The best karaoke in town’s at the Boardwalk Saloon, the girl at the club had said, but I don’t ever go there. It’s too far from downtown.

Patrick twiddled his thumbs on the steering wheel of the rental car as he navigated the city’s one-way streets and narrow thoroughfares, following the directions Travis was shouting from the backseat, guided by his iPhone. Jon sat shotgun, chatting genially with Patrick and mellowing out the Travis factor. Patrick was here to listen to a new artist Pete was thinking of signing to Decaydance, and when Travis decided to tag along (Hey, man, I’m a partner in Decaydance, he’d said, and while that was true, everyone knew Pete found the talent, Patrick was Pete's second opinion, and Travis threw the party. Well, everyone except Travis.), Patrick practically begged Jon to fly in to join them. He’d agreed, of course, under cover that he’d been hearing great things about Milwaukee’s music scene; really, Jon just wanted to bail Patrick out without making Patrick feel guilty, which happened more often than not.

They were in town a day early “just for kicks,” as Travis said, but it was really because Travis liked a day to recover from airplanes. In any case, they had a night for fun before business, and for Patrick, that meant karaoke. Patrick straightened his shoulders as he pulled into an overfull parking lot, Jon pointing out a narrow spot to park.

As they walked into the bar, Travis immediately ditched them for some pretty girls lurking near the mute jukebox. Patrick and Jon grabbed two recently-vacated stools and looked at the performers on the little cut-out stage. A woman stood in front of the crowd, chatting lightly while adjusting her microphone stand. Mostly Patrick couldn’t make it out, but the people jammed around little tables were smiling and laughing along with her. She introduced the number, and smiled as the band started jamming. Patrick, for a few seconds, was shell-shocked by the radiance and genuineness of her grin, but came to his senses when she started belting a Linda Rondstadt tune. She flirted with the crowd, pulling them in; she shared the stage with the guitarist and bassist, but maintained a lead singer’s dominion; and most of all, she sang lyrically yet ferociously enough to make Patrick forget the band’s shortcomings and wonder why they weren’t signed.

“Who’s this band?” he asked the bartender, as she brought Jon a Jack and Coke.

“The Axe Planets,” she replied, “longtime local band.”

“Their singer isn't that old, though, right?” Patrick blinked, thinking his eyes might be deceiving him.

“No, they’re the karaoke band,” she explained, leaning on the bar. “Every week, they play live music and invite people to sing. Sasha's a regular at Rock Star Karaoke; everyone loves her here.” With this, she nodded to Patrick, heading down the bar to field another order.

That’s karaoke? Patrick thought, watching the dark-haired woman—Sasha—manage the stage like a professional performer. “That’s karaoke,” he said in Jon’s ear, poking him.

Jon turned to him with a surprised look on his face, quickly assimilating his features to his usual offhanded delight. “Go get her then, Stump.”

Patrick wandered toward the stage, shuffling into place next to some head-bopping observers. A group of tipsy twenty-somethings giggled at a table nearby, and Patrick looked nervously at them before directing his attention back to the stage. Sasha strutted toward that side of the stage, finishing the line with a wink and a shimmy.

Damn, this girl’s good. He stood, transfixed, for a few more measures.

Suddenly, he realized how stupid he felt. What the hell. Patrick wasn’t one to get goofy over girls, even ones with ridiculously amazing voices. Honestly, he was starting to feel like an obsessed teenager. Patrick adjusted his hat, shaking his head. He turned back to the bar, only to feel a finger poking at the small of his back and two large hands resting on his shoulders. He struggled to face his assailants, shrugging his shoulders repeatedly.

“Stop it, Travis, fuck,” he said, wrenching free from the bear grip.

Travis lifted his hands and his eyebrows, an innocent look on his face. Jon giggled as he continued to poke Patrick in various places. When Patrick turned to glare at him, Jon just grinned wider.

Patrick sighed. “What, fuckers?”

“Dude,” Travis said. “Come on.” He sidled up to Patrick, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “She’s damn hot.”

Jon touched Patrick’s shoulder. “That’s not even the point, man,” he said. “How often do you get the chance to meet a girl like that?” He gave Patrick a dorky thumbs-up and gestured toward the stage.

“Jon.” Patrick looked him straight in the face. “I feel like one of those teenage girls who try to jump the barrier. Get it?”

Travis shuddered.

Jon crinkled his nose. “Patrick. Gross. Just be a man and ask her if she wants to have a drink, yeah? Stay cool, be you.”

When did Jon Walker become a motivational speaker? Patrick looked at him suspiciously through his glasses, finally rolling his eyes and shrugging before settling into the nearest vacant chair.

While they had been talking, Sasha had finished the song, surrendering the microphone to an overweight forty-something woman who was warbling her way through a Johnny Cash song. Patrick scanned the room, looking for Sasha. When he spotted her near the bar, he took a breath of resolve.

Travis slammed a shot of something, Patrick hadn’t been keeping track, and clapped him on the shoulder. Jon grinned, saying,”good luck” as Patrick walked away.

He came up behind her as she was ordering a rum and Coke. “Let me get that for you,” he said, smiling.

Damn. That was so original and completely not sleazy.

She turned to him, brown hair settling in waves behind her. She raised an eyebrow and gave him a slight smile. “Okay,” she said, appraising the short, behatted man who stood before her. “But then I get to pay for your drink.”

“Done.” Patrick grinned at her.