And that's how he ended up in a karaoke bar with his girlfriend and two teammates.

It was a mistake.

Number one: he had grossly underestimated what constituted appropriate attire. He should have known, but then again Face always looked GQ, and Angel occasionally dressed a little more provocatively than he thought was suitable. He figured her working in sweats and t-shirts from home gave her license to doll up when she left the house, and her outfit tonight reflected that: a cherry red corset with a lacy black trim and tight black velvet pants. She wore heels too, although the three of them still towered over her.

Maybe he should have been tipped off by Murdock wearing a button down shirt and not a gaudy Hawaiian thing or t-shirt with a pop culture reference on it. But he hadn't noticed, and now felt out of place in jeans and his own simple vee-neck.

Number two: he wasn't getting the typical bar vibe that someone was going to try and break a chair over his back; he was getting the vibe that everyone was going to hold hands and break into an inexplicable spontaneous dance number. This karaoke thing was hardcore.

B.A. tried to keep back and maneuver the group to a table further away from the stage. He wasn't successful. Apparently Angel had a regular spot: a table near the stage. Center stage. She, Face and Murdock wound their way through the crowd to get to it.

When it was discovered that the table only had three chairs, Angel insisted B.A. take hers—center of the table, center stage—while she called for another one. B.A. sat gingerly on the rickety wooden chair between Murdock and Face.

A man wearing a tight white shirt and a matching feather boa brought a chair to the table.

"Angel, sugar—you look delicious!" he cooed, and Angel smiled broadly and flounced a little as she moved next to him. The two kissed each other's opposite cheeks, European-style.

"Hi Sunny!" she replied. "Thanks!"

"That corset is spectacular!" he continued, turning her on her heel to see the back. "Look at the boning detail! And those satin ribbons! Did you get this from Luka? He does such fine work!"

She nodded, and tugged a little on the front of it.

"Don't tug at it, sugar, it's perfect just the way it is," Sunny admonished.

He finally glanced over the rest of the table. His gaze leisurely took in B.A. "You've brought someone new! How fun is that!"

B.A. was torn—he felt like he should get up and get this fool away from his girlfriend, but with the oddly appreciative look in the man's eyes, he thought maybe he should just get the fool away. Period.

Murdock sensed his growing tension, and put a hand on his forearm. "Relax, Bosco," he advised quietly, leaning in close to the black man's ear.

B.A. caught the man watching the two of them with a slight, knowing smile on his face and he pulled away from the pilot. He didn't need anyone getting any weird ideas about him and Murdock, and his gut was telling him that the rumors weren't going to be about how they both had Army Ranger tattoos. Well, maybe they would be, but that would make it all the worse.

To his horror, Murdock moved sinuously with him. "Sunny's no threat. Just watch."

Angel was introducing B.A. to him, and Murdock picked up a hand to say hello, but Sunny's gaze settled on Face. Although he'd been animated before, he truly lit up as he caught Face's eye.

"Templeton! It's so nice to see you again!"

Face obligingly got up, and B.A. watched with fascinated distaste as the two men kissed cheeks just like Angel and he had done.

"You let me know if you need anything, handsome," Sunny told Face directly, in a stage whisper. He put a hand on Face's chest. "Anything at all."

With a wink, Sunny left.

Face helped Angel with her chair, then sat back down. He was surprised at B.A.'s expression.

"See?" Murdock asked. "You don't have to worry about Sunny tryin' to get into Angel's pants, B.A. Now, if you want to defend Face's honor . . ."

"How'd you put up with that, man? Why?" B.A. asked Face incredulously.

"What? Sunny?" Face replied dismissively. "He's a nice guy. Just not my type. He's way too effeminate . . . I go for much more manly men."

Everybody laughed. B.A. chuckled a little too and sat back more relaxed. That was a pretty good joke.

"Drinks?" Murdock asked around the table.

If there was ever a time to voluntarily get drunk . . .

"I suppose whatever they have on tap," B.A. said with defeat.

The other three gave each other surprised glances.

"You want booze?"

"What the hell else am I getting in a bar?"

Murdock shrugged. "I get iced tea. Or water. Virgin pina colada. Milk."

"Milk?"

"If they can make a White Russian, they can give you milk."

Satisfied, B.A. nodded. No one else took as long to decide what they wanted, and not being able to flag a waitress's attention, Murdock wandered toward the bar to order.

Although Angel and Face seemed most interested in watching and gossiping about the other patrons, B.A. was more intrigued by the mechanical technicians finishing the sound system set up.

Sunny showed up again, helping Murdock carry the drinks.

"You got me on the list?" Angel asked him.

"Sugar, like I would leave you off the list!" he told her with a wave of his hand. "What about you fellas?"

Both Face and Murdock politely declined; B.A. wasn't quite sure what 'the list' was but gave Sunny an icy stare. Angel watched him glare as hard as he could at the other man, who only smiled brightly back. His lack of reaction seemed to be as irritating to B.A. as when Murdock did it. Angel smothered a giggle.

"Sunny . . ." she said suddenly, as if realizing something.

"What is it, sugar?"

"You know that piece I've been working on? I think I'm ready tonight."

Sunny bit his lower lip and smiled through it, throwing another glance B.A.'s way. The black man got the impression there was a joke he wasn't privy to, and he frowned.

"Oh honey . . . I think that's a grand idea."

Angel smiled prettily.

"Do you want it in place of your typical slot?"

She looked dramatically taken aback. "Oh no! I want another!"

Sunny winked. "I'll see what I can do."

He smiled around the table to the others again, scrunched his fingers in a little wave to Face, and left to talk to one of the technicians scheduling the play list.

Angel raised her drink for a toast; the men copied her. All four glasses were different, which she pointed out and laughed at. They tinked them together as Murdock overtook her toast and started into a drawn out, rambling speech that seem to have less to do with good friends and good cheer and more to do about the literal price of tea in China. B.A. forced Face to trade him seats.