Nine #2
“Oh, come on,” Austin says, leaning casually against the bar, his grin as wide as the Grand Canyon. “You’re not scared, are you?”
“What, of you screeching into a microphone? Fucking terrified, mate.”
He laughs, a low, warm sound that vibrates down my spine in a way I don’t want to acknowledge. “Alright, then. If you’re so confident, let’s see what you’ve got, Jameson.”
Before I can protest, he’s dragging me toward the song selection screen, his hand brushing against mine. The touch is brief, innocent even, but it sends a jolt of electricity through me. I pull my hand away quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice.
He notices. Of course, he notices.
“What’s wrong? Afraid to hold hands?” he teases, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“Afraid of catching whatever overconfidence disease you’ve got,” I shoot back, trying to focus on the screen.
We scroll through the songs, arguing over everything.
“‘Livin’ on a Prayer’?” Austin suggests.
“Too predictable.”
“‘Sweet Caroline’?”
I groan. “Are you a middle-aged dad at a wedding?”
“Fine,” he says, mock-exasperated. “What’s your pick, oh great karaoke queen?”
I glance at the screen and smirk. “How about ‘Baby Got Back’?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Mia Jameson, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I don’t,” I admit, laughing. “But I’d pay good money to see you try.”
He grins. “Deal.”
Moments later, Austin is on stage, microphone in hand, confidently rapping about big butts while the crowd cheers him on. He’s terrible—absolutely atrocious—but he owns it in a way that’s almost . . . endearing. He is the only person who can make singing bad, somehow seem good.
When the song ends, he struts off the stage like he’s just performed at Wembley. “Top that,” he says, handing me the mic.
Challenge accepted.
I launch into a completely off-key rendition of ‘Since U Been Gone’ by Kelly Clarkson, complete with dramatic arm gestures and an over-the-top microphone drop at the end. By the time I’m done, we’re both laughing so hard we can barely stand.
“Alright,” he says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “One more. But this time, we go classic.”
“Classic?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he says, scrolling through the options. Then he stops, his grin turning softer. “This one.”
I glance at the screen and freeze.
‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’.
“A love song?” I ask, my voice coming out more breathless than I’d like.
He shrugs, but there’s something in his eyes—a challenge, maybe, or something deeper. “It’s a duet version. Unless you’re too chicken?”
“Please,” I scoff, grabbing the mic. “I’m not scared.”
The music starts, soft and slow, and suddenly the energy between us shifts. It’s no longer about joking or showing off.
It’s . . . something else.
Austin starts singing, his voice low and surprisingly steady. I join in, my voice quieter, more hesitant. And as the song goes on, we move closer together—almost without realising it.
Our hands brush when I pass him the mic, and neither of us pulls away this time. His gaze locks onto mine, and the words of the song feel too real, too close to the truth we’ve both been avoiding.
When the final chorus hits, we’re standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand grazes my arm, lingering for just a moment too long.
“Mia,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, and I swear the entire bar fades away.
I look up at him, my heart pounding so hard I can barely think. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to figure out if this—whatever this is—is real.
The song ends, and the crowd erupts into applause, breaking the spell.
I step back quickly, my cheeks burning. “That . . . wasn’t terrible,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my voice shakes.
Austin smirks, but there’s a softness in his expression that wasn’t there before. “Not terrible at all,” he says, his voice quieter now.
We return to our table, the air between us charged with unspoken words. I take a long sip of my drink, trying to calm my racing heart, but I can still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin.
This was supposed to be harmless fun. Just a night out, a distraction. But now, as I steal a glance at Austin and catch him watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip, I realise we’ve crossed a line.
And there’s no going back.
The crowd’s applause starts to fade, but my heart doesn’t. It’s pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. I sit down, pretending like I’m totally unphased, but my hands are trembling. Austin sits across from me, sliding his chair closer than necessary.
“You ok there, Jameson?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something else underneath it. Something almost . . . serious.
I take another sip of my drink to buy time. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I don’t know. Maybe because you looked like you were going to pass out up there. Or maybe because you’re still blushing.”
“I am not blushing,” I say quickly, too quickly.
His grin widens, and I hate how much I want to both smack it off his face and kiss it. “Oh, you’re definitely blushing. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone what?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“That you enjoyed singing a love song with me,” he says, his tone turning softer, more serious.
I open my mouth to retort, but nothing comes out.
Damn him and his stupid, perceptive eyes.
“Admit it,” he says, leaning even closer. “You liked it.”
“I liked not making a complete fool of myself,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s it.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Liar.”
Before I can argue, a waiter comes by with another round of drinks Austin clearly ordered while I was still trying to breathe normally.
“Here we go,” he says, pushing a glass toward me. “To our duet debut.”
I reluctantly clink my glass against his, the sound feeling louder than it should. As I take another sip, he’s still watching me, and it’s unnerving.
“What?” I snap, setting my glass down with more force than necessary.
“Nothing,” he says with a shrug, though his eyes are still locked on mine. “You’re just . . . different tonight.”
“Different how?”
“Different like . . . fun. Relaxed. Beautiful.”
The word hangs in the air between us, and my breath catches. He said it so casually, like he wasn’t dropping a bomb in the middle of this crowded bar.
“Beautiful?” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper.
He leans back in his chair, the grin returning. “Oh, don’t act so shocked. You know you’re gorgeous, Mia.”
“I—” My voice fails me because what do I even say to that? My brain is screaming abort, abort, but my heart is leaning into the moment, into him.
Austin picks up his drink, taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“How amazing you are.” His tone is softer now, all the usual teasing gone. “You’re smart, driven, beautiful . . . and you sing like a dying cat, but I’m willing to overlook that.”
I laugh despite myself, the tension breaking for just a moment. But then his hand brushes against mine on the table, and the air shifts again.
Neither of us moves. His fingers graze mine, lingering, and I can feel the warmth of his skin like it’s branding me.
“Austin,” I start, but my voice falters.
“Mia,” he says quietly, and the way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine.
We’re too close now. The noise of the bar fades into the background, and all I can focus on is him. The way his eyes soften when he looks at me. The way his jaw tightens, like he’s holding himself back.
“This . . . whatever this is,” I say, trying to find my footing, “it’s not—”
“Not what?” he asks, his voice steady but his gaze searching. “Not real? Not supposed to happen?”
I pull my hand back, needing the distance to think straight. “We’re not supposed to cross lines, Austin. We have already discussed this, remember?”
He leans back in his chair, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Maybe some lines are meant to be crossed.”
The weight of his words settles over me, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. He’s too much—too charming, too bold, too everything.
I stand abruptly, grabbing my coat. “I need some air.”
He’s on his feet in an instant. “Mia—”
“I’m fine,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him. “Just . . . give me a minute.”
I step outside into the cool night air, inhaling deeply. The street is quieter than the bar, the distant hum of traffic the only sound. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to calm the storm raging inside me.
A moment later, I hear the door open behind me, and I know without turning around that it’s him.
“You can’t keep running every time this gets real,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.
I turn to face him, my eyes stinging with a mix of frustration and something I can’t name. “This was supposed to be fake, Austin. Just a game. But now . . .”
“Now what?” he asks, stepping closer.
“Now I don’t know where the act ends and where the truth begins,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
He stops in front of me, so close I can feel the warmth radiating from him. “Then maybe we stop pretending,” he says, his eyes locking onto mine.
The tension between us is unbearable, the pull undeniable. I should walk away, but my feet stay rooted to the ground.
And when his hand brushes against mine again, this time I don’t pull away.