Page 52 of Declan

Because really, is there anything sexier than a partner who listens to you?

I think not.

Not that I’m getting ahead of myself or anything. I’ve been half-watching her throughout the entire set, and most of her responses met my immediate expectations to the words I was singing, but I also know that Issa has been in showbiz for more than half her life and could totally give the crowd the exact reactions they’re looking for and then two seconds later, turn around and eviscerate me behind closed doors.

Not that I’m insinuating that she’s fake or anything—quite the opposite, really. She’s just an entertainer who has been playing a certain character for so long, it’s practically part of her DNA.

The rain stops, and unsure of what I should do now that my big number has come to an end, I turn and walk back through the flowers, prepared to exit the stage. I’m nearly to the edge of the flowers when she shouts, “Hey! You!”

I stop and turn, finding her on the far corner of the stage as I point to myself and mouth, “Me?”

She lifts her chin at me, narrowing her eyes as she says, “Yeah, you. Shithead.”

My mouth falls open in genuine surprise that she’s resorting to name-calling, but at the same time, I’m also impressed that she’s resorting to name-calling.

I turn to fully face her, but I don’t make a move to walk closer, and I don’t say anything as she stares me down. But then, she continues, “We’re not done here.”

She walks toward me, slowly closing the distance between us, and when she’s standing directly in front of me, she lifts the mic to her mouth and says with great feeling.

Do you think you can just spout off

That you can have your turn and go off the rails with all your specific details

As if it be a well-known fact that you’re completely out of whack

With the nuances and subtleties of wooing a woman such as myself

I grin. I can’t help it. She’s having her very own rap battle with me as the theme.

My band being the consummate professionals that they are instinctively pick up a rhythm as if they know exactly what she’s going to do, which is insane to me because I have no fucking clue.

I feel the crowd, even though they’ve also been shocked into silence, and their energy pulses as she turns to face them. Her hand comes up and she uses her thumb to point at me as she rhymes.

Can you believe the audacity, the complete irrational rationality

Of this rock god spouting poetry

As if his borderline criminal disclosure doesn’t matter

Just because he has a wicked tongue and a Jacob’s ladder

The crowd loses it, and I’m stunned for a moment as her words sink in. Then, I laugh because it’s no big secret on the hardware I sport below the belt, but I’m not sure if it’s ever been publicly declared, though most certainly not in such a colorful manner.

Apparently, she’s going full-court press on her response, and I am here for it.

I rush toward her, and for a moment, I worry she’ll retreat, but she holds her ground, and when I get to her, I grab the mic and say good-naturedly, “Come now, doll face. Let’s not go revealing all of our secrets.”

She yanks the mic back to herself and responds.

Secrets? Do you really want to go there

After you announced your stalker inclinations

And your neatly engineered laundry-list of forced manifestations

I give her a close-lipped smirk, silently daring her to do her worst as we let the crowd roar for a moment.

Then she faces the crowd and raises a hand that has everyone quieting almost immediately, and she goes on, spitting the words like poetry.

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