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“And I saw a beat-up old karaoke machine on sale in the window of a pawn shop when I was out grabbing supplies. We had so much fun singing at the top of our lungs in that big old house. Remember, Jessa?” I follow Dana’s gaze to Jessa, and a pang of sadness stabs my heart.
They’ve had to seclude themselves for almost a decade, hiding away from life, creating their own world within the world that went on without them.
“I remember. It was fun. Except for the part where we can’t sing.” Now they are both smiling, and everyone around the room has stopped what they were doing and joined the conversation.
Even Logan smiles as they reminisce.
“Does it work? Can we sing?” Dana looks hopeful, and Grizz answers by stepping toward the machine to plug it in. “Oh, goodie! Jessa, let’s sing a song. Just one. While he fixes the TV.” She points in Hunter’s direction as she jumps out of her seat.
“Okay, but just one.” Jessa is a little slower to rise than her friend is. Her hesitance is adorable. Judging by her apprehension, I’d say she’s only doing this for Dana.
Dana walks over to Grizz, picks up the song list, and scans the titles. Then, looking up and smiling at Jessa, she leans to the side and points one out for Grizz to play, and he smiles and nods.
“If it’s only going to be one, it’s going to be a good one.” She picks up two microphones and waves one excitedly at Jessa. “Do you want to know which one it is?” Dana bounces in place.
Jessa takes the mic. “No. Let it be a surprise. It’s going to end the same way: with both of us off-key.”
Logan leans back in his seat, watching the two women interact. I won’t mention it to him, but I think he’s enjoying the brief truce.
Grizz pulls up the song, and music pumps from the speakers. An old pop tune roars to life, causing Grey to bounce along with the beat. All of the men at the table turn to watch. Only Hunter is distracted as he continues to fix the TV for a movie later.
A knowing smile crosses Jessa’s face, and her hips move in rhythm. Dana does a little twirl in place, catching Grizz’s attention.
Both girls raise their mic at the same time. As they sing, they continue to look at each other, and when the first verse rolls to an end, they dance along to the tune as the beat picks up for the chorus.
Jessa’s hips sway more prominently as the song goes on, slowly pulling me into the music with her. Watching her body move makes me want things I shouldn’t be thinking about right now, and for a moment I’m thankful Logan took the lead on this mission.
I quickly glance out of the corner of my eye, and I see him watching both her and my reaction to her. I try to slow my roll, but she sucks me back in as she spins in place, and I catch the smile on her face. She isn’t hiding anything with that smile right now. She is truly enjoying herself.
As the music slows, indicating the end of the song, a need to be with her bursts inside me. Without looking around and without thought, I stand, walk to the karaoke machine, and glance at the song list.
I’ve learned the hard way that time is fleeting. I don’t want to add another thing to the long list of things I regret where Jessa is concerned.
There is one song I want to play.
For her.
I saw it when we first got this machine, and I could never bring myself to listen to it.
Dana sets her mic down and moves toward the couch as though she’s about to watch me sing. Jessa hands me her mic and turns to move to a seat, but then she freezes when the first chord plays.
She swirls in place with a surprised look on her face. “Is that—”
I set the mic down. I’m not fucking singing.
But there is something I do want to do right now.
“The first song we ever danced to.” I finish her sentence for her, then hold out my hand.
Jessa’s eyes are almost as wide as her mouth as she gapes at me, then at my hand, and she snaps her mouth shut when she realizes I’m asking her to dance.
Lifting her slender fingers to mine, I no longer notice if anyone is still in the room with us the moment we touch. Then, in one move, I pull her into me and wrap my free arm around her as she keeps her eyes on mine.
We’re dancing closer than we ever have before, mostly because old Ms. Straub in high school insisted on the arm’s-length rule at our dances.
But we’re not in high school anymore.
She’s not a girl anymore either.
