Free Good Karma by Donya Lynne Page A

her seat.
    “Mark, no…”
    “You’ll be great.” He gave her a gentle
nudge, and she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Come on,
everybody,” he yelled into the crowd. “Give her a little
encouragement. It’s her first time.”
    Really? He had to make virgin references at a
time like this?
    But the crowd cheered. A couple of men beside
her clapped her on the back. “You’ll be fine,” one said.
    “Just try to imagine everyone naked,” said
the other.
    “I don’t think that’ll help.” But she was
walking now.
    Toward the stage.
    All eyes on her.
    The spotlight warm.
    This had to be how death row inmates felt on
their final walk to the electric chair…or however they did that
sort of thing now.
    The walk took far too little time, and the
next thing she knew she was in front of the DJ who was working the
karaoke setup.
    “What am I supposed to sing?” she said.
    “What would you like?”
    She shrugged. “I have no idea.” Her voice
broke and sounded a little higher than usual. “I’ve never done
this.”
    “How about ‘Royals’ by Lorde?” he said. “It’s
usually a good one for first-timers. Easy. Slow. Kinda one
note.”
    She knew that song. She had sung along to it
on the radio a few times. “Okay.” Maybe this wouldn’t be so
bad.
    “Just watch the monitor. The lyrics will come
up for you a couple of seconds before you need to sing them.”
    “Okay,” she said again. God, kill me
now .
    He smiled. “You’ll be fine. Just relax.” He
winked and nodded toward the stage, indicating she should get
ready.
    Uh-huh. Relax. Learning how to breathe
underwater would be easier. How had she let Mark talk her into
this?
    Her heart raced, her palms were sweaty, and
her whole body trembled, but she managed to make her way to the
microphone.
    The music started. With the light shining in
her eyes, she could barely see Mark all the way in the back, in the
shadows, but could tell he was sitting with his arm over the back
of the chair she had just vacated.
    Her voice shook as she sang the first line,
but at least she was on key.
    She continued and fell a little off-key on
the second line when it dipped into her lower register, but she was
back on track when she sang the third line.
    As she continued to sing, she began to relax.
In the front of the crowd, by the stage, a couple of men watched
her appreciatively, a glint in their eyes. Their suggestive gazes
reminded her of Saturday night, the red dress, the way the men at
the benefit had appraised her.
    And then something wondrous began to happen.
She began to enjoy herself. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the
spotlight, or the crowd swaying and singing along with her, or
maybe it was the fact that her goddess alter ego—the one she
discovered in Chicago and who relished the attention—was dancing
and laughing inside her mind. Whatever the reason, with every line
she sang, she fell a little bit more in love with being on
stage.
    She fed off the energy of the crowd, off the
electricity of the room, off the intensity of her own
adrenaline.
    By the time she reached the final chorus, she
was holding the audience in the palm of her hand and didn’t want to
leave the stage.
    They cheered for her. They whistled and cried
for more. She covered her face with one hand, trying not to laugh,
then set the microphone back on the stand and headed toward the
steps.
    The DJ high-fived her. “That kicked ass!”
    Now she did laugh, pure elation singing from
every cell in her body. Then she darted into the crowd, back to her
table and into Mark’s arms as he scooped her up and hugged her.
    “That was incredible,” he said, setting her
down.
    “Oh my God, I can’t believe I did that.” She
clapped her hands on the sides of her face, too torqued up to sit.
“That was so awesome! I’ve never done that before. Can I go back up
there? Can we do it again? I want—”
    His lips crashed down on hers, and her soul
lit like a supernova as her rambling thoughts ceased,