Johnny clears his throat into the mic, and I crash back to earth so suddenly I have to cling to the rail for balance. My eyes dart back to Darcy. His gaze is low, eyes blinking rapidly as if he, too, is coming back to himself. He’s firmly in his seat, hand gripping the table.

Disappointment seizes my chest, and I sag against the railing.

It was the song. And it’s over.

With the rest of us waiting in the wings, Johnny closes the show with our roll call, summoning us from the stairwell one at a time once the thunderous applause for Jane dies down. I’m first, the band playing a light, brassy tune as I make my woozy way to the stage, quickly followed by Ginn, Tonic, and Ming. We crowd the tiny dais, where the six of us take our bows, and Ming initiates a conga line to guide us off.

I scan for Darcy as we pass through the audience, but the crush of the other performers blocks my view, and I’m steered down the stairs. At the landing, I recover my mental note about restocking the pastie tray for the second show. Ming pulls me into the coat check, the alcove unused in the warmer months, and we draw the heavy red drape shut to avoid any chatty guests.

I rest against the wall, still muddled by the influence of Jane’s song and . . . God, what was that?

Whatever it was, a few more beats of that heat and my undies would have ignited.

I replay that deep breath from Darcy, his grip on the table. Hell, a few more seconds and—what would have happened? He was coiled like he was going to pounce.

My thighs clench. I could go for a pouncing.

“Heads up!” Ming stands on a chair, riffling through the stock she keeps in the corner. She tosses the little bags of pasties down to me. “So, what was the occasion for Nina? Jane feeling feisty?”

“Kind of.” I lurch to catch a pair of tassels and peek through the gap in the curtain at the guests queuing for the bathroom. “He spotted a cutie earlier and wanted to make an impression.”

“Oh?” Ming sounds unconvinced. When I look over, she has a hand on her hip, still standing on the chair in the corner. “That’s not very Jane.”

I shrug and return to the gap, hoping to spot a specific face. “I may have encouraged him.”

Ming chuckles. “Good for you, giving him a nudge. Our boy doesn’t recruit enough action here.”

Damn. No Darcy. I let the curtain fall shut. “You know Jane.”

She nods, eyes going distant. “It’s been, what? Three years since all that went down?”