I can’t help but praise Sammy. I know she worked hard on the talent show and was responsible for the order of performance. Bringing them out first warms up the crowd and brings the excitement and energy forward to set up the other performances.
The performances are superb. However, in the singing category, the first person croaks. I cringe, feeling bad for herwhen she sings in a high-pitched, croaky voice—a fair few snigger, laughing at her.
“Baby, I’m going to the bathroom. I will be back,” Conner whispers in my ear, over the girl’s screeching voice.
I nod my answer and release my hold on Conner.
When the girl goes offstage, my phone vibrates.
Sammy: Am I doing good? I’m not too stiff????
I go to reply when I hear a familiar song. I look up, and my eyes widen at Conner on the stage, microphone in his hand, singing “Be Somebody” by Thousand Foot Krutch.
My mouth is dry, and my insides turn to liquid. The first thought I have is to leave. Flee, as I can see him staring at me while he sings.
I lean over, shuffling into his seat when a blinding white light beams onto me.
This is not happening.
I shrink in my seat, growing red in the face.
Conner comes down the stairs in the second verse and trips in the middle of it. “Jesus—fuck…” Then he continues singing again.
I breathe a laugh, but the laughter doesn’t last long as Conner comes closer to where I am until he is over the top of me.
This… this was what he was nervous about all afternoon. This is why he shot Aaron a look when Aaron asked if he was excited about tonight. He prepared this behind my back so that he could sing to me. As much as my heart swells at him singing this song to me, the pair of eyes makes me realise how nervous and out of breath I feel he is singing to me in front of a crowd.
He lowers his hand, and I take it. Standing in front of me, he sings the last verse to me. The warmth of his words hits me, andI wrap my arms around him and bury my head into his chest, concealing my reddening cheeks.
The song fades, and the hall erupts with cheering and clapping. I cling to Conner. His lips press against the top of my head, and he pets my hair.
“Did you want to get out of here?” he asks.
I nod, too afraid to use my words. My mouth has dried up.
Conner hands someone the microphone, and we race out of the hall and into the refreshing night air. I want to confront him here and now, but my voice vanishes. So, I follow him to the car, never letting go of his hand as we walk.
Once we get into the car, he turns to me and says breathlessly, “I’m sorry, Noya.”
“You’re embarrassing,” I admit. His eyes widen, and he turns pale. I lower my gaze and say, “It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad that you sang to me?” I question.
Conner scratches his head while saying, “I don’t know. I just—” He pauses when I lean over, lifting my legs so I can straddle him in the driver’s seat. “Noya?”
My right hand weaves into his hair while I kiss him passionately. His hands grab at my hips, pressing me further into him. This isn’t like anything I’ve felt before. This is more than passion; this is outright lust as I take off his shirt and toss it aside.
I hear the click of the door locking and the light plunging us into darkness before Conner’s hand moves up to my chest.
Our breaths are harsh. Tasting him on the tip of my tongue sends me into a frenzy. My hand moves down, sliding between his pants and touching his skin.
Conner tips his head back and moans.
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