Page 1 of Forbidden Lyrics

Chapter One

Dove

A bead of sweat clings to my brow as I reach across the table and wipe it down with the damp rag. When something grazes my bum, I jerk upright, my spine a steel rod, before twisting around.

“Can I help you?” I squeak, unsure whether or not the creepy stranger hears me over the speakers. SeaBird, the bar where I work, isn’t exactly the place you go to have a quiet chat, especially when Broken Vows is on stage. I don’t recognize the song echoing through the room, though, so they must be taking a break.

“Fender,” the stranger returns. “Is he here?”

I peek around the guy’s giant body in search of the band’s lead singer but find the stage empty. I shake my head. “I, uh, I’m not sure. Sorry. Can I get you something to drink?”

And will you stop staring at me like that?

“Only if you’re on the menu.” His mouth quirks up on one side as he scans me up and down, making my skin crawl.

“You’re new,” he notes.

“I started a little while ago,” I hedge before side-stepping to my right. He follows the movement and inches closer.

With a gulp, I stutter, “A-are you sure you don’t want a drink? I can go grab one for you…”

His massive frame crowds me against the table, its sharp edge digging into my lower back as I try to keep from cowering, but it feels impossible.

“When do you get off work?” he demands.

“I’m, uh…” I twist the rag in my hand. “I’m here all night.”

“Maybe I’ll stick around then. Watching you bend over that table was the highlight of my evening.”

Zeroing in on a peanut lying on the concrete floor beneath my feet, I try to ignore the way his gaze rolls over me like hot tar––like I’ve been burned.

“I’m, uh, I’m not sure my boyfriend would appreciate that,” I choke out.

“Boyfriend, huh? Who’s the lucky bastard?”

My eyes widen with panic before the first name that comes to mind tumbles out of me. “Gibson. He works here. He’s actually––”

“I know Gibbs.” He scans me up and down again as if I’m a piece of meat at the butcher’s. “And I gotta give you props. You’re rocking the whole innocent vanilla waitress like a champ.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you and Gibbs are a thing, that means you and Milo are, too.”

Confused, my mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.

What the heck is he talking about?

Milo and Gibson are friends, but I’ve never gotten the vibe they’re anything else, and unless my gay-dar is broken, they’re both very straight.

He chuckles before toying with the ends of my hair, his knuckle brushing along the top of my breast, but I’m too frozen––too shocked––to move.

What. Is. Happening?

“You into sharing, babe?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

I shy away from his touch and push my hair behind my shoulder. “I-if you don’t want anything to drink, I should probably get back to work––”

“You should give me your number.”

---