Page 47 of Omega Artist
Greer has been nothing but supportive during my visit. Thanks to her, Father stopped harassing me and pressuring me to come back. She helped him to comprehend that I needed some alone time, away from him. So far, he’s respecting it, now that she’s the one keeping tabs on me. She and I have been texting intermittently all evening, but I won’t allow her fear for my safety overrule my fun with Tig.
What’s more natural than heading to the karaoke joint across the street once you have Chinese food in your body?
“You’re regretting your decision to drag us here, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?” I stir the contents of my frou-frou drink with my straw. It’s so bright pink that I’m afraid to know what’s in the house cocktail. Not that it’s bad; it’s just so sugary that I can envision cavities forming with every gulp. I’m not used to having this much sugar in my system; no wonder why I’m so hyper! And don’t get me started on the two sake bombs that the waiter generously brought to the table after dinner without waiting for approval. When he left our side, Tig politely declined, and we agreed that I could handle both without getting sloshed—my mistake!—and my current beverage is worsening my case.
I take another sip, and my eyes go to his. I can’t see their color now, but I spent the entire dinner examining them to stop myself from obsessing over his sinful mouth. And they’re incredible: the main color is chocolate, but a golden undertone that I hadn’t noticed before adds to his intriguing vibes.
Focusing on his irises gave me a short reprieve from my horniness. Out of reflex, my fingers aim for a lock of hair that’s no longer there. As I register my mistake, my hand is redirected to rub the back of my neck. Knowing what his mouth did to mine, I can’t stop fantasizing about what it could do to other parts of my needy body.
Damn, I need to get laid!
I haven’t had sex in days, since Eric left to be precise. I shake the thought away by staring at the man that could very well help scratch my itch tonight. There’s a good chance that he’ll try to move things along, but no matter how badly I want it, I’m not ready to succumb; he needs to work harder.
“And what will it be for you, youngsters?” The dark-haired woman who runs the place is in front of us all of the sudden, and that marks the ending of our conversation and the beginning of our embarrassment—or at least mine. “You cannot sit here and not sing. Come on, your turn!” she exclaims, traipsing away to snatch the jar from a nearby table before sauntering back. “Here, pick one.” The woman’s serious face and commanding tone tell me that she means business. Are we the only ones in the room who haven’t given it a try? Regarding us alternatively, she asks, “You know which color is which genre, right?”
We nod, speechless.
“Ladies first?”
I would usually enjoy arguing with Tig, but I’m caught so off-guard that I oblige.
I bite the corner of my bottom lip as I unfold the paper with my heart pounding a staccato rhythm in my chest. “Green. So, pop!” Hopefully, my face doesn’t match the color of the paper. I’m not usually prone to stage fright, but the prospect of making a fool of myself in front of him seems to be the cause of the unfamiliar reaction. It swells when I read the song title aloud so that the crowd can hear. “Oops, I Did It Againby Britney Spears,” then let the paper flutter to the table. My eyes stare into my sugary beverage that I chug with a vengeance, earning me a bark of laughter from Tig, and I’m relieved that he has no clue how applicable this song is to our situation.
Without asking Tig which song he ended up with—in the same category as mine—the woman gently escorts me to the stage, where all eyes will soon settle on me. Excitement skates down my body.
“Don’t forget the choreography!” Tig screams, feigning encouragement.
Bastard!
The player doesn’t know me well enough. I won’t chicken out. When my feet land on stage, I’ll be Britney—full throttle. Too bad my red mini-skirt, fitted dark grey turtleneck, thick tights, and black Dr. Martens with gothic designs don’t come close to the red catsuit in the video.
In any case, when the first chords play, I lose myself in the music. The lack of proper outfit and long hair are forgotten now that my sexy, energetic moves make up for it. While uttering the words without looking at the screen, the crowd joins me in paying tribute to this American icon. Whistling. Clapping. Singing along. I silently thank my sister Margot, who’s been a huge fan of Britney for years and taught me some of her most famous choreography.
Yeah, it might seem like a crush…
Immersed in my performance, I close my eyes and the rest of the world falls away. I didn’t expect it to be this liberating, and I congratulate myself at last… until I shiver when I sense a presence beside me. My eyes pop open, and I tilt my head to see what’s going on. And then I smile so big that I’m not able to carry on. The song doesn’t really matter because Tig’s low voice meshes with mine. He’s swaying his hips in an overtly sensual way, and my belly aches from hysterically laughing at the women’s reactions. It’s their own private Magic Mike show! Next thing I know, the formerly aloof man’s playing the part of the sexy guy from the video who went down and got what the old lady dropped into the ocean in the end.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have…”
Wait a minute! Since when does he know the lyrics from the video?
I narrow my gaze on him, and he motions to let me know that I’ll get an explanation later. For now, we sing our hearts out while he does his best to follow my lead.
“Next!” The woman has to scream to be heard and makes us exit the stage. I would’ve never pictured that happening five short minutes ago. “Thank you, lovebirds.” Her thin mouth turns into a tight smile.
Lovebirds?
The patrons are cheering and clapping. We freeze and hug one another, sending a flood of warmth through my body. Great! More unnecessary proof of the effect that he has on me. And Tig doesn’t even seem to mind. Instead, his arm is still wrapped around my waist and his searing brown gaze strips me bare, as if seeing me for the first time. I think I hear him croak, “What are you doing to me?” so low that I might have dreamt it. I could ask him the very same question.
Then, the room goes wild as his mouth crashes into mine. I’m the one deepening the kiss this time as I get reacquainted with this blissful sensation. This unique sensation. This perfect sensation… that Tig de Luca is the only one to elicit in me. Floating on Cloud Nine, our tongues dance together the way we did moments ago, and his hands leisurely roam my body, ignoring the crowded venue.
“Enough!” The petite woman is now at my side, tugging on my shirt to stop me from making out with Tig. “You can’t do that up here!” I’m pretty sure that she regrets forcing me up here, although her voice doesn’t sound mad or reproachful. “The show must go on, people.” She’s right. I sigh and reluctantly break the blistering kiss to ensure that we won’t be arrested for inappropriate PDA. I swivel my head and my eyes meet hers. She points at Tig. “His turn.”
“Oops, I did it again!” Tig smiles at me in such a depraved and playful way that I melt a little; I dig his sense of humor. Then he looks at her. “Oh, okay.” He’s visibly amused that she remains unfazed by our behavior and truly believes that the show must go on. She hands him his piece of paper, and he thanks her politely. Ed Sheeran,Shape of You.
Several more songs follow. After every couple of tunes, we score free drinks, and my tipsy state quickly turns to drunk. My voice is more gravelly than ever, and I slur the lyrics rather than singing them.
