The Anatomy of Emotion

Chapter Seven

She dumps a mouthful of alcohol down her throat. It does a little to chase away the crawl of heat inside her. Corin is already picking up a conversation about the colorful walls and the sheer number of Adam Levine posters. Not Maroon 5 posters—Adam Levine posters. Maeva smiles around the lip of her bottle and submits dry humor to his musings. The sound of his laughter is a little bit more relieving now. She keeps an ear on the pitch of it anyway.

They chat through several singers on the stage, observing the varying skill. Corin will occasionally make a whispered comment on someone's performance, and Maeva will elbow his ribs or smack his chest. As she finishes her drink, those brief touches illicit a bigger reaction from her skin. His laughing gets less disturbing, a little more acceptable, and a lot sexier. She takes a fresh swallow, remembering him curled in between two speakers. Remembers the night they had met, and puts a solid lid on her sex drive. Corin resumes tapping his knuckles on the bar while she is quiet, eyeing the stage with increasing intensity.

Maeva rolls her eyes, "for the love of god, just go sing."

"Are you sure?" He looks back, "I don't want to just leave you."

"I'll be over there. Do you want another?" She holds up his empty bottle.

Corin swings his arm around her shoulders, "I'd love one. You're wonderful."

He brushes a kiss to her cheek and strides off toward the stage with the bounce of an excited kid in his steps.

Maeva watches him go and takes a deep breath. The spot he had kissed her is flushed, heat curling down her neck into her chest. She closes her eyes and polishes off the last of her cider. Her head fills with memories of holding him close in the middle of the night, trading soft kisses like the one he had just given. She orders two more Angry Orchards and a shot of vodka, handing the bartender her bank card.

Behind her, Corin is listening to the stage manager explain the microphone. Maeva snorts and kicks her shot back. She outright laughs around the lip of her cider when Corin finds a spot at the rear corner of the stage in an attempt to be discreet. He is tapping his heel in the silence, counting beats. Any of the work he had put into being subtle is gone the moment his voice powers through the speakers.

"I can move mountains, I can work a miracle, work a miracle, oh, oh!"

Maeva watches the eyes that hadn't been turned flick toward the dirty, silky sound, and those who had already been looking open with interest. Corin doesn't notice them, eyes closed, shaking his head as he gets into the song. When he does look, he smiles, and in that moment, he has everyone locked in his grasp. Maeva rolls her eyes and looks at the clock hung between Carlie Rae Jepson and One Direction. He had made it thirty minutes without attracting a spotlight.

"She wants to dance like Uma Thurman, bury me 'till I confess," he is pacing the little stage now, working the hell out of the people clapping their hands in front of him, "she wants to dance like Uma Thurman and I can't get you out of my head."

Maeva finally picks up his new bottle and her half-full one and goes to lean on the edge of a table right beside the stage. She watches a crowd gradually form in front of him as the song goes on, swaying and shaking their heads. Corin catches her incredulous studying and grins at her. She smiles back and offers him his cider.

"...keep you like an oath," he leans close to her as she comes to the edge of the stage, and she raises a brow at him, "may nothing but death do us part."

The song fades into the instrumentals, and he sets the mic down to swallow a quarter of the bottle in one tilt.

"Thank you, my throat was dying," he hands it back to her.