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“This is your song, princess. It’s all you. Every word of it is what I think of when I look at you. Sing the shit out of this song. Listen to the words and fucking feel them. Believe them.”
I swallow thickly and glance over at the karaoke guy, giving him a nod.
Eric’s hands are still resting on my shoulders when the music starts, and I open my mouth right along with it. I don’t even think about it; I just do what he says. I start singing the words to “F**kin’ Perfect” by Pink.
I was blessed with a raspy voice like Pink, and her songs have always been favorites of mine to sing. By the time I get to the first chorus, I feel those words. I feel them from the top of my head down to my toes. I’ve felt less than perfect for years. I’ve been mistreated, misplaced, and misunderstood for most of my adult life, but I’m still around. It’s time for me to do what the song says—change the voices in my head and realize I’m fucking perfect.
I’m belting out the song better than I’ve ever sung anything in my life, and this time, I’m not keeping my eyes closed. I’m gripping the microphone with one hand, and throwing my other fist up in the air, looking out at my friends in the front row. They’re clapping and screaming and jumping up and down. I sing that song to them. I sing it to every woman in the bar who has ever felt less than perfect. Who changed to make someone else happy.
Not until I’m halfway through the song do I realize that Eric is no longer holding onto me, giving me strength. He knew at some point that I no longer needed it, but I glance over to the side of the stage and see him standing there with his hands in his pockets, smiling at me.
When I sing the words asking if you ever feel like nothing, and saying that you’re fucking perfect to me, Eric mouths the words right along with me.
I finish the song, my eyes never leaving his, hoping he knows I think he’s kind of fucking perfect too. Everyone in the bar immediately jumps out of their chairs, joining my friends in their screaming and clapping and jumping up and down.
The smile on my face is so big that I smack my hand over my mouth to try and contain it, but it’s no use. I’m smiling and I’m laughing and if Sebastian were here right now, I would tell him to suck my dick, because I’m fucking perfect.
Eric races across the stage and scoops me up in his arms, spinning me around as I hold on to his shoulders, and I still can’t wipe the smile off my face.
He finally sets me back down on my feet, his arms still wrapped tightly around me.
“I think this means I owe you a kiss.”
“Damn. And here I thought it was time to talk about my amazing tits,” I counter.
“You’re crazy,” he laughs, shaking his head.
“I know,” I tell him with a shrug. “You’re lucky I’m just your typical kind of crazy and not the scary, murdering kind. Allegedly. Because—”
He cuts me off, dipping his head and pressing his lips to mine. I immediately open for him, pushing my tongue into his mouth and deepening the kiss.
Thank God it wasn’t just my imagination. This kiss? It definitely tops the first one.
Chapter 13: Laffy Taffy
I think I’m going to puke.
Staring at the fancy dining room table in front of me, which is littered with every junk food item from the pantry, I tear off a piece of the cinnamon raisin bagel slathered in a thick layer of cream cheese and shovel it in my mouth even though I feel a little sick to my stomach.
I’m eating my feelings, okay? Whatever. It’s fine. Since karaoke the other night, I’m happy to say Eric and I have shared a lot more kisses. Every time he gets home from his office or running up to Charming’s to check on things, he comes over to my boat and the first thing he does is grab me and kiss me. Amazing, toe-curling kisses that light my body on fire and have me clawing at his back, wanting more.
That’s pretty much why I’ve turned into a human garbage disposal tonight. All we’ve done is kiss. And while each kiss has been better than the last, he hasn’t pushed for more. He hasn’t even tried to cop a feel of my amazing tits, damn it. I refuse to start second-guessing all the good feelings I’ve started to have about myself again and even consider that maybe he doesn’t want me. Because I’ve felt how much he wants me. I’ve felt it pressed up against me when he pulls me close and kisses the hell out of me, and let me tell you, it’s impressive. It’s so impressive that I’ve become a sexually frustrated woman who is currently eating her weight in potato chips.
