With Every Heartbeat
“Like what?” he asked softly, repeating step two and fucking the shit out of her with his stare.
I resituated myself in my seat. If anyone else watching this didn’t get as sucked in as I was, then they had to be fucking dead from the neck down.
“Uh...the, uh...” Poor Blondie. Steam was rolling off her, she was sizzling so hard for him. “Step five would, be...arm or hand to shoulder.”
“We’ve already done that,” Hamilton said, making me lift my eyebrows and wonder just when he’d put his arm around her. But then he went and explained it. “The night the pipes broke in your bathroom. On the couch. Remember?”
Blondie nodded. “Yeah.”
Touching on a couch, huh? I was impressed.
Ham’s gaze dropped to Blondie’s mouth. “What’s step six?”
We all knew what he wanted step six to be. Horny bastard. I couldn’t believe he was this far gone after only two and a half Long Island Iced Teas. But I loved it. I was so getting his ass drunk every time I possibly could from here on out.
“S-step six. Hand to waist,” Blondie said, her face flushed and chest heaving.
My roommate was the fucking man. He was getting a girl all hot and bothered by just asking her questions. Fuck, the two of them were making me horny just from listening to his questions.
“And then?” Hamilton leaned in as if he was going to slip his arm around her waist.
Blondie closed her eyes. “Mouth to mouth,” she said.
Shit. I had to stop them. Now.
“Hey, is that Cora headed this way?”
Hamilton lifted glassy eyes and looked around, but he didn’t spot his girlfriend anywhere. “I don’t see her. Oh, wait. There she is; dancing with that guy.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Could’ve sworn that was her coming this way and waving, trying to get your attention. Sorry.”
Blondie opened her eyes and met my gaze. With a blush, she straightened in her seat and made a production of smoothing down her shirt and trying not to look guilty.
“Seriously,” I muttered when the next singer started on “My Girl.” I motioned toward my roommate. “Ham, you sound better than that in the shower every morning. Get up there and sing so all those other losers who can’t hold a tune don’t get a turn.”
“No!” His face turned red before he rolled his eyes and mumbled, “A little.”
“A little every fucking morning,” I taunted.
“Aww,” Blondie cooed, touching his arm. “That’s so cute.”
Ham glanced at her, then quickly ripped his gaze away. “I used to stutter when I was younger. My grandma took me to singing classes to help with it.”
What? “I had no idea you used to stutter,” I said just as an equally surprised Blondie said, “I’ve never heard you stutter.”
“Yeah, well.” He rolled his eyes. “The singing actually helped. A lot.”
Blondie squeezed his bicep. “So, you’ll sing now. Pretty please.”
He laughed, and a blush tinted his cheeks. “Heck, no.”
“I’ll sing with you,” she offered, batting her eyelashes and making Ham fall into another one of those staring trances she was so good at putting him under.
I lifted my eyebrows. “You’ll sing?” I asked. “Do you sing in the shower too, Blondie?”
She shrugged. “No, but I’m just drunk enough to try anything right now.”
Oh, that was it. “Do it, Ham,” I urged.
I had no clue what was emboldening him, but he grabbed her hand and surged to his feet. “Okay, we’re doing it, then. As long as you’ll really sing with me.”
She nodded. “I said I would.”
As she followed him toward the stage, I folded my arms over my chest and sat back in my chair, ready to enjoy this show. I even pulled out my phone to take a video for future blackmail against Hamilton.
Once the man before them wrapped up his song—thank fucking God—Ham and Blondie stepped onto the stage. I wolf-whistled, making Blondie glance my way and blush. Then she grabbed Hamilton’s hand and they stepped in front of the mic together.
As the beginning chords started, she leaned in and called, “Cora! This one’s for you.”