Page 11 of Forbidden Lyrics

“Y-you sure?” I question.

He gives me a single nod and turns toward the bar.

“Hey, Gibbs?” I call out.

With a sigh, he faces me again, folding his arms. The dark material of his shirt stretches across his biceps. “Yeah?”

“How much was her tab? I’ll cover––”

“Stop,” he orders.

“It’s my fault––”

“Stop,” he repeats sharply, stepping closer until the toes of his shoes almost touch my worn sneakers.

My mouth snaps shut.

“That was not your fault.”

“But I spilled––”

“On accident,” he spits. “The girl was a bitch who not only threw a fit like a kid but decided to embarrass you because she felt like she could. Like I already told her, if she hadn’t acted like a spoiled brat, she would’ve gotten free drinks and a free shirt. But after the shit she pulled, she’s banned for life. We all make mistakes, Dove. But that”––he points toward the door that the brat recently disappeared through––“was unacceptable. You did nothing wrong. We clear?”

Like a bobblehead, I nod. Again. Because apparently, that’s all I can do when Gibson is around.

“Good. If you need anything, I’ll be at the bar.” As he weaves through the crowd, his back muscles bunch and flex with every movement.

He stood up for me.

He saved me.

Why did he save me?

Why does he care?

Reese has always been adamant that he’s a complete gentleman, but I’ve never really seen it before tonight. And now, I feel more confused than ever.

As I watch him approach the bar, a bitter taste floods my mouth. His little friend from before flutters over to him like a stupid peacock and drags her dark red manicured fingertips along his bicep––the same one I’d been noticing moments before––while gushing over his heroics. Gibson smiles and waves her off. Like saving me wasn’t a big deal. That he’d do it for anyone. And that almost makes it hurt worse.

Because he would do it for anyone.

Which means I’m no one special.

I turn around, clear my throat, and get back to work.

Chapter Four

Dove

No. No, no, no, no.

I search through my purse for my keys, then rest my head against the cool metal locker above mine. This can’t be happening. Not after the crappy day I’ve had. I just want to go home. I want to sleep. I want to forget tonight and all the conflicting emotions that’ve been wreaking havoc on my nerves. I want––

“Hey, you okay?” a familiar voice asks from the entrance to the breakroom.

I jump and turn around. “Oh. H-hey, Gibbs.”

“You okay in here?” he repeats, scanning the empty space. Everyone else has already left for the night.

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