Chapter 40

No one ever looked at me and thought, "Damn, I bet that chick can belt Aerosmith," but they'd be wrong. I sang the chorus of "Dream On" while throwing devil horns and headbanging, my loose waves flying around my face.

"Whoooo, baby!" Priya catcalled.

When I hit the high part, striking my best rock star pose and the mic held directly above my upturned face, the bar burst into cheers.

I killed that ballad and swaggered back to my table.

Blondie's was poorly lit, the bathroom floors got sticky after 10PM, and smart patrons stuck to French fries and beer. But it had karaoke and was my favorite drinking hole in the city.

Ruthie, a yoga pant wearing soccer mom who came to karaoke night once a month religiously with her sister, took the mike for her gravelly-voiced rendition of "Blank Slate."

"Nicely done, Holmes." Priya handed me a shot of Kick in the Balls, clinking her glass to mine.