Page 34 of Lightness In My Dark

I asked, “What’s with the stage?”

Julius and Marie hooted. “Karaoke!”

“Shit, you’re kidding me.” I shook my head, catching a quick glance at Wren, matching the same enthusiasm. “Who the hell wanted to come here for karaoke night?” Again, Julius and Marie cheered.

I slugged down my glass of beer and poured another. Wren took large gulps of hers, so I topped her glass off.

Amanda’s screeching voice penetrated the surrounding noise. “Who’s going to sing?” It wasn’t a surprise to see Julius and Marie’s hands up along with Sophia’s. “You’re not singing, Wren?”

Without responding, Wren chugged the rest of her beer, wiping a few drops from the corner of her mouth.

They stared each other down until I said, “Don’t start any shit, Amanda. I’m not in the mood.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m not starting anything. I asked if she was singing, and I didn’t receive a response.”

I scowled at her. “You have your answer. From now on, leave Wren alone.”

Amanda clucked. “Aw, how sweet? Her Knight in—”

“Enough, Amanda!” Kye said. “We get it. You don’t like her. Now shut the fuck up.”

The table fell silent for a moment until Jared suggested a game ofNever Have I Ever. The whoops began.

Jared started. “Never have I ever had sex in a pool.” Julius, Marie, Kye, Amanda, Mason, Jonathan and I drank. “Figures you Mugs did the dirty in a pool. I hope it wasn’t a pool I ever swam in.” We laughed, except Wren. She stayed out of the game.

Kye said, “Never have I ever given a lap dance.” Sophia and Amanda drank.

Amanda couldn’t stay quiet. “You’re not playing, Wren?”

I slammed my fist on the table. “One more fucking comment from you and we’re leaving. I don’t need this shit from you, Amanda. No one cares how you feel, which is obvious. You’re jealous.” The others agreed.

She kicked her seat back, knocking it over, and walked away.

Kye yelled, “Hey, where are you going?”

“To piss!”

The game continued with statements like,never have I ever watched a friend do it, done it while having my period, which drew some groans andmasturbated while thinking about someone in my house.A definite for me, but I wasn’t about to admit it. The questions tapered out when some guys with instruments got on stage and explained karaoke. If they knew the song, they’d play it. If not, the person would sing from the prompter. People gave their names to a man standing by the stage with a clipboard, and the man called them when it was their turn. A couple of women went up to singShake It Offfrom the prompter. One was off tune, and the other jumped around the stage, shaking her ass. One guy thought he was onAmerican Idolwhen he sangThe Middle. I cracked up at his animations, flipping his long hair back, and turning with the microphone in hand. His friends in the audience stood and applauded him.

A half hour later, and the man with the clipboard called out for Wren. It got her attention as she scanned the room to find Amanda by the bar, giving her an evil grin. She took a deep breath, coaxing herself to calm down. Wren surprised me with what she did next. Walking over to the stage, eyes locked on Amanda’s, she whispered to the guys as they tuned their instruments. I couldn’t get over how fucking sexy it was for her to stand up to Amanda.

As soon as the guitar started strumming, the whole place quieted for her to sing,What’s Up? by 4 Non Blondes. Her low, breathy tone began with the opening lines. Every. Single. One of us at the table were stunned. Mouths hung open with how blown away we were by Wren’s voice. It only took the first line for heat to burn through my veins. She owned the stage with her ripped, skinny jeans, Lifehouse T-shirt, and black strappy military boots. Wren walked around the stage, microphone in hand, as if she had been doing it her whole life. Then she belted out the chorus. The room lit in cheers. People stood in support. I fixated on her like an obsession bubbled up. My hand rested on top of my crotch, adjusting myself as my dick twitched to life. The woman could fucking sing. No, she could command a room with the power of her voice. For apiccola, the magnitude of her voice dumbfounded me. At that moment, I knew my feelings for her had shifted from intrigue to desire.

Men whistled and hooted some obscenities. My head whipped around, flexing my fists for anyone deserving a punch in the face. When she finished, the place exploded in applause and shouts while the band congratulated and shook her hand. She thanked them, gave Amanda the finger, who was back at our table, and headed to the bar. I froze. Her ferocity in taking on the challenge when I’ve only known a timid Wren shocked the hell out of me. A woman layered in character, and I wanted to peel each layer. My mind took a twisted turn, picturing my dick buried inside Wren while she was on all fours, smacking her ass as the soft, white flesh reddened. Again, I changed positions to tame the swelling in my jeans and took a gulp of beer.

Wren didn’t return to the table. I wanted to talk to her, but I knew she was pissed at what Amanda did. Since Thanksgiving, I avoided her and then dragged her here, so I was the last person she wanted to talk to. I’d often glance over at the bar to make sure she was okay. An hour later, some guy smothered up to her, attempting a kiss.

I hopped out of my chair, stormed over, and pushed the guy away. He asked what my problem was and told me to get lost.

“If you don’t take your fucking hands off my fiancé, your face is going to be splattered all over this bar.” His eyes drifted over me, and then he let Wren go.

I told the bartender to close the tab while holding Wren against me. As we waited, her head angled upwards with glazed eyes, a mischievious grin, and her hands ran over my arms. She was wasted. Once the bartender finished, I carried her out of the bar. She petted my chest, face, and arms, and I enjoyed every minute. The valet drove my car over and while I buckled Wren into the passenger seat, she kissed my cheek and ran her hands through my hair.

At home, I brought her to the bedroom, but before I could do anything else, she threw up on the bed. I swore while trying to get her into the washroom. She vomited again on my shirt and jeans. Wren’s head lulled to the side as I patted her cheeks to wake her. I sat her by the toilet, stripping off my vomit-soaked clothes along with hers, leaving her bra and underwear on. A few more heaves and whimpers. I collected the bedding, hoping it didn’t soak the mattress, and tossed the sheets into the hamper. We went to my room. Rummaging through my drawer, I slipped a white T-shirt on her.

Wren shook her head when I laid her down. She shot up, pressed her hand to her mouth, stumbling to the toilet. I didn’t realize she had drunken that much. After additional dry heaving, I found her head pressed to the stone floor. Balanced on the vanity, I dunked a washcloth under cold water and wiped her mouth. I wrung it out, brought her to the bed, and propped her up on the pillows, the washcloth balanced on her forehead. I slipped in on the other side, threw the covers over us, and fell asleep.

Wren stirred, which woke me. We were both on our sides, my legs and arms wrapped around her, with her face buried in my chest. I brushed the hair out of her face. With the washcloth on her pillow, I tossed it to the bedside table. It was two in the morning. My eyes shut for a second time.

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