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Slow.
Erotic.
That’s when the percussive elements come in. My tongue darts out to swipe across my dry lips as I sing Fiona Apple’s ‘Criminal’.
The tune is rich and soulful.
The bar grows silent as every eye in the place stays focused on me. Just like with dance, the way I’m able to command attention is a high. My gaze slides across the sea of faces in the dark room until it lands on Ford.
He’s no longer lounging on his chair with a smug expression. Instead, he’s perched on the edge of it. Even from across the distance that separates us, I feel the growing tension of his rigidly held muscles. It’s as if he’ll spring out of his seat any given moment.
Excitement coils in the pit of my belly as my attention stays locked on him while I belt out the song. I’m not a professional by any means, but I’m more than capable of carrying a tune.
Everyone else in the bar fades away until he’s all I’m cognizant of.
Just him.
And me.
‘Criminal’ is a sexy song. Maybe this particular tune seems appropriate because I enjoy toying with him.
Or maybe it’s because, deep down, I know what we’re doing is wrong.
But if that’s the case, why does it feel so damn right?
My grip tightens around the microphone as I hold it close and sway. The audience is eerily quiet. Not even the clink of glasses can be heard over the instruments and my voice.
As the last notes reverberate throughout the bar, there’s a moment of absolute silence before thunderous applause erupts. A few guys jump to their feet, whistling and yelling my name.
My gaze unconsciously flickers to Ford.
His eyes are narrowed.
I can’t tell if he’s pissed by the song selection or not.
“Hey, Carina! How about you be a bad girl with me?” a guy shouts from across the bar.
Not bothering with a response, I slip through the crowd and head for the exit. I don’t quite understand it, but I feel strangely vulnerable. Like maybe I revealed a little bit too much of myself up there. I’m used to leaving every drop of emotion on the stage after a performance, but that was different.
I need to take off before I say or do something I end up regretting. If I’m smart, I’ll think long and hard about what’s happening with Ford before this goes any further and blows up in my face.
If it hasn’t already…
As I cross the darkened space, a hand reaches out. My heart thunders beneath my breast, hoping that Ford hasn’t caught up to me.
“Carina?”
I spin around, expecting someone else. A weird concoction of relief and disappointment swirls through me when I find Fallyn.
“Hey,” she says, nodding toward the stage. “You were amazing up there. I had no idea you could sing like that.”
I force my lips into a smile. “Thanks.”
“Are you heading out already? It’s still early.”
“Yeah.” My gaze flickers over the rowdy crowd searching for one face in particular. “I am.”
“That’s too bad. I just got here. We’ll have to do another girls’ night soon. That was so much fun.”
