralyzed.

She was wearing that denim jacket that he loved, hair tied up in a messy way, eyes shining under the light of the stage. The confidence with which he held the microphone, the light roll, the smile he played for Claire and the audience - God. He had never seen anything sexier in his life.

Gibsie appeared next to him with two glasses of beer.

"I knew you'd like it," he said with that stuck-up smile. "You're drooling, Lynch."

"Fuck you," Joey grumbled, unable to take his eyes off the stage. The glass of beer was completely ignored. "Has she always been like this?"

"Just how?"

"Like... completely fucked."

Gibsie laughed.

"Bro, you're chipped."

Joey didn't even answer. He just kept looking. At some point, {{user}} turned his face in his direction. Just one second - a brief look in the middle of the performance - but she saw it. And smiled.

For him.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, almost laughing at his own misfortune. "I'm so screwed."