Page 4 of Forbidden Lyrics

Chapter Two

Dove

After checking my phone to confirm I have the correct address, I pull into the driveway, turn off my car, and head to Reese’s front door. The place is super nice. And pretty big too. She didn’t mention how many roommates she had when she invited me over, but it must be a lot if she’s able to help pay for this place with her waitressing wages.

But she isn’t giving ninety percent of it to her pregnant sister, so what do I know?

Wiping my sweaty palms against my dark jeans, I take a deep breath and tap my knuckles against the door.

And I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

“Get the door!” someone yells from the other side. My pulse spikes, and I glance behind me toward the driveway, tempted to escape. But I keep my feet in place.

Reese is nice. It would be good to make some friends. You can do this, I remind myself.

Heavy footsteps follow the muffled request from a moment before. They thud against the floor, making my pulse rise with every chaotic step before the door opens with a soft creak to reveal a burly tattoo artist named Milo.

The Milo.

“Hey.” Reese’s brother has been to the bar a few times since I started working there, but it doesn’t stop me from being startled by his gruff beauty despite the creeper’s warnings that’ve been haunting me ever since. Mussed hair. Tattoos etched into his right arm. And the dimples? Curse those dimples. They’ve always been kryptonite to the Walker sisters.

Never trust a man with dimples, my sister would tell me. He’ll own your heart and break it with a single smirk.

Thankfully, his dimples are overshadowed by the invisible my-middle-name-is-trouble sign stamped across his forehead. Besides, I have too much on my plate to tempt fate by crushing on the guy.

Still, he is pretty to look at.

“Can I help you?” He smirks, clearly amused by my awkward silence and the fact that I totally got caught checking him out.

Good one, Dovey.

“Oh, um…” I hesitate, trying not to crumble under his direct attention. Talking to guys has never been my forte. I always left that particular attribute to my sister, Madelyn. Then again, look where that got her. Pregnant and alone.

He clears his throat––a not-so-subtle attempt to keep me focused.

Oh. Right.

“Reese?” I squeak, avoiding his gaze. “Is Reese home?”

Another smirk. This one’s more potent than the last. My knees threaten to give out on me before he lifts his chin and opens the door the rest of the way to let me inside. “She’s in the kitchen.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

After stepping inside, I rock back on my heels and wait for better directions. I have no idea where the kitchen is, and I’m not about to wander off in a stranger’s house.

My mother taught her daughters a few more manners than that.

My nose wrinkles at the smell of something burning as I assess the clean foyer and exposed brick walls along with the warm brown carpet that looks freshly vacuumed. There’s a large entertainment room, complete with a giant television hanging on the wall, and a worn leather couch on my right, while a set of stairs hug the left-hand side of the space.

A soft melody whispers from the second floor, begging me to follow it, but I keep my feet planted and turn back to Reese’s brother because, ya know, manners.

“I’m Dove, by the way. We met––”

“I know. Milo.”

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