Chapter 19
1293 Words
When he finally pulled into a parking lot lined with neon lights and crowded storefronts, I looked around in confusion.
“What is this?”
He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to me with a grin that should’ve come with a warning label.
“Trust me.”
Those were famously the last words people heard before things went terribly wrong.
Still—
I followed him.
And the second we stepped inside, I laughed.
Because of course.
Of course Landon Baxter had brought me to karaoke.
The place was buzzing with music, bad singing, laughter, and neon signs that made everyone look just slightly cooler than they actually were. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t some rooftop dinner with white tablecloths and overpriced appetizers.
It was fun.
Real fun.
The kind of place you only take someone if you actually want to know what they’re like when they let go.
And maybe that got me more than it should have.
“You brought me to karaoke?” I asked, trying and failing to sound unimpressed.
He shrugged.
“You looked like the kind of girl who secretly judges people’s song choices.”
I gasped.
“That is so rude.”
His grin widened.
“Am I wrong?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then narrowed my eyes.
“I hate that you might be right.”
“I know.”
God, he was annoying.
And I was smiling.
Again.
We got a little booth tucked near the back, ordered fries and milkshakes because apparently we were physically incapable of eating like normal people together, and spent the first half hour ranking strangers based entirely on their song choices.
“That guy’s a walking red flag,” I whispered as a guy in a backwards cap got on stage to sing Mr. Brightside with far too much confidence.
Landon nodded solemnly.
“He definitely says ‘I’m just being honest’ before saying something unforgivable.”
I nearly choked on my milkshake.
“Exactly.”
He pointed at a girl in a pink mini dress belting out Since U Been Gone like her life depended on it.
“That girl?”
I followed his gaze.
“She’s either freshly heartbroken or about to ruin someone’s life.”
He tilted his head.
“Both.”
“Definitely both.”
By the time we were halfway through the fries, my cheeks hurt from laughing.
And that was new for me.
Not the laughing.
I laughed all the time.
But this?
This kind of easy, thoughtless happiness?
This feeling of being entirely present with someone?
That was rare.
Dangerously rare.
And Landon seemed to sense it too, because every so often he’d just look at me.
Like he was memorizing me.
Like he couldn’t quite believe I was here either.
Eventually, a waitress came by with a clipboard for song requests.
I waved my hand immediately.
“Oh, no. Absolutely not.”
Landon took the clipboard from her with a smile.
“Oh, absolutely yes.”
I stared at him.
“You are not putting my name on that.”
He looked down at the sheet.
“Too late.”
“Landon.”
He looked delighted.
“Nessa.”
“You’re evil.”
“I’m fun.”
“That remains to be seen.”
He scribbled something down anyway and handed the clipboard back.
Then leaned back in the booth with the smug expression of a man who had just committed a crime and intended to enjoy every second of it.
I narrowed my eyes.
“What did you put?”
“You’ll see.”
I hated him.
Not really.
But maybe a little.
Mostly because I already knew this would somehow end with me publicly humiliating myself while he looked gorgeous and unaffected.
And, unfortunately, I was right.
Because twenty minutes later, the host stepped up to the mic and called:
“Alright, next up we’ve got—” he squinted at the screen, “—Landon and Nessa singing Teenage Dirtbag.”
I whipped around so fast I nearly sprained something.
“You put us down for a duet?!”
Landon stood, deeply unbothered.
“I thought it fit the vibe.”
I stared at him in horror.
“There is no universe where I’m doing this.”
He held out his hand.
And then, because he is the devil, he looked at me with those stupid blue eyes and said softly:
“Come on, James. Be reckless with me.”
And that—
That was low.
Because how exactly was I supposed to say no to that?
I wasn’t.
Apparently.
Because two minutes later, I was on a tiny neon-lit stage in front of a room full of strangers, holding a microphone with sweaty palms while Landon Baxter looked entirely too comfortable standing next to me.
“This is your fault,” I hissed.
He leaned closer, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“Probably.”
Then the music started.
And to my horror—
It was actually fun.
Like, embarrassingly fun.
The kind of fun you can only have when you stop caring how you look and just let yourself exist in the moment.
Landon was good.
Of course he was good.
Annoyingly good.
Unfairly good.
The kind of good that made half the room turn and actually start paying attention.
But what got me wasn’t his voice.
It was the way he kept looking at me while he sang.
Like the room had disappeared.
Like he wasn’t performing.
Like he was just with me.
And by the second chorus, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
By the end of the song, the entire room was clapping and I was hiding my face in pure secondhand embarrassment.
I stumbled offstage and collapsed back into the booth.
“I’m never forgiving you.”
Landon slid in across from me, eyes bright and smug and beautiful.
“You loved it.”
“I survived it.”
He leaned in slightly.
“Same difference.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
Then stopped.
Because he was looking at me again.
Not playfully this time.
Not teasing.
Just… quietly.
Deeply.
Like something had shifted.
Like the air between us had changed without either of us meaning for it to.
And suddenly I forgot how to be funny.
Forgot how to deflect.
Forgot how to pretend this was still harmless.
His voice dropped.
“You looked happy up there.”
The softness of it caught me off guard.
I swallowed.
“I was.”
He nodded once.
Then said, almost like it mattered:
“Good.”
And for some reason, that one word hit harder than all his flirting combined.
Because he didn’t just want to impress me.
He wanted me to have a good time.
He wanted me to feel good.
Seen.
Light.
Wanted.
And that kind of intention?
That was so much more dangerous than charm.
After karaoke, he took me for a drive.
No destination.
No pressure.
Just city lights, warm air, and music playing low while the adrenaline of the night slowly settled into something quieter.
Something softer.
Something that felt more intimate than it had any right to.
He eventually pulled into a scenic overlook above the city, the skyline glittering beneath us like someone had spilled stars across the ground.
And for a minute, neither of us said anything.
We just sat there.
The silence wasn’t awkward.
It had never been awkward with him.
It was the kind of silence that says I’m comfortable here with you.
The kind that makes you realize maybe this thing between you is becoming something bigger than either of you planned for.
(Chapter Theme Song: Fearless by Taylor Swift)
- Writer
