I returned my gaze to Asher, and our eyes locked as the first words of the song I’d yet to hear filtered out in his deep, gravelly voice.
I wanna breathe you in, to keep you inside.
But that’s only a cell, ’cause you were born to fly.
I’d been in the audience during those first open mic nights, when there were three people in the room—including me. I’d been backstage when he’d played on tour with Wade Grant. I’d even been the one recording the video of him singing at The Bluebird Cafe that had gone viral. But none of the hundreds of times I’d listened to him sing had ever felt like this.
If I let you go, will you come back to me?
’Cause if so, baby, I’d set you free.
He strummed the chords, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings. Fingers that had played my body just as well. His voice was a husky croon as he sang into the mic, his gaze that I felt straight to my toes locked on mine.
I can’t keep pretending, don’t wanna try.
But, baby, you were born to fly.
I had little doubt that every single woman in the audience and a few of the men probably felt the exact same way I did. That was Asher’s job as a performer—to sell the performance. It didn’t matter that I was wearing his ring. Not really. Not when it wasn’t real.
Can’t stand the sight of you walking away, but I won’t beg you to stay.
I don’t know what’s right, don’t know what to do
The only thing I’m sure of is that it’s always been you…
Asher sang the last chorus of the song, his eyes closed when the final note floated from his lips. Applause erupted in the space, snapping me out of whatever crazy trance I’d gotten locked in.
What was Idoing? Getting lost in his eyes and pretending like the song he probably wrote for my sister’s first dance had been for me?
I blinked out of my daze when Owen plucked the empty bottle from his mouth and shook it. “All gone, buddy,” I said, lifting him upright to burp. “Just so you know, if you puke all over this dress, your auntie Will is gonna be super mad.”
“How about you let Auntie Mac give it a try, then?” Mac asked as she slipped into the seat next to mine.
“Nah, it’s fine. I got it. Besides, she’d be just as mad at you. At least if he throws up on me, I actually signed up for it.”
“That’s what spit-up rags are for.” Mac peeled it off my shoulder and placed it on her own. She reached for Owen, smiling when the baby gripped her face between his tiny fists with a laugh. “Besides, thought you might wanna go break up the groupie fest surroundin’ Asher. Yourhusband. You know, for appearance’s sake.”
I snapped my head around to where Asher stood on the stage, bending to put his guitar back in its case. Two women Irecognized from high school stood flanking him, their laughter a little too loud, their touches a little too familiar. I set my jaw and pushed to stand.
“Excellent actin’ skills,” Mac said dryly. “I’m sure everybody in here is gonna buy the fake jealous wife act. Itisfake, right?”
I ignored her as I strolled toward the trio, my vision going red when one of them brushed their hand up and down Asher’s biceps before squeezing. Just who the hell did these women think they were, touching a man who clearly wore a wedding ring?Mywedding ring.
Surprisingly, I’d never gotten in a physical fight before—with women, anyway, though I’d handed men their asses a time or two in my life. But I wasn’t opposed to starting something tonight. I probably wouldn’t be detained for assault once I pled my case—that these two were hitting on my very hot, very fake husband, and what was I supposed to do? Just stand by and let it happen?
“Not sure why you’d need to buy me a drink at an open bar,” Asher said flatly to the women, and if I hadn’t been seeing red, I probably would’ve smiled at that. He was giving the ladies the cold shoulder as best he could, his attention solely focused on his guitar.
He stood, still bent over his case, and glanced up, face blank before he did a double take and straightened at my approach.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low.
I slipped right between the two women, not sparing them a single word when my focus was on him. On this ridiculous, unfounded jealousy that felt like a volcano inside me, suddenly erupting after lying dormant for years. I reached up and under his vest, flattening my hand against his abdomen. I pressed up on my tiptoes, wrapped my fingers around his neck, and tugged his face down to mine.
Without hesitation, he crashed his mouth into mine. This kiss was nothing like the ones we’d shared at our wedding. Nothing like any we’d shared in a public setting before now. Those had been chaste. Tame, for all intents and purposes. Fake.
But nothing about this one was fake. Not the way his lips moved under mine, or how his tongue stroked into my mouth, or how he gripped me, so tight against him. As if he couldn’t bear to be separated from me for even a moment. As if he never wanted to let me go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
