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It makes no difference.
I’ve been in the music industry for enough years to recognize talent when I hear it. Her voice is sweet and shy in an enticing way, with a strong undercurrent nonetheless.
“But in your eyes, with destiny…”
I swallow a big lump as she begins to move softly from side to side, shifting her hips, drawing my gaze relentlessly as my heart fills with her angelic voice.
“Maybe I can be, maybe I can be… me.”
She slots the microphone into the stand, takes a step back, and then does the cutest thing she possibly could.
She leaps up and down on the spot, letting out a giddy giggle.
“Oh my God,” she cries. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t choke. I didn’t freak out.”
I jump onto the stage, stride over to her, and spin her around in my arms. She moves with me, laughing musically, her hands gripping onto my side.
“You were amazing,” I growl.
Her mouth hangs open. She stares.
“Amazing,” I repeat. “I mean it. Your voice is beautiful. I can tell you must’ve practiced a lot before that asshole stole your passion.”
“I used to practice every day,” she whispers. “Ever since I was a little kid. Do you really mean it?”
I lean down, smirking. “I’ll say it a thousand times if you need me to. It was amazing. It was beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She brings her lips closer to mine. “For making me do that. I never would have without you, never could have.”
“You’ll never have to worry about what you’d do without me,” I tell her. “I’ll always be here. Always.”
Another kiss captures us, but this one has a different quality to it. I can taste fresh hunger in the way her lips move, in the tightness of her hands against my shoulders. It’s like unlocking her ability to sing has unlocked other parts of her, confident sassy parts.
“What now?” she asks, as our eyes consume each other.
“Now I’m thinking we go back to my place,” I growl. “We can get something to eat. Or we can…”
“Yes,” she says fiercely, even as her eyes widen like she’s surprised by her response. “I want to try. I didn’t think I could sing, and you helped me. Maybe…”
“You’re going to take every inch of me,” I tell her firmly. “Your body is going to take over, your desire is going to take control. It’s like I said before. You won’t even believe you were nervous about it.”
She looks like she’s going to say something else, but then closes her mouth.
I sense it was going to be about her dad.
But then, stifling the guilt, we silently agree to pretend the Andy problem doesn’t exist, at least for now.
I know it’s wrong.
I know we should tell him first.
But I’m powerless to resist her.
All during the car ride back to my place, I can’t stop looking across at my woman. My gaze is drawn to her time and time again, to the way her hands grip her legs, sinking into the mouth-watering thickness of her thighs.
My gaze flits over her breasts, looking like they want to be freed from that sparkling top.
Every time we stop at a red light, we turn to each other, our eyes locked. There’s so much passion burning up inside of her, coloring her cheeks, and that adorable smile hasn’t left her face once.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I can’t believe it. I can sing. I feel like an idiot now. I’ve wasted almost two years not singing because of that jerk.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I wasted years being alone, waiting for you, but I can’t look back with regret. Because now I have you and I’m never letting you go. It’s the same with your singing. You sound sensational, honestly.”
“Maybe we should sing together sometime.”
She giggles.
“I was going to suggest that,” she quips.
She sits up, as the light changes, and I drive us through the city. “Wait. Are you serious? I was joking.”
“Why not?” I reply. “I’d love to sing together.”
There’s that word again, love, like when I told her I loved her hips, loved her body, and her voice. It keeps returning, popping up in conversation.
And even if it’s in seemingly innocent situations, I can’t help but feel the overwhelming truth of the word, as it settles deep inside of me.
What is love if not what we’re feeling?
I turn the corner to my apartment building, and then Billie ducks with a gasp.
She crouches down, slipping almost entirely into the footwell.
“What are you doing?” I ask, confused.
“That’s my dad’s car,” she says. “Across the street. Aaron. The brown hunk of junk with the green sticker in the rear window.”
I look up ahead and spot the car. Andy is sitting behind the wheel, looking over at my apartment building. I can’t make out his expression from my view, but I can see that he’s twisting his hands against the steering wheel.
