Karaoke Chemistry (Sacred River, Book 2)

What if every time you sang, you hurt someone you love?

For decades, Magnolia has lived a quiet life as a chemistry teacher and the least powerful witch in her family, keeping her weekly identity as the karaoke powerhouse Seven a secret. No one knows the real her – especially not the sinfully hot man she’s drawn to every time she sings.

When Riggs lands a job as Sacred River High’s new principal, he’s stunned to discover the woman he’s been flirting with is one of the teachers. But wait – did they just call her Magnolia? And witches are *real*?

Riggs agrees to keep Magnolia’s secret, but there’s no stopping the way Magnolia’s magic grows right along with their feelings for each other.

Then there’s that pesky curse to deal with.

Pulling into a partially hidden space, I kill the engine and reach into the back seat for my canvas tote. It’s a familiar routine at this point, throwing on the black tee with a glitter skull over my pink tank top and wiggling into ripped black jeans. I slide off the muted cotton skirt and open my makeup kit to line my eyes in the visor mirror with a royal blue glitter eyeliner, then smudge it.

After fluffing up my limp hair, I get out and step to the back of my Fiat to shove my feet into the black Doc Martens that are only worn here. I lock my car, hustle to the door, then take a deep breath. I always expect a tingle of magic to course through me before I step inside, but it never happens. And since it’s magic’s fault that I’m even in this position, you’d think it would have the decency to show up.

It doesn’t.

It never does.

Which is for the best. It’s why I’m here, after all.

Wrenching the door open, I step into the dimly-lit bar. The familiar scents of old wood and alcohol wrap around me as I head straight for Carol, weaving through the crowd of people I make a point never to speak with and past the bar. I find her bent over tonight’s list, and she straightens as I near, smiling in delight. “Seven! I didn’t think you’d make it tonight.”

I start to apologize, but Seven doesn’t say sorry. Ever. So I stand tall and shrug like it’s no big deal. “Hi, Carol. Had some things to do today. You know how it goes.”
She hands me the pen and my silver bracelets clink against each other as I write my name and song selections down. It’s been a day, so I choose Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll” and No Doubt’s “Just a Girl,” two fun songs that I can easily lose myself in and forget the rest of the world. I’m last on the list, but Carol likes me—or at least the twenties I give her every time I sing—so I know I’ll get on stage tonight.

I hand the pen back with a smile and make my way to the bar to order Seven’s usual drink: a high-end whiskey, neat, water on the side. When I’m at Al’s, I’m not Magnolia Rowan, quiet high school chemistry teacher and least interesting of the many Rowan sisters. Here, I’m Seven, bad-ass singer who doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Who can’t harm anyone with her voice. I can flirt with the bartender even though he looks like he’s barely old enough to drink, let alone serve alcohol. It’s only here that I’m a woman who takes what she wants. Who is unapologetically herself. Who has a powerhouse voice, literally and metaphorically, and isn’t afraid to use it.

In other words, the exact opposite of who I really am.
“Wondered if you’d be here tonight.” The deep velvet voice sends a shiver down my spine.

He’s here. Magnolia would never be so bold, but as Seven, I turn away from the bar and let my gaze travel from his boots up his jeans-clad legs to a trim waist, up a black Henley that hugs a thick chest and arms, on up to a jaw covered in dark gray and silver stubble, and finally up to bright blue eyes that crinkle deliciously as he smiles at me. A familiar tug of gossamer string goes taut inside my body.

“Riggs.”

He clinks his beer against my whiskey. “Seven.”

“You miss me?”

“All week,” he answers. “You?”

“Obviously.” My belly tightens. I glance away and take another sip, unable to hold his stare. There’s only so much of Seven that really works in the face of this man’s self-assured presence. I’ve seen him here almost every week for at least a year, and each time it’s the same: a little bit of flirting and nothing more. That’s how it has to be; any more than that and I put him in danger.

We turn our attention to Carol, who’s kicking the evening into gear with the opening verse of “Shake it Off.” I lean against the bar and fight the instinct to curl into myself under Riggs’s gaze as I take another sip of the whiskey, letting its burn fortify me. “What are you singing?”

He shifts beside me. “Why? You want to duet?”

I scoff. “You can’t handle me.”

“That remains to be seen,” he murmurs.