Page 49 of Forbidden Lyrics

My forehead wrinkles as I register his question when it’s very apparent he’s avoiding mine.

“Y-you had a hard night.”

“Do you stay when Ashton has a hard night? Or Sammie?”

“I stay when Reese has a hard night,” I argue, though it falls flat. He can see through my lie as easily as I can. Yes, I would stay for Reese. But no, it’s not the same. He knows it. And so do I.

“Do you look at Reese like this too?” he challenges, his touch branding my chin before it disappears.

My expression falls, and I fold my arms, digging my fingernails into my biceps while wishing I could disappear. I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life, and that’s saying something. But it’s funny. For a girl who hates being the center of attention, I sure do like it when he notices me. Or at least, I used to. Right now, I’d give anything to rewind the last thirty minutes and simply go home. Where it’s safe. And my feelings aren’t on the line. And I don’t make a fool out of myself in front of the first guy I’ve liked in a long time.

“We’re friends, Dove,” he reminds me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Yes. I know. You’ve made your stance abundantly clear.”

“I’m not telling you this to hurt you.” He drags his fingers from the part in my hair, across my forehead, over to my ear, and down my chin. Softly. Gently. As if committing it to memory. And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I let him.

“Then why are you telling me this?” I whisper, mesmerized by his touch while hating how weak I am to crave it so much.

“Because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” He sighs and lets his arm hang by his side. “I don’t shit where I eat.”

A dagger to the chest would be less painful than his words, but I hold in the pain, refusing to let him see how easily he hit the mark.

“You don’t…shit where you eat? What does that even mean?”

He steps away, putting a few feet of distance between us, and I hate the feeling of loss that overwhelms me as soon as his warmth is replaced by the air-conditioned air.

“It means we work together. And I’m not gonna sleep with a coworker.”

“And that’s all I am to you? A coworker? Oh, wait. I’m your friend.”

“Dove––”

“Tell me I’m not crazy. That I’m not imagining things––”

“You don’t get it, Dove,” he growls, his frustration rising.

“So help me understand.”

“Your sister. She’s…” His nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches along with his hands at his sides.

“She’s what? What about her, Gibbs?”

“She’s friends with Em.”

“So?”

“So Em’s basically my ex, no matter how hard we tried to keep things casual. The fact that you’re connected to her––”

“I’m not connected to Em. I’m connected to Madelyn, who’s connected to Em.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he argues. “I’m not looking for anything serious, and you deserve someone who’s serious about you.”

Frustrated, I push my hair away from my face and seethe, “Then what are you looking for?”

“I’ve already told you. I’m looking for a friend.”

“You have friends––”

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