Page 71 of Forbidden Lyrics

“What’d he say?” Trish presses.

“That this isn’t me.” I wave my hand up and down my body.

“And what do you think?”

“That I should be allowed to decide that for myself. And right now, I like the new me.” I turn to the mirror and take in my foreign reflection. She didn’t cake on much concealer, allowing the freckles along the bridge of my nose to still shine back at me. But combined with the dark eye makeup and clear lip gloss, I feel like me. Only prettier. More defined. More striking. Like I stand out. But subtly. I lift my chin and muster up as much confidence as I can. “I like feeling attractive. And there isn’t anything wrong with that,” I add, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince.

“You’re right, Dove. There isn’t. Now, let’s get you in this skirt and see if it fits.”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay.”

Chapter Nineteen

Dove

The music is blaring throughout the gigantic house as we step over the threshold. There are red solo cups scattered along the tables and bodies gyrating to the beat with their hands in the air. When the smell of sweat and Febreeze tickles my nostrils, my nose wrinkles, and Fen chuckles next to me.

“Let me get you a drink.”

“Oh, you don’t need to––”

“Hey, Dove!” Phoenix shouts, barrelling toward us before wrapping his arms around my waist and twirling me like I’m his own personal rag doll. “You look hot!”

I laugh and clutch at his shoulders to keep myself steady as he puts me back on my feet. “Why, thank you.”

“You call Trish?” he asks Fen.

Fender nods.

“Why didn’t you invite her?”

“She’s busy, man.”

Phoenix rolls his eyes and leans closer, his breath laced with alcohol as he whispers loudly, “Fen and Trish like to bang but pretend they don’t bump uglies when other people are around. They don’t know that we can see right through them. Right, Stokes?”

Stoker sidles up next to him with a beer in his hand. He smirks knowingly but doesn’t deny it.

“Assholes,” Fender mutters. “Come on, Dovey. Let’s get you a drink.”

“Dovey,” Phoenix murmurs, studying me with unfocused eyes. “I like it. Fen’s right. Let’s get you a drink.”

Like a bunch of sardines packed in a can, we make our way down the hall toward the kitchen, where a makeshift bar is set up. Mixers of all different kinds are sitting on one side of the island while the other half is filled with fancy liquor bottles and local beers.

“What’s your poison?” Fender yells over the music.

With a shrug, I chew on my lower lip and scan the options.

“No preference?” Phoenix asks as Fender goes about pouring straight tequila in one of the clean cups.

At least I hope it’s clean.

I shake my head, feeling so outside of my comfort zone that it’s not even funny.

After splashing some rum and Coke together in a cup, Phoenix hands it to me. “Here.” He makes another one for himself.

Fender shoots his whole drink, chugging his tequila straight before slamming the red cup on the counter and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His smile is lazy as he turns to me and says, “Ah, that’s the stuff.” Then his attention catches on a gorgeous redhead with dark lipstick and cat eyes who’s been staring at him since we walked in a few minutes ago.

His grin widens. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back in ten. You good, Dove?”

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