Page 40 of Thorns That Bloom (Venusverse #3)

Ruffling up my hair and then brushing it down a little—shit, do I look okay?—I glance at the audience again and notice a movement at the back. My entire body tenses up like a string when I see Sam making his way from the back toward the seating area with a glass of Coke in his hand.

He meets my eyes and gives a deliciously shy smile.

I’m going to have a heart attack.

I smile back at him and nod, quickly turning to fiddle with one of the buttons on the box connected to the microphone so that I look like I’m doing something and not just standing on the stage, grinning like a complete maniac. Because that’s just what he does to me.

His hair is brushed back. Different. I want to look at him more, to stare at him for hours like he’s a painting, but I don’t. I live off the brief glance I gave him until it’s our time to perform and I have another excuse to look.

He’s sitting there, only two tables away from the stage, his long coat now off, wearing one of his comfortable sweaters and dress pants.

The more I look at him, the more I realize what’s about to happen, the more all that inner tension shifts into something more powerful.

It isn’t at all like my parents or Max said.

I’m not doing this to woo him, to trick him, to push him into something…

I just want him to experience—or to maybe come a little closer to understanding of—the depth and beauty of what I feel for him.

Whether he accepts it or not. Whether it changes anything at all.

The room turns still as we get ready to perform. The familiar pulse of adrenaline rushes through me, tempered by something else, something that might be the soothing scent of blackcurrant and sage.

Max nods at me, letting me know he’s on, so I reach for the microphone.

“Um, hey everybody. I’m Theo Reid. This is Max Callaghan. Tonight, we’re going to be performing Prickles of Your Love Blooming Under My Skin by Heavenly.”

Moderate cheering and clicking of fingers buzz through the room. The only person I care about smiles at me and raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Show me what you’ve got’.

Oh, he’s beautiful in the dim overhead light, brightening up the room.

I begin.

Like it always does, everything fades, and the world becomes only the words coming out of my mouth as if they’re sacred, the peaceful melody governing them.

Usually, there would be nothing else for me.

No audience, no people, no worries or thoughts or anything outside of myself.

Even I, all that makes up Theo, would fade into obscurity, but this time, there’s a bright northern star guiding me.

“A rhythm born of stardust, an eternal, divine line.”

Sam holds my gaze when I look at him. His brown eyes sit there like two stars, constant and unchanging.

“The constellations spell your name,

Each spark a promise, still the same.”

My throat tightens, not just with the tones I’m willing into existence, but also with that endless, ever-present longing I’ve felt since the moment I laid my eyes on Sam.

I want him to know. I need him to know, to understand, that I’d do absolutely anything for him.

That whatever I’m feeling is deeper than the vastness of the universe.

No matter how damn irrational. No matter how delusional or obsessive.

In a way, it could never be. I feel it as clearly as the air in my lungs: that what we have could never be anything but right and beautiful.

“A universe of wonder lives within your eyes.

Every breath, a symphony; every touch, a flame,

Forever etched in time, our hearts will stake their claim.”

If he asked me to cut open my flesh and bleed myself dry in front of him, I would do it. I wouldn’t even hesitate. It doesn’t scare me anymore.

And just like that, it’s over.

With the last word leaving my mouth in a sharp huff and my heart pounding hard against my ribs, I clench the microphone stand in my trembling hands. My mind reels from the onslaught of clapping and cheering.

I open my eyes that I’ve closed at some point, and…there he is. He doesn’t clap or move at all, just watches me with his lips parted slightly and his eyes glistening.

I bow, holding my hand over my chest, but my hesitant smile is aimed only at him.

Then, Sam’s face finally moves. Slowly, he smiles back at me, wider and wider until it reaches his eyes, giving them those adorable wrinkles at the corners. My stomach nearly turns upside down with the overwhelming joy that hits me.

I can barely see straight as Max and I walk off to the side of the stage. A more popular band, the Silver Diggers, is already preparing to perform after us.

“That him?” Max asks, cocking one brow. I can hardly hear him over the noise. “The pregnant one?”

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, fighting the urge to look for Sam again. “Thanks for the assistance. You were great.” Or so I think. I didn’t really pay attention.

He makes a ‘don’t mention it’ kind of huff and gives me a brief side hug while patting my back. “No wonder you needed the performance. Pfff…”

“It’s not mine,” I mutter, giving him a chastising grimace, but then…

I realize the discomfort pulsing in me at those words.

The dull pain echoes back from somewhere deep inside.

When I look at Sam, I don’t think of him as mine, and I don’t think of the child in his belly as mine or not mine.

But…I do love her as much as I love him. As much as if she were mine.

I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

After briefly chatting with the upcoming band and some familiar faces that come up to check up on me, I notice Sam standing by the bar. He raises two glasses, each in one hand, and jerks his head, indicating for me to come with him.

We go sit down on the other side of the establishment. In the corner, behind the bar, where the noise from the stage isn’t as overwhelming.

Sam puts two Mojitos between us. I raise an eyebrow. “They’re virgin,” he says with a smirk, hand resting on his belly. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted the proper one, so I got two. Though you definitely deserve a real one.”

I smile, looking down so he doesn’t see the way my cheeks must be turning red. I was fine onstage, compared to now, when it’s like I’m sitting right across from the burning star that he is. “Did you like it?” I ask, my voice low.

Sam chuckles. “I’d say it was above average.”

Wide-eyed, I shoot my head up and quickly realize how easily I’ve fallen into his trap. Sinking in my chair with a disgruntled grumble while he grins at me, I sip on the mocktail.

“I’m sorry. No, it was beautiful. Really. I’m not usually one to appreciate music or look very deeply into the meaning of songs. Probably not as much as you do. And it might be just the pregnancy hormones, but your performance did move me.”

Hearing him say that is like a soft caress against my soul. I exhale to ground myself before meeting his eyes again, unsure if I’d be able to keep my emotions and pheromones in check if I didn’t.

He plays with the paper straw between his teeth, studying me.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say.

“Have you always enjoyed singing?”

I nod. “When I was little, I used to perform in front of my parents. My sister and I would do reenactments of those talent competitions. Of course, I’d always win,” I admit with a chuckle.

Gail would get so mad. “And my pop says I’ve been babbling as soon as I had the mind to.

That I chattered in my crib and wouldn’t let my sister fall asleep. ”

Sam looks down at his stomach with a fond smile, no doubt imagining what his baby will be like. I can’t wait to see that, either.

“I was always quiet, apparently. Unless it came to getting dressed and going out. I’d get plenty talkative then.”

“Ha… Yeah, I used to be really nervous about performing in front of strangers at the beginning. I’d get the shakes, throw up sometimes. All of it. But then it just…went away. I don’t know why or how.”

Sam tilts his head slightly, something playful swirling in his eyes.

“I imagine it might’ve had something to do with you getting older, and realizing how people in the audience certainly appreciated much more than just your voice,” he says in a sing-songy tone.

“A handsome young man with an angelic voice to match… Can’t be hard to win the toughest of audiences. ”

His voice, both prudent and flirty, sends shivers down my spine. A few zaps of excitement go through my crotch, too.

“You keep saying that,” I mutter.

“What?”

“That I’m young. Like when you said I should be seeing people ‘my age’. You know, I really don’t think we’re as far apart in age as you make it out to be.”

Sam leans back, hand resting on the rim of his glass. His brows shift with interest, and his luscious lips purse playfully. “My apologies. You feel very young at heart.”

“In a good way?” I ask tentatively.

“In a good way.”

“So…how old are you?”

Sam shifts his shoulders. “Twenty-nine. For a few more months, anyway.”

“See?!” I blurt, startling him. “I’m twenty-five. We’re barely five years apart!”

He looks amused. “That’s half a decade,” he says, slowly reaching for his drink. “Though I suppose at this stage of life, we’re not that different. Even if I feel like certain things have aged me a decade or two…”

My heart aches at the mention of it. And over the way his eyes lose their spark a little. I don’t want him to think about that.

“I’m so, so sorry it happened,” I whisper. It would probably be best to change the topic quickly, but I can’t help myself.

Sam hums and sips his drink. “I guess if it didn’t, I never would’ve had her,” he says, running his hand over his bulging stomach with a somber smile.

“And I would’ve never gotten transferred.

Never would’ve met you. You never would’ve met your fated mate.

” Stressing those words, Sam fixes his eyes on me.

I don’t know whether the way he said them was meant to mock the notion of it or if he’s indicating that he might be coming around on his opinion about it.