Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(74)
I don’t even need to look over to know what she’s talking about. Casually flipping my hair, I glance over my shoulder to find Jared and Caroline sitting at a table with a group of people, Jared’s foot tapping to the beat of the cover band playing onstage.
When I turn back to take in my friends’ faces, missing the panic they’d expect in mine if this were an accident, matching scowls form. “What have you done now, Reese?” Nicki says with a sigh, a millisecond before Lina asks, “Did you know that they’d be here?” There’s that hard tone in her voice she has when she’s entirely unimpressed with me. Mason just looks bewildered.
“I may have had an inkling,” I admit.
“Who’s here?” Mason asks, but no one answers him.
Lina slowly rolls on her feet to face the bar. “And how exactly did you know?”
“Long story, and you don’t really want to be an accomplice to this, do you? Just follow my lead, okay?”
She sighs. “I always do. Even when you’re being a bad, bad person. Are you being a bad person tonight, Reese?”
I pat the top of her head, ignoring her question. “Good, supportive friend.”
“What about Ben?” Nicki asks.
“What about me?” his deep voice asks behind me, surprising me enough to jump. I feel the heat of his hand as he settles it on my back. Dipping down to reach my ear, he offers quietly, “Problem solved. Those litigation boys are in heaven.”
I reach back to pat his firm chest, angling my head to see his as I say, “Good fake boyfriend.”
A grimace crawls over his face for a second before it smooths into a smile and his hand disappears from my back. “Fifteen minutes,” he reminds me softly.
From my peripherals, I can see that Jared has caught sight of me and is watching me now. I don’t turn, though. I don’t want it to look like I’m looking for him. Or that I really care one way or another that he’s here. “Okay, there’s something I have to do first. Can you please order me a drink?”
“Where are you going?”
I glance over at the band as the singer announces a short break. “To talk to them.” When I called up The Grill to make reservations and found out that they have a live band on Friday nights, I knew beyond a doubt that this night would be brilliant.
Ben grins. “You going to request a song for me?”
I lean in dangerously close—maybe I shouldn’t be doing this with Jack possibly still floating around and surrounded by the Warner lawyers, but I feel Jared’s eyes still on me and the idea of this bothering him spurs me on—and whisper, “How about I do one better for you?”
Ben’s jaw grows taut as he takes a small, rigid step back, casually checking heads.
With a grin, I practically skip over to the stage in my flirty red dress—when one is possessed by the devil, one must truly embrace the part. I zero in on the singer. He’s the one I have to charm.
And that’s how I end up slinging a guitar over my shoulder five minutes later. I wish I could have brought my own. It’s old and crappy, but I know all its little tricks and secrets. This one will have to do.
Tapping the microphone, I clear my voice. The stage lights aren’t quite strong enough to hide the crowd beyond and so I see the sea of heads turn my way. I’m only slightly nervous. I was never one to get anxious in front of crowds. Perhaps if I was, I wouldn’t have done half the stupid things I did. Now, at least, I’m actually doing something that I’m good at, something I haven’t done since Jared and I were together.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been up on a stage.” That’s all I say, and then I signal the band with a raised hand. Every single employee from Warner is staring slack-jawed at me as the band kicks off the opening notes to “Call Me” by Serena Ryder. Except for Ben, of course. He’s just standing there with his arms folded over his chest. Watching curiously.
And then I start to sing.
Breathing slowly, carrying the notes from the depths of my diaphragm, letting them sail out of my mouth, I sing as my fingers slide and curl and press each chord. It’s a deep, gritty song and it suits my low vocal voice perfectly. Just being up here again, letting my own emotions pour out through someone else’s words in a way that lets me speak my mind without judgment, sends a thrill through my body. I’ve always loved to sing, even when I was little and couldn’t carry a tune. That was one thing Annabelle did for me—put me in singing lessons. She did it because all the other socialite wives had their daughters in choir. But I had no interest in singing in a choir. I joined a band instead. We were pretty good, but we didn’t last long. The drummer and the bassist—brothers—argued too much.
The first night I got up and sang in a dingy Jacksonville bar for Jared was, according to him, the night he knew he wanted to marry me. He said my throaty lilt sent shivers down his spine and through his limbs, not stopping until they wrapped around his heart. Jared has a way with words.
And even now I see that odd, secretive smile touching his lips, his attention glued to me.
A look that Caroline studies intently and, by the way her nostrils are flaring, does not like in the least.
Inside me, bright, glorious, satisfying fireworks are exploding.
Dead silence hangs in the air for two seconds after the last note of the song plays and then a roar of applause explodes. I can’t help but beam. I let my eyes skate over Jared for only a millisecond, enough to see that familiar glow, and then I focus on Ben as he makes his way over to scoop me off the stage with a set of strong hands around my waist.