She’s bubbly and engaged as she prances around the stage, her pitch perfect.
Instinct has me looking in Lex’s direction as he sits three rows down and to my left, curious to uncover his reaction. Natalie could easily be the Satine to his Christian. I wonder if that’s what he wants, what he’ll push for. He’s the golden boy, and she’s the shining star everyone gravitates toward.
I watch him as he slumps back in his seat. He pulls out his cell phone and moves his thumbs across the keypad, uninterested in her Disney-princess voice and animated eyes. I don’t think he ever looks up. Not once.
Frowning, I twist back to the stage as Natalie belts out the last line, her arms lowering at her sides like a slow-motion waterfall. Everyone claps except for Lex. With a bow, she exits the stage, her raven hair swishing behind her.
“Lexington Hall.” Mr. Hamlin stands off to the side with a clipboard, his focus aimed at Lex.
Lex continues to text on his phone.
Snickers float over to my ears.
“Lexington.”
Finally, his head snaps up. He glances around before pocketing his phone and blinking up at the director. “My turn?”
“Unless it interferes with your groundbreaking digital correspondence, as I’d hate to interrupt.”
More laughter erupts throughout the auditorium, and I squirm in my chair. Lex shoves a hand through his hair as he pops up from the seat and strolls over to the staircase with borderline indifference. My heart hammers between my ribs when he takes the stage. I have no idea how he’ll perform, and the anticipation is making me restless and fidgety.
Lex’s eyes find me from the center of the stage as he takes a minute to compose himself. I’m not sure why. I’m not sure why he looks at me of all people—the underwhelming farm girl in the first row.
But he does, so I stare back at him and watch as he heaves in a deep breath before he begins to sing the song “Nature Boy.”
The room around me evaporates, taking my oxygen with it.
Oh.
Wow.
His voice.
It’s not at all what I imagined.
I want to look away, but the notion feels as excruciating as ripping my heart from my chest with my own hand. I’m not the only one transfixed. The auditorium transforms into wide-eyed silence as a rich, masculine baritone fills the air, weaving a spell that holds us all captive. A bewitching elixir of warmth, melancholy, and painful vulnerability.
He moves across the stage. Owns it. Utterly claims it with something I had no idea he was capable of.
To my mortification, tears prick my eyes.
Real, soul-stirring emotion.
I wonder if he can see my gaze glistening all the way from the stage.
God, I hope not.
His focus flicks over to me every now and then, like he’s reveling in this opportunity to prove me wrong. And I’ll admit it—I was wrong. So wrong.
He’s brilliant.
As our gazes tangle and hold, I pretend I’m his counterpart. His costar. My feet itch to dance and twirl. My throat fizzes with the yearning to make music with him.
Swallowing, I close my eyes, then look away, peering down at the floor strewn with a stomped-on piece of pink bubble gum. I keep my attention on the rubbery threads for the rest of the performance, unable to glance back up.
Mr. Hamlin’s voice breaks through when the song ends and the room maintains its awestruck silence. “Well done, Lexington.” He clears his throat, the sound ricocheting between my ribs. “Have a seat.”
Only my eyes lift as Lex saunters back down the stairs, my chin still tucked to my chest. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk. The larger-than-life persona evaporates in a blink, as if that performance drained him of all his magic.
