Page 74 of Lyric & the Heartbeats

When the ghost of your touch

Still haunts me?”

If she thought Emerson playing the bass was hot, hearing her own lyrics fall from his lips with such conviction melted her into a fucking puddle.

She danced away, trying to seek refuge from the flames by spinning with Adra on his island of synth.

He shared a carefree grin with her as she stepped onto the edge opposite him, the black and white keys of the keyboard separating them. She grabbed the ledge with one hand, tightened her hold on the mic with the other, and pushed off with her foot.

They spun slowly, but the blurring lights and background made her feel like they were in their own, private, intimate world. Filled with music and an unrealized tension.

Oh, I realize it, alright.

When they slowed to a stop in time with the song, Adra stepped off the island and came around the side.

Lyric cocked her head at him. What was he doing?

Adra stopped only a few steps away and offered her his hand. It made her lips twitch as she placed her palm in his and he helped her off the stand.

A throng of ‘awws’ filled the venue, and Lyric rolled her eyes against the flush in her cheeks.

His palm was soft and warm against hers as it engulfed her hand. He squeezed once before releasing her and walking away.

As she told the crowd a story to preface the next song, she took the small set of stairs behind Desi’s drum stage and walked around her drum kit to take a seat in the front, legs hanging over the edge.

“This song is about overcoming someone else’s expectations of you.”

As they shouted, Desi leaned over and offered her a bottle of water. Her words were lost in the sea of noise, but Lyric read her lips just fine.

“You look thirsty.”

Lyric thanked her with a glare and sucked down half of the bottle before the next song started.

The rest of the set passed in a blur of teasing touches and knowing glances as resignation snuck up on her.

Goddammit.

Lyric grabbed the set list off the stage, gaze glazing over Emerson before she tossed the paper into the crowd.

She was playing with fire, and while she knew it would burn… she didn’t care.

Her skin was tight, cheeks flushed, embarrassment threatening to overwhelm her at just the thought of giving in.

But it’ll be so good…

Lyric ground her teeth together as she left the stage, watching her step too intently. When she tore her monitors out, the rush of backstage hit her all at once, throwing her off kilter. She handed the plugs to an assistant and nodded at Henry.

She barely heard him when he told her what a great show it was. Almost missed it when he told her what time bus call was.

Lyric interrupted him, telling him she’d need a little more time on the bus, and then she heard Emerson’s voice thank the assistant when she took his monitors.

She swayed in his direction, nodded at Henry, and slipped away to the stage exit where Emerson was lingering.

His hand was warm in hers when she grabbed it, and a pinch of satisfaction tightened in her chest when he instinctively squeezed back.

Lyric felt Henry’s gaze on her as she practically dragged Emerson away. Knew his eyes were probably filled with disapproval, but she didn’t care.

Right then, with days of built-up frustration and self-denial contained tightly within, she wanted nothing more than to let go.