Gemotions

"More wine, please," he snapped at the waiter, his gaze fixed on the stage. The jazz club was dim, the atmosphere supposed to be seductive and relaxing. But it wasn't working. It was the same old story. Someone else had his song, and they were killing it. He tapped his foot, the rhythm mirroring the bass line, but a different beat.

The saxophonist's solo was passable, almost. The vocalist, though, was another story. She was everything he was not: beautiful, charismatic, and completely…present. Every note was delivered with a smile, every lyric a carefully crafted seduction. He drained his glass. He ordered another.

He imagined her seeing him, the man who wrote the song, sitting in the crowd. He imagined her acknowledging him. He imagined her feeling bad. He would have liked that. He paid his bill, and with a sneer, left the club.