Page 52 of Bound To Be Mine

No man had ever looked at me like that.

I had watched grooms tear up when their brides appeared in the doorway. I’d witnessed men look at women like they were the whole world. I was professionally fluent in what love looked like.

I was certain that’s what I saw in Briggs’s expression.

How?

Why?

When did that happen?

I scrolled through the comments on the second video. The reaction was somehow even more enthusiastic than the first one. People were talking about how Briggs hadn’t taken his eyes off me once. People commenting they wanted their man to look at them like that.

The internet believed we were in love.

The problem was that I needed the man from the video, and what I had was the man with the Montblanc pen and the endless contracts.

I had an idea. I picked up my phone, scrolled to Briggs’s number, and opened a text.

Meet me at eight tonight. Dirty Shirley’s.

I hit send before I could overthink it. Almost ten minutes later he finally replied.

Is there a reason we’re going to a karaoke bar?

I smiled.

Non-negotiable, I typed back. Your wife wants to go.

I waited. Would he shut me down? I was going to assume he was sober at nine in the morning. Drunk Briggs would say yes. Sober Briggs would want to put a contract in place about a night out.

He replied. Fine. But I’m not singing.

I set my phone down on the nightstand and went to make coffee, smiling to myself.

We’d see about that.

17

BRIGGS

Dirty Shirley’s was a karaoke bar just off the Strip. When she texted and said that’s where she wanted to go, I recognized the name from the videos of me singing. It made me wonder if that was how I ended up there in the first place, at her insistence.

I could just say no. But I had a feeling when she said non-negotiable, she meant it. There was zero wiggle room with her.

All of this was happening because I opened my big mouth and insulted her with a very simple question. I was really going to have to be more careful with my words.

The bar was exactly how it looked in the videos. Low ceilings, sticky floors, neon signs advertising beer brands in colors that were slightly too bright for the dim room. A small stage at the back with a microphone stand and a screen currently displaying the song menu in pixelated font. The place was maybe a third full.

I stood in the entrance and let my eyes adjust.

I spotted Mandy immediately. She was talking to the man behind the karaoke console, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, wearing shorts and a pink top that showed off her ample breasts. Damn. She was wearing pink sandals with a tiny heel. For the briefest moment, I thought, that’s my wife.

She glanced over her shoulder and spotted me watching her. There was no point pretending I had just walked in. She had busted me staring at her. She gave me a small smile, said something to the karaoke operator, and then turned to face the stage rather than coming to greet me.

The opening notes of a song started up. I recognized it immediately. I had this song in every one of my playlists. Up, down, working out, relaxing or studying, it was top tier.

Then Mandy walked up to the stage, picked up the microphone, and started singing.