She is beautiful. Never in my life have I seen a woman so gorgeous. I stare at her like I'm in a trance. I must be, because it's impossible to look away. Her red lips. Her soft closed eyes. He long blonde hair. Her hips. Her hands in the red sparkly...
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I take a deep breath and head back out to the stage. The lights are brighter this time, the crowd a little more rowdy now that they've had time to drink and loosen up. William starts up on the piano—the opening notes of the song I wrote months ago, one of my darker pieces. The one I actually feel.
The song flows out of me effortlessly, the words pouring from that place inside I try so hard to keep locked away. I let myself get lost in the music, in the rawness of it. It's a song about loss, about wanting to feel something real, and as I sing, I forget about everything else—the war, the soldiers in the crowd, even Michael. Just for a few moments, it's me and the music.
When I finish, the room is silent for a beat. Then the applause starts, louder than I expected, but I don't even care. I give a quick smile and a wave before heading off the stage, my heart still pounding.
And that's when I see him.
Michael is standing near the back of the club, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. He looks pissed, his eyes sharp as they meet mine. I can practically feel the heat radiating off him. Goddammit, I think. Here we go.
I barely make it two steps before he's in front of me, cutting me off.
"You were amazing," he says, but his tone is tight. I can tell there's more behind those words.
"Thanks," I say, keeping my voice casual, but I can feel the storm brewing between us.
He shifts on his feet, glancing over his shoulder, clearly checking to make sure Noah's not around. Then he turns back to me, and there's that look—jealousy, frustration, something darker swirling in his eyes.
"So," he says, voice low. "You and Noah, huh? That was... a pretty intimate duet."
I narrow my eyes, already feeling my temper flare. "Are you fucking kidding me? It's just a song, Michael."
He lets out a humorless laugh. "Just a song? Didn't look like that from where I was standing."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I snap, stepping closer, not caring who's watching. "Are you really gonna stand here and get all possessive because I sang a fucking duet with another guy?"
Michael's jaw tightens, and for a second, he doesn't say anything. Then, in a quieter voice, he mutters, "It's not about the duet. It's about him. The way he looks at you."
I blink, caught off guard. "The way he looks at me? Michael, he barely knows me."
"Doesn't fucking matter," Michael grumbles, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "The guy's into you. It's obvious. And I don't like it."
I fold my arms, glaring up at him. "You don't have to like it, Michael. It's my job. It's what I do—sing with people. I didn't ask for your permission."
"Jesus, Ash, that's not the point." His voice is tight, but there's something else in it now—something vulnerable. "It's not about the job. It's... I just don't want to lose you."
