More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,85
from the smoking college students. “No shit.”
“No shit,” he confirms. “It’s a bit grainy, but they recognized you. No one has tagged Vada yet, since your face, and likely tongue, are blocking her from view, so she should be safe.”
“Ugh, you arse. Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“Why? It’s not like you can do anything about it. I just wanted you to know. And to congratulate you on finally getting your act together. You guys looked really happy last night. I’m proud of you,” Cullen says in a lofty voice that makes me want to punch him. But I’m either too tired or too blissed out on Vada’s kisses to care. He continues, raising a well-shaped black brow. “The Cure? Excellent choice. Well done.”
I flop back on my pillow with a groan, but secretly, I’m pleased as fuck. “Whatever. Go be all cultured with your boyfriend and leave me alone.”
* * *
That night, I sit in the crowd, slumped in my seat and wearing Cullen’s Detroit Tigers hat, which is maybe Zack’s now that I think on it, because there’s no logical reason my brother would know anything about baseball. At any rate, I’m definitely on the down low tonight. After being spotted by the camera-hungry smokers, I’m prepared.
I didn’t tell a soul Vada would be performing tonight, but I couldn’t stand the idea of staying away. She’s dancing to my music. How often does an artist get the opportunity to see someone respond to their work, live and in color?
Which sounds like a very sophisticated and creative and, I don’t know, noble reason to show up. Really, I just want to see her. I know. I saw her last night. I kissed her last night.
I want—need—to kiss her again.
That should be enough. A kiss should have released this mountain of tension and chemistry between us, and all it did was make me want her more. It ought to have tided me over a few days. Instead, I barely slept last night. Could barely think today. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I was saving that picture of her in the dress to desensitize myself to her.
That’s legit.
I’m kind of an idiot for her.
Several dancers from her class take the stage. Thank God they are doing the dance class first. I don’t plan to stay all night. Even though I’m not performing, I have sympathy hives just thinking of getting up in front of all these eyes and having my hard work assessed, live.
Madame whatever-her-name-is finally calls up Vada. She’s dressed in a simple black pair of loose-fitting linen pants and a loose-fitting black tunic, and she looks radiant under the lights. I suck in my breath as the song starts, hearing the familiar chords.
Her interpretation is incredible. I watch, rapt, my breath held in as she slowly removes the tunic and pants, revealing a simple black one-piece bodysuit. It’s not meant to be seductive but like she is removing a part of herself. The song is about shedding others’ expectations and being your own person, and I know without her telling me that it’s not so much a piece of her but a piece of him, Marcus, that she’s discarding. She’s gleaming and glowing, her pale skin a striking contrast against the dark curtains and stage. An apparition borne out of my words. As my voice sings about taking a risk and fighting fears, she spins across the entire stage, tossing expectations away. Ignoring the weariness of the world. Fuck the rest of the world.
Fuck ’em.
A smile spreads across my face as I watch her, so proud of her and what, or who, she’s overcome. Grateful. To witness this moment. I might have sung those words and even believed them, but I realize I thought more of what they would mean for her. All my bullshit about standing up to Charlie and being my own man and whatever else was only that. Words. No action.
The action is there on the stage. Vada’s left her entire self up there, bared to the world, and I’d hidden behind my keyboard and laptop.
I’m not changing my mind about singing. I’m just saying … I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess maybe I want to be more like Vada. Listen to my own lyrics, probably.
Take some risks.
* * *
After the show, I’m waiting in the lobby for Vada, stalking the exit since she doesn’t know I’m here, when my phone vibrates, one, two, three times. I shuffle the flowers I brought