Happy Sunday!

A couple of you mentioned that you thought Bella may know something with the song choice. She doesn't, it's just their joke that he's stalking her and it's the stalker National Anthem XD

Shall we find out if our boy can sing or not? Bahahahah

As always, Fran betas, Jill, Ariel, and Pearly preread, and I love every last damn one of y'all. xxx


Turns out singing isn't one of my talents. Anyone surprised? Not I.

I bet Weber is somewhere laughing her fucking ass off at me right now.

It doesn't help that Isabella has me standing up here singing the fucking stalker national anthem.

I can see her; even though the stage lights block out most of the crowd, she's down by the front, of to the side with Vick clinging to her arm like a giddy little kid. Isabella has her fist balled up and pressed against her mouth, her eyes shining with pure, unadulterated glee.

"Oh, can't you see," I attempt—and fail—to croon. "You belong to me."

Yeah, that's right, you hear that? You're mine. And you chose the song, so you can't even complain.

"My poor heart aches," I continue.

I'm not singing well, but I'm also not being booed just yet, so my confidence is gaining. I'm enjoying making her happy, even if I sound like a seventy-year-old smoker on their deathbed.

"With every step you take," I try to hit the high note, but my voice cracks stupendously.

Spoke too fucking soon.

Let the booing commence.

Fuck.

Someone get a cane and yank me off this fucking stage.

I had been keeping my eye on Isabella, but when the booing started I lost track of her while frantically scanning the room. When I glance back in her direction, she's gone.

What the fuck am I doing this for if she's not even gonna stick around for it?

But then a flash of brilliant red, white, and brown catches my vision at the corner of my eye, and I find her again, like a beacon, my saving grace.

She's climbing up the steps off the stage, sliding the strap of her guitar over her head and bringing a stool with her. The audience calms as if she's the balm applied to a sore muscle, and...yeah, I fucking get it.

She's too fucking beautiful as she hands me my ass in the form of a tambourine, pulling my head down by my collar. For just a second, I think she might kiss me.

Wishful thinking.

Instead, she whispers in my ear again, but that's pretty great too.

"Can you manage to keep a beat?" Two of her fingers tap on my shoulder to demonstrate what she means, and I nod, copying her rhythm on my leg with the instrument.

In these moments next to her, I feel more like a rockstar than I ever had any chance of feeling on my own. Even if I did know how to sing.

I'm standing so close as she brings the house down. She owns this stage, and I don't stand a fucking chance.