Page 68 of Forbidden Lyrics

“What’s your favorite color? Pink? Blue? Green? Ooo, we could do rainbow––”

“In my hair?” I screech.

She nods, her eyes brightening with excitement. “Only a streak or two. Nothing crazy, I promise. Like I said. Your natural color is gorgeous. This would simply make it pop.”

I bite my lip, turn to the mirror, and take in my own reflection. The average girl with an average dusting of freckles, average lips, average eyes, average everything.

And I’m tired of being average.

After a few seconds, my gaze meets Trish’s through the reflection again, and I nod. “I’m all yours, Trish. Go for it.”

“Yay!”

We continue chatting about everything from how old we both are to how we ended up meeting Fender when my phone vibrates with a notification.

Gibbs: Hey. Do you want to come help me with a song tonight?

With a frown, I reread his message a few more times. Help him with a song? He’s never asked me to help him with a song. Which means something’s up. He’s digging for information, but I can’t decide why.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I type my response.

Me: I can’t. I’m going to the party Fender invited me to. But maybe tomorrow night?

Gibbs: I can do tomorrow.

Me: Okay.

I tuck my phone back into my lap when it vibrates another time.

Gibbs: But as for tonight, it’s a bad idea, Dove. Trust me.

I roll my eyes and stare at the message as Trish twirls my hair around her curling rod.

Of course, he would say that.

Why would tonight be a bad idea? It’s a party, for Pete’s sake. I should be allowed to go to it without someone giving me crap.

He’s so frustrating. And confusing. He shouldn’t be allowed to mess with my head like this, so why am I letting him? I’m tired of being the stupid yo-yo for him and his mind games. It’s exhausting. And draining.

“What is it?” Trish asks.

“Gibson texted me.”

“And?”

“And he says tonight is a bad idea.”

Trish snorts. “Of course, he thinks it’s a bad idea. He thinks Fender wants to get into your pants.”

“He doesn’t, though, right?” I ask, grimacing. “I mean, that’s what he told me. I assume he’s only trying to help me out with this whole shenanigan, but I also thought Gibson had a thing for me, and that never panned out, either. So. Ya know. Just a hunch, but I’m pretty sure my guy radar is broken.”

She shakes her head. “Your guy radar isn’t broken, but you did pick a stubborn one. Or at least that’s what Fender tells me. I’ve never met his brother. But you’re safe from Fender’s affections. Despite how much of a mess he can be sometimes, he wouldn’t stab Gibson in the back like that, and he also knows he’s too toxic for a girl like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She sets down the curling rod and grabs the texture spray. “We all have our shit, right?”

I nod.

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