I used to feel good on a stage. Solid and excited. I used to enjoy it, but when I step up here tonight I feel nervous. I realize singing hasn’t felt good for a while now. Not for a year at least. Not since everything went to shit.
I put my hands on the mic. I take a deep breath. I look out over the bar where I find Colt’s eyes watching me intently, a half-grin on his lips, and I feel that feeling that he gives me. That light. That weight. That solid sense of self that I’ve been missing for too long.
I smile back at him. I don’t bother with the music. I pick a song that runs through my mind every time he kisses me. Every time I feel myself falling farther and farther for the man, not the myth.
I sing Prince’s Kiss.
I sing it for him. I sing like me, the old me, the happy me. The kind me. The one who has never been left, never been forgotten.
I sing like I’ve never lost a single thing in my life, especially not myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
COLT
“Holy shit.” The Hotness swats at my shoulder roughly, her eyes on the stage. “Dude, holy shit.”
“I know,” I mumble, stunned.
“Did you know she could sing like that?”
“No fucking clue.”
Lilly is powerful on that stage. More confident than I’ve ever seen her. She’s in her element in the kitchen, but on the stage, behind the mic, she’s something else. She’s where she belongs.
She’s like me on the field.
Small and dark in the shadows of the unlit area, she blows her voice through the room with a strength that feels impossible coming from her. She sings Prince’s Kiss in this jazz kind of way that’s slow and sensual. Subtle. It comes on you gently but when that low, gravelly voice of hers rolls through the song, you feel it everywhere. The hairs on my arms stand up. She gives me chills.
The sound of her voice literally gets me hard.
When she finishes the song there’s a moment of silence in the bar before the entire place erupts in applause and shouts. People call for an encore.
“Wooo!” I shout, standing up on my seat in the booth. “Fuck yeah! That’s my girl!”
“Yeah, Lilly!” Trey cries before putting his fingers to his lips and whistling loudly.
She laughs into the mic, this innocent, girlish giggle that makes me smile. That make me want to leap over the table, scoop her up into my arms, and take her home.
As the applause dies down Tyus turns back to our table.
“No fuckin’ way I’m following that,” he mutters.
Three songs later and Lilly rejoins our table. It’s after midnight and I’m two songs past my willingness to share her with the world. I ask her if she wants to leave, if she wants to come stay the night at my place, and I nearly growl with excitement when she leans her whole body into me and whispers a simple, “Yes” into my mouth.
It’s about that time that we realize we’re a man down.
“Where the hell did Andreas go?” Hollis asks the group.
We all pause in pulling on our coats to look around the table. He’s right. Castillo is missing.
“He went to the bathroom,” The Hotness reminds us.
“Yeah, an hour ago,” Trey tells her. “Has anyone been in there since he went?”
I raise my hand. “I went a few minutes ago. I did my business, carved Conlin’s phone number into the wall with a big dick next to it, and came back out. I didn’t see him in there.”
“Should we check inside the stalls?” Lilly asks.
“Nah, they don’t have doors. I would have seen him.”
“Is there a back door to the bar? Could he have left from somewhere down that hall?”
The Hotness nods. “There’s an emergency exit back there, but wouldn’t the alarm have gone off if he opened it?”
“Does this really seem like the kind of place that has a functioning alarm system?” Trey chuckles.
“Good point. Should we look for him? What if he went out to smoke and got jumped or something?”
Tyus pulls out his phone, quickly scrolling through it. “Let’s call him before we assume he’s taken a beat down.”
We stand in a circle around Tyus, watching him as his phone rings and rings. I step behind Lilly and loop my arms around her waist. She leans back against me, her hands coming to rest on top of mine.
“Yo, man,” Tyus says, his eyes focused on the floor. “Where are you at?... Home? You motherfucker. Are you serious?... Yeah, your hotel. No, I get it… Yeah, we were worried. We were about to check the alley for your corpse…. Whatever,” Tyus laughs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got it. Have a good night.”
“He’s at home?” The Hotness demands.
Tyus pockets his phone, nodding. “He went outside to have a smoke, took a walk, got lost, and caught a cab back to the hotel he’s crashing at. He forgot to text one of us to tell us.”
“What a dick.”
“You’re the one who wanted to hang out with him.”
“I didn’t think he’d pull a Houdini on us.”
“He’d rather be at home than hanging out,” Hollis tells her. “I can’t really blame him.”