The crowd yells and growls for her. The group of neck-tattooed hipsters at the corner of the bar adjust their matching fake black rimmed glasses and tap each other’s Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboys together.

Winter’s golden-brown eyes sparkle and scan the room. Then settle back on me.

“Here’s to getting through rough patches alive.” She lifts the microphone in my direction, and the crowd cheers as the music fills the room with its upbeat melody.

Let’s be clear, I’m expecting Winter to suck. I’m expecting this little firecracker to take the stage like the fearless, big mouthed, ball-buster she is and own the stage while looking sexy as hell and sucking horribly. Which would add to her charm, sure, but it wouldn’t particularly peg this moment in time as epic.

Let’s be clear about something else, I’m not used to being wrong. I’m typically not. I’ve received a top-notch education, and a lot of it. I’ve had tutors teaching me college courses since I was fourteen and a life that’s provided me with the means to travel, explore, and experience differing cultures. It’s not often I have to swallow down the bitter pill of inferiority.

But when Winter opens her mouth to sing the first verse, the pill—as big as the state of Texas—gets lodged in my throat so forcefully, it chokes me. First I stare, fixated, in awe, not sure what I’m actually seeing, or hearing, and feeling.

Then the second verse leaves her lips, and I scan the crowd. There’s no doubt they’re all thinking the same thing I am: Where the hell did you come from, you goddess?

Winter sways her hips to each word. She leans back and elongates her beautiful neck to sing the runs, her voice angelic and hauntingly raspy equally.

She’s fucking perfect.

Time stops, so does my breath. In the interest of experiencing new things this evening, this is by far the most shocking. I realize now, I like Winter. That’s what I’ve been feeling, and this moment proves it in spades. I don’t know the emotion well, and I don’t particularly like it either.

She nears the end of the song and I’m up and stalking toward the stage before I’m able to reason with myself. My eyes bore into hers more intently with every step that brings me closer to her. Her smile widens while she finishes the song, then she meets me at the edge of the stage as the music comes to an end. Reaching up, I grab her waist, and lift her off the platform, then set her in front of me.

What am I doing?

No fucking clue. But I’m sure of one thing more than I’m sure I have a dick, Winter Sommers is going to be mine tonight.

I’ve let her deny the way she feels about me until now. I see it.

I see her.

“Well, how’d she do?” Barb croaks into the microphone.

The crowd cheers, but to me, they don’t exist. Looking down at Winter while she blinks her big brown eyes at me, my gaze attaches to her face like a succubus.