Songbird (Songbird, #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

I asked, “Are either of you going to sing tonight?”
    Kelli looked horrified. “Not on your life! I am totally petrified of singing in public. I have the worst voice in the history of worst voices.”
    I laughed. I had only heard Kelli sing along to the radio in the car, and tonight when we were belting out some Beyoncé. I didn’t think she sounded that bad, but she obviously thought she was terrible.
    I turned to Jason, one eyebrow raised in question.
    He was leaning on the table, chin in hand, gazing dreamily at Marcus. “Not tonight. I’m just going to enjoy the view.”
    “What about you?” Kelli asked.
    Turning back around to Kelli, I shook my head.
    “I heard you tonight. Your voice is awesome; you should sing.”
    I shook my head again, more firmly this time. “I’d rather just watch. The only place I sing these days is in the shower.”
    It had been so long since I’d performed that the thought of getting up in front of everyone tied my stomach in a knot. It saddened me to think how my confidence had been stripped away; I used to love performing, it was always such an adrenalin rush. It made me feel alive.
    When I was studying music, a group of us from school used to frequent a little piano bar called Josephine’s every Friday night, and virtually take over the place, playing the instruments and singing. The owner would joke that it was the best entertainment he had in the place, and it was for free. In the end, he started paying us in drinks because we used to pull in the crowds.
    But that was in the past. Stephen had never liked me being the centre of attention, especially as he had said, my voice wasn’t very good, and it was embarrassing for him whenever I sang.
    I wondered to myself if I would, or could ever get that feeling back.
    “I’d rather drink,” I replied, trying to sound light hearted.
    “Cheers to that!”
    There was a constant stream of people wanting to sing. Some were good, and some were dreadful, but they all had one thing in common: they enjoyed themselves, and the crowd were encouraging, no matter what the level of talent. Our little table, on its third pitcher of margaritas, were cheering loudly for every act. I knew it took a lot of guts to get up there in the first place, and they deserved every ounce of support.
    From a very young age, it was drummed into me by my mother that you had to strive to be the best. When I was just a child taking my exams in music to progress to the next level, even the slightest error was considered inexcusable, and I would be made to practice for hours every day to ensure I was note perfect. This strive for perfection was reinforced when I met Stephen and his lack of enthusiasm and support for my playing had led me to give it up all together. If I couldn’t be the best then what was the point, right?
    It amazed me, sitting here now, listening to these people sing everything from P!NK to The Rolling Stones, how wrong my parents and Stephen had been. It shouldn’t be about perfection; it should be about enjoyment.
    During the breaks in karaoke, Marcus would come by the table to make sure we were okay for drinks and for a quick chat, then go back behind the bar and send over another pitcher of margaritas. This pattern continued for the night until the crowd began to thin, and the bar staff packed up the tables and chairs. Once the area was cleared I noticed that there was actually a dance floor in the middle of the room, which had previously been occupied by tables, chairs, and an increasing number of patrons.
    I was ready to leave. It was one am and it had been a long couple of days, but Jason was keen to stay back and spend just a little more time ogling Marcus. Finally, Marcus joined us with a tray of coffees and flopped down in a chair that he had pulled over beside me.
    “Well, did you have a good time tonight?” Marcus asked taking each of us into his gaze, until he finally settled on me.
    “Absolutely,” I replied enthusiastically.