Page 25 of Good Directions

I spin around, unsurprised by who I find, the leggy, platinum blonde looking me up and down like I’m the last steak at the buffet and she hasn’t eaten in a month. In true Kitty fashion, she’s overdressed for the occasion. Or should I say underdressed. Her miniskirt is so short it looks like it barely covers her ass, her high-heeled boots make her taller than she already is, and a low-cut cropped tube top shimmies its way down her boobs with every move she makes.

Looking at her now, it’s hard to believe she was once upon a time my sister’s rival for the Miss Georgia crown.

“Could say that about you too,” I counter, resting my elbows against the bar.

Kitty takes my comment as an invitation, which I suppose it was in a way, stepping into me, leaving only a few inches between us.

“Don’t you have a peach grove to be playing in or something?”

“Don’t you have…” I stop. Because I don’t actually know what the Cattaways do. Shit. I should, but I don’t. Flowers? Bees? Something like that. “To be prepping for tomorrow?”

There. That should cover it.

“All prepped and ready.” She giggles, walking her fingers up my chest.

I look down, watching her digits slowly move up the cotton of my T-shirt, debating if I really want to engage in this conversation. Kitty and my sister hate each other. Why, I’m still not exactly sure. Something to do with pageant stuff, I think. Maybe there’s more to it. Honestly, by that point in Willa’s life, I was off at UGA focusing on my PhD, and only ever caught bits and pieces of her drama. What I do remember was that Kitty was at the center of it.

More than that, though, Kitty has a reputation.

One that assures me that if what I want is to be distracted tonight, she’ll be game. I’m just not sure that’s the distraction I want. Nor do I think that it will really get that cute, chestnut-haired ag researcher out of my thoughts.

“What do you say we get out of here? Go somewhere I can show you how I purrrrrr…”

She draws out that last word again, pushing up to her toes to whisper it in my ear. A zing shoots down my spine and I flinch, my body’s reaction a complete one-eighty from my mind’s.

I need to politely decline. Maybe Pour Decisions would have been the better option. I’ll take my brothers’ shit over this any day.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. It’s quick. Subtle. But it catches my eye anyway. A flash of chestnut hair that I’d somehow know anywhere.

Sawyer.

Suddenly, I’m on high alert. Like one of those police sniffer dogs who have caught the scent and are unable to focus on anything else. Shifting away from Kitty—I don’t even think I excuse myself, oops—I zone in on Sawyer, watching her from afar as she takes in the lay of the land.

Dressed in bedazzled denim shorts and a baby-blue tank top, with her gorgeous hair down, tousled just right and flowing over her shoulders, she looks like a different person than the one who’s been in the lab with me the last couple of days. Much more relaxed. Dare I even say like she might have some fun?

Fun I want in on.

She doesn’t see me; her own focus is turned to something I can’t follow. Until she turns. And heads upstairs.

Jackpot.

I make a beeline for the spiral metal staircase in the corner that leads to the second floor. It’s another moment before I can head up, a group of people taking their time coming down the single-file staircase preventing me from following her immediately. But when I make it up, I hang back for a second before walking through the door labeled karaoke.

“Sweet Caroline!” an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard belts out as I walk into the room.

Bright lights from the small stage blind me, my eyes taking a second to adjust. The karaoke room is small and dark, and tonight is mostly empty. Just Mr. Sweet Caroline, a redheaded woman flipping through the list of songs, and Sawyer. Oh, and now me.

Mr. Sweet Caroline finishes up, holding out the mic. I watch intently as the redhead shakes her head, indicating she’s not quite ready yet. Sawyer doesn’t miss a beat though, grabbing the mic and walking up and punching in her song number.

Wow, she didn’t even need to look at the book…

The opening notes of Heart’s “Alone” fill the air, softly at first, growing louder as they build. My heart races, anticipation building as I wait for Sawyer’s next move.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she has all the confidence of Ann Wilson herself as she starts to sing. And I do mean sing.

If I thought she didn’t miss a beat in stepping up to do this, then she really doesn’t miss one as she performs. She hits every note, every vocalization, every little thing. Goose bumps crawl up my skin. I can’t take my eyes off how incredible she is, belting out this song like she was made to be on stage, conveying the intensity of trying to tell someone your feelings for them.

Holy shit…