Chapter 8

The neon lights of the private karaoke booth were still pulsing, a hypnotic rhythm of violet and electric blue that had been drowning out the rest of the world for the last four hours. My head was spinning, not just from the three glasses of champagne we’d shared, but from the sheer weight of the silence that had fallen between us. We hadn’t sung a single song. Not really. We had stood in the center of the room, bathed in those shifting disco beams, and talked in hushed tones that were more like confessions than conversation. We talked about everything and nothing, about the pressures of our respective lives, the masks we wore during the day, and the hunger we hid beneath the fabric of our suits and dresses. But mostly, we talked about *us*. The way our eyes locked across crowded rooms. The way my breath hitched when his hand brushed my lower back. The way the air grew thick and heavy, charged with a static electricity that made the hair on my arms stand up. Now, the music had finally stopped. The DJ, a bored-looking young man who had been quietly watching us perform his own little show,