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Bianka’s head snaps in my direction as a broad grin spreads across her face.
I shrug. “I figured you must be missing putting your voice to good use since we’re doing a play this semester, rather than a musical. I might also have the selfish motive of wanting you to sing for me.”
Grabbing the collar of my leather jacket, she pulls me close, kissing me fiercely. “My hero,” she murmurs when she rereleases me.
“I’ll go get us some drinks,” I say and give her another quick peck before heading toward the bar.
Several people have already put in their names for karaoke by the time I order our drinks, so as I wait for them to be made, I head over and add Bianka to the list. Then I collect our drinks and head back to the table, setting the hot toddy in front of her as I hold a tumbler of the bar’s best whiskey with a single block of ice.
“What’s this?” Bianka asks, raising the steaming mug of amber liquid to her nose and sniffing.
“A hot toddy. Whiskey, hot water, lemon, honey, and a stick of cinnamon.”
“Mmm, perfect for warming up my vocal cords,” she says with a cheeky grin.
“My thoughts exactly.” I cheers her, clinking our glasses together lightly before taking a sip of my drink.
Then we turn our attention to the first karaoke singer, who strikes up a decent rendition of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”
“Any idea of what you plan on singing?” I ask.
“I hadn’t really thought about it yet.”
“Well, you better get on it. You’ve only got a few people ahead of you.” I give her a wink, and she glares at me.
“What are you going to sing?” she demands accusingly.
“Oh no. I won’t chase you away by pretending I can serenade you. This is your night. I’m just here to get you moderately tipsy and listen to you sing.”
“Hmph,” she grunts. Then she falls silent as she thinks for a second. “Well, there’s no harm starting with a classic,” she says finally.
“Which one would that be?”
She shakes her head haughtily. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” she quips, pulling my own move of withholding information to tease me.
My lips press together as I attempt to hide my smile, but it’s nearly impossible when I know how thoroughly I’m going to enjoy this night.
When Bianka’s called up to the stage, she doesn’t hesitate, sliding off her stool and weaving her way around the tables with comfortable ease. She’s in her element, and with just the right amount of whiskey to take the edge off, she’s looking feisty in her form-fitting sweater dress that accents her curves perfectly.
She converses with the karaoke emcee for a moment, discussing whatever song she’s going to sing. Then she takes her place in front of the mic as the room falls silent, eyes lingering on her as the spotlight gives her freckled cheeks a radiant glow.
The first notes of ABBA’s classic piece “Lay All Your Love on Me” start, and I grin widely, revealing my teeth as Bianka levels a daring look at me. She’s in rare form, and while eyes are on her, she’s only looking at me.
Despite the informal setting that’s given her no time to actually warm up her voice, Bianka slides easily into ABBA’s comfortable range. She doesn’t need to look at the lyrics, slowly scrolling up the projected screen behind her.
Instead, she incorporates playful and tantalizing movements into her rendition of the song, her hand not holding the mic stroking up the side of her body as she warns me not to waste my emotion, but instead to lay all my love on her. She’s teasing me, and god, but I love the way her eyes dance as she smiles at me.
I’ve all but forgotten the rest of the people in the room by the time she’s done, and their applause reminds me that we’re not alone, though my body doesn’t seem to care as I sport a half boner inside my jeans.
The cheers are boisterous as she makes her way off stage, far more enthusiastic than they’ve been for most of the performers that have yet to grace the stage. That’s because Bianka has the figure to catch every straight man’s eye and the vocals to bring the house down around our feet. While everyone else is doing their best to stay on key, Bianka transforms the grubby stage into something worthy of a proper concert setting.
Before she comes back to me, she stops by the sound manager once more, and he flashes her a grin, nodding along to whatever she said. Then Bianka heads my way. She’s stopped multiple times by random people, who feel the need to praise her again, and she graciously accepts each compliment.
“That was so much fun,” she gushes, reaching the table and leaning into me.
I’ve grown accustomed to the twinge of pain caused by my broken ribs whenever they’re jostled. I can almost completely tune them out now in exchange for the kiss Bianka rewards me with before sliding back onto her seat.
“I took the liberty of ordering us each a burger before your next performance,” I announce loudly over the next singer, who sounds almost like a cat howling in comparison to Bianka’s crystal-clear and sinfully sweet tone.
