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

blacker-than-black mascara that claimed to make your lashes look fifty per cent longer—I was dubious about that claim—black kohl eyeliner, and a soft pink lip gloss that plumped the lips at the same time. It took longer than it probably should have to apply the minimal war-paint; I would have to practice a bit more.
    With the new hairstyle, clothes, and make-up, I almost did look like a new person—or just maybe a little more like my old self from a couple of years ago. All I needed now was faith and a new attitude.
    We were ready just after six pm, so had some time to spare. I went to the fridge and took out a bottle of champagne and popped the cork. Maybe a drink would start me on the track to a more confident me.
    I then opened the glasses cupboard with the customary thump from the inside. “You should really speak to the landlord about this door,” I said to Kelli, laughing.
    Kelli cranked up the stereo as I poured the champagne. We danced around the living room and sang along to Beyoncé. As we filled our glasses for the second time, ‘Best Thing I Never Had’ came on, and we started singing louder into our invisible microphones. I took the lead and Kelli harmonised with backing vocals until the music and our singing filled the tiny apartment. As Beyoncé belted out the lines that hit home for me, I belted them out right along with her, finding my voice again after so long.
    “Hey, you’ve got a great voice, you know,” Kelli said as the song finished, and we grabbed our bags and made our way to the door.
    I smiled sadly. “Thanks. I used to think so. I actually studied music; I attended the Victorian School of the Arts for four years.”
    “As a singer?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
    “No, as a musician, but we covered all bases: singing, dance, musical composition, as well as our major. My dream from about the age of five was to be a concert pianist and travel the world, but it was just a pipe dream. I was never good enough.”
    “Who’s that talking, you, or Shithead?”
    Smiling sheepishly at her; I didn’t need to think about the answer. We both knew whose words they were.
    I volunteered to drive, as I’m not usually a big drinker, so I sat behind the wheel and drove the fifteen minutes over to Jason’s apartment block to pick him up.
    The security door was wedged open, letting the breeze blow through the stairwell, so we went straight up stairs and knocked on the door of apartment six. It was a fairly new block and looked well maintained.
    Jason’s apartment was all blue: blue carpet and blue walls, it also looked well maintained, and his furniture was stylish and very masculine.
    “Make yourselves at home, ladies. I’m nearly ready,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the bedroom to finish getting organised.
    I took myself on a mini tour, taking in the kitchen with its dishwasher and ample bench space, and the bathroom with a full-sized tub and wall of mirrors. There were two bedrooms—or really, one bedroom and a study, and the living space was big enough for a small dining table in one corner. Because it was on the first floor, there was a decent-sized balcony that unfortunately only looked out over the designated car park at the back of the block.
    “Nice place, isn’t it?” I said, making my way back to Kelli who was relaxing on the couch.
    “Yep, really nice. I’d love to live here, but I think it would be too expensive. Besides, it’s like the Hotel California; no one ever leaves.”
    Jason came out of the bedroom, ready to party. He looked amazing with his pale pink shirt showing off his tanned skin, tight black chinos and boots. He carried himself well with confidence and poise—he was a guy that I would take notice of if I were out and didn’t know his sexual orientation. I laughed to myself; all the good ones are either taken or gay. Still, I wasn’t ready to jump into the deep end yet, anyway. I needed time to heal and find myself again.
    We decided to