Page 30 of Forbidden Lyrics

Facing me again, his expression stone cold, he rasps, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Liar, I want to say, but I keep my lips pressed into a thin line, though I’m afraid it does nothing to hide my insecurities. I can feel them simmering just beneath the surface, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he could see them as clear as day. Which only makes it worse.

With a sigh, he scrubs his hand over his face. “You’re allowed to sing my lyrics, okay? I’m not mad at you.”

“Why do I feel like you are?” I whisper.

And why do I care so freaking much?

“I’m not mad,” he reiterates.

Lips pursed, I murmur, “Then what are you?”

“Honestly?” He laughs, but there isn’t any humor in it. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I guess I feel like you shot a heavy dose of poison into my bloodstream.”

“How?”

“Your voice. Your lyrics. I want to go home so I can mess with them a little more. You seem to have that effect on me,” he notes.

“Like poison?” My tone is laced with offense and amusement at the same time, but the vice around my chest eases. At least he feels something when I’m around, though I doubt it holds a candle to the pull I feel whenever he’s near.

He smirks. “Something like that.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves me more confused than anything else.

What the heck was that about?

Chapter Eight

Dove

The rain is coming down in torrents as I cover my head and rush into SeaBird. I shouldn’t be here. It’s my night off. But as soon as Maddie heard me playing Broken Vows on Spotify, she stormed into my room and threw a fit, ordering me to never listen to them again.

So what did I do? I calmly grabbed my keys, went to my car, and turned up my volume to full blast before finding myself in SeaBird’s parking lot.

Because that’s exactly what a girl wants to do on her night off.

Hang out at work.

I sigh and yank open the front door.

“It’s your night off,” Ashton informs me, his arms crossed over his broad chest as soon as he sees me.

“I heard Broken Vows is playing.”

“They should be. If Fender would get his ass here already,” Ashton grumbles.

I cringe. “Anything I can do?”

The microphone crackles with a familiar voice. “Hey, everyone! Let’s get this shit started.” Fender’s fingers fly across his guitar strings as he opens with one of their most challenging songs.

My attention flicks back to Ashton. “Speak of the devil.”

He shakes his head. “He’s lucky his band’s good and his brother keeps him in line most of the time. I’m gonna go make sure the bar’s stocked. Have fun, yeah?”

I nod. “I will.”

The place is packed and practically vibrates with energy as the crowd raises their glasses and sings along to Fender’s lyrics. Well, technically, I guess they’re Gibson’s, but Fender’s owning them on stage right now, and if Gibson’s okay with it, I guess I should be, too. I head to the bar, refusing to acknowledge my disappointment when I find Sammie behind it instead of the man who’s been haunting me for far too long.

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