With my eyes still closed, I open my mouth and let it out. I played this song on repeat every day for the first two weeks after Sebastian left me. I don’t need to look at the screen in front of me; I know the words. And even though the song is by a man, it’s all about a woman wanting more and wanting to find a better man, but she can’t. For the longest time, this song was my theme song. I dreamed of better things, I dreamed in color and I wanted more, but I couldn’t have it. I couldn’t find a better man because Sebastian convinced me I’d never find anyone better than him. That I didn’t deserve anything better than what he gave me.
But now, instead of getting sad, I’m just getting pissed as I continue singing, really wishing I’d picked something else. This isn’t my theme song anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully heal after what Sebastian did to me, but I do know I don’t want to feel like this anymore. Before I can yank the microphone out of the stand, drop it onto the stage, and storm off like an idiot, the bar goes silent as the song is cut off in the middle of the first chorus.
I open my eyes and turn my head to find a pissed off-looking Eric up on stage, his hand on the karaoke guy’s laptop. With a quick apology to the confused audience, I walk over to him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper loudly.
“You’re done singing that song,” he growls, reaching around the poor bewildered karaoke guy to snatch up the binder and start thumbing through it.
“You can’t tell me what to do!” I argue, stomping my foot like a two-year-old.
I know, I was just getting ready to stop singing the song anyway, but it’s the fucking principal of the thing.
“Your voice? Fucking amazing,” he mutters, flipping angrily through the pages. “But you singing that song, sounding like you felt those goddamn words straight down to your soul and actually believe them. Fuck. That. Shit.”
Well, when he puts it that way . . .
My anger at him melts away when he slams the book back down and whispers something to the karaoke guy before closing the distance between us and placing both of his hands on my cheeks, tilting my face up to look at him.
“Remember what I said to you that day in your house when we moved you?” he asks quietly.
“About how my tits looked amazing in my tank top?” I ask cheekily.
The corner of his mouth tips up into a smile as he rubs his thumbs back and forth against my cheeks.
“Do you need me to remind you how amazing your tits are? Because I gotta say, that could take me a while. And I think the people want more singing from you.”
I didn’t even realize my friends had started the entire bar chanting my name in the last few seconds. I was too busy liking Eric’s anger entirely too much.
“Nope. I think I’m good. We can shelve the tit gratitude until later,” I shrug.
“Excellent.” He smiles, His smile is quickly replaced with a serious look as he stares into my eyes. “Here’s a quick recap before they start throwing bottles at us: Seeing you broken and hurting and sad is like having someone stick a fucking knife in my chest. I don’t like it. So I’m pissing you off instead, because it brings me great joy to see you fired up. It’s my turn to pick the song. One that better suits you. So get your sexy ass out there and give ‘em hell.”
With that, he kisses the tip of my nose, drops his hands from my face, and grabs my shoulders, turning me around and pushing me towards the mic.
I can’t help but laugh as I get back behind the mic and my heart is all aflutter like some goddamn romance novel heroine because of a nose kiss. A fucking nose kiss.
I have turned into a pussy. A pussy who goes all gaga over a damn kiss on the nose.
I will never get my street cred back after this shit.
All of a sudden, the title of the song Eric chose pops up on the screen in front of me and all that happy-go-lucky romantic bullshit flies out of my mind. I can’t sing this song. Is he kidding me with this shit? Does he really think this song suits me? Sure, I finally realized “Better Man” isn’t my song, and I don’t want to feel like I’m not good enough anymore—but this song is, like, the national anthem of strong women.
I start shaking my head back and forth and backing away from the mic when Eric is suddenly behind me, not letting me move. I feel his hands on my shoulders and he gives them a gentle squeeze before leaning in close to my ear.