Page 14 of Unbreakable
She delivered the next slow lines, looking deep into my eyes. I vaguely wondered if she was a witch, hypnotizing me, but was too enchanted by her to worry about it. I breathed in her scent: something sharp and fruity with some kind of flowery edges. I was trying so hard to hold my face in some attractive formation that wasn’t just my mouth gaping open.
She took off my hat while she sang, running her fingers through my hair like we were long-time lovers.
And just like that, she’d used me for all she needed. She put my ballcap back on, tapped the bill with a wink, turned it around backward, and headed back for the stage as the song built to another climax.
My god, she touched me.
I needed her.
As the song reached one final crescendo, she unclipped her hair and tossed her head, throwing the clip at me in the crowd. I caught it with a shocked laugh and Chappy shot me a look. “Somebody’s got a crush.”
Then, perfectly timed with the song, she dropped to her knees and crawled across the stage, thrashing in all the right places to accentuate the drama.
She finished her song and Chappy and I gave her a standing ovation—and we weren’t the only ones. How could anyone resist an all-in performance like that? She called up the next singer and rather than coming back into the crowd, she disappeared out a door beside the stage.
I threw twenty bucks at Chap and grabbed her hair clip. “Get me a drink. I’m going to talk to her.”
He chuckled at me and we parted ways. As I walked toward the door she left through, I unbuttoned my shirt one more and made sure my chain wasn’t hanging weird.
I popped outside into an alleyway, a cluster of smokers gathered there.
She was one of them. I approached her, trying to come up with something hot to say. I went with a classic. “Hi.”
“Hey, it’s the prom king,” she called, blowing a stream of smoke out her nose. “I’ll be at your table soon, big guy. Mommy’s gotta have a little smoke break.”
A man I recognized from behind the bar snickered.
“Prom king?” I asked, drawing closer.
Her lips curled up in the prettiest smirk, her voice a low drawl. “Well, you were, weren’t you? An upstanding gentleman like yourself?”
My brow wrinkled. Did I really look that clean-cut? I thought I was rugged. I had a five o’clock shadow, dark and noticeable just like the rest of my hair. “No.”
“My mistake,” she said with a coy shrug.
“I was homecoming king,” I said, meeting her eyes. “And you dropped this.”
I held out her claw clip and she stepped forward to take it from me.
“Clumsy me,” she drawled. Her gaze combed over my outfit, assessing me from my shoes and up. She lifted a brow. “You smoke, homecoming king?”
“If I can bum one,” I said. The truth was, I’d chewed tobacco in the lower leagues for an energy buzz but only smoked a cigarette like once ever. But if smoking was an entry to talking to her, I’d do it. She popped the pack in her hand and I removed the proffered cigarette.
“I’ll light you,” she said, flicking her lighter on and shielding the flame with her hand. I leaned down and sucked, making sure the flame caught.
I sucked too hard, harsh smoke attacking my lungs.
I stifled a gag, which then made me hack out a louder cough. The bartender laughed, but my singing superstar just hooked one side of her lips up.
“If you don’t smoke, don’t start now,” she said in that silky voice. “These things’ll kill you.”
“Then how can I talk to you?” I asked. Her gaze went dazed and amused.
“Careful, J,” the bartender said. “Prom king likes you.”
“It’s homecoming king,” she cooed, winking at me. “And I think I might like him a little bit too.”
I extended my hand. “Dylan.”
