Page 52 of Love Undiscovered
“Shut up,” I say, my eyes wide.
“No joke.”
“I want to see you sing.” The words come out before I can stop myself.
“I said Iusedto sing in a cover band.”
“So, you’ve lost your voice? You can’t ever sing again? The band broke up and you aren’t friends anymore?” I ask.
“The band still plays,” he says. “And we’re still friends.” He pauses for a moment, then continues. “I’ll tell you what, go on a second date with me, I’ll take you to see the band sometime, and maybe I’ll sing a song for you.”
“Really?” I immediately cringe inside because I sound like a squeaky girl when I say it. But I’m kind of excited to hear him sing. “What song will you sing?”
“I said maybe. You’re just going to have to be surprised,” he says.
And I realize, I’m really looking forward to a second date with Chance. Probably too much.
Louboutins. Louboutins. Louboutins.
Stay focused, Rem. It’s all about the shoes.
The band returns. Finally. I recognize the opening strands of the song immediately.
“I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You.”
Kat is a huge Tom Waits fan and she loves this song. Hearing it sung by a woman almost puts an even more desperate edge to the piece. I feel like it could be the one-song soundtrack to my life. As far as I’m concerned, falling in love is the equivalent to emotional quicksand. You get sucked in slowly until the day you realize you’ve suffocated and you’re dead.
“I think I’d like to sit down,” I tell Chance, trying to pull away.
“Finish the song,” he says.
“My feet hurt,” I lie.
He grabs me tighter around the waist and hoists me slightly, so my feet hardly touch the floor. But now my core is aligned with his. I can feel he’s slightly hard. He feels good.
“Am I feeling the real reason why you don’t want to go sit down, Mr. Bauer?” I ask coyly.
“In that dress? You’ve had me half hard all night, beautiful,” he says, his voice slightly husky.
“Only half?” I ask. “I must be doing something wrong.” But I’m a little surprised by how deep my voice is when I say it.
“Tell me something really unsexy so I can get rid of this hard-on and walk back to the table without being embarrassed.”
“Baseball.”
“I like baseball.”
“I thought all men recited baseball stats to get rid of a hard-on.”
“Not all,” he says.
“What about grandma?”
“Mine or yours?” he asks. “Because if it’s yours, and she looks anything like you, it’s not going to work.”
“Yours.”
He closes his eyes for a minute, and I feel his dick deflate.
