Page 9 of Forbidden Lyrics

My feet skitter across the polished concrete floors as I rush back to the front of the bar and sneak a rag from behind the lacquered countertop while hating the fact that I’m searching for him.

Gibson.

My damn Kryptonite, though he has no idea.

It’s just a crush, I remind myself.

A very stupid, very unwarranted crush. Especially when I know for a fact that the guy hates me. It isn’t a big deal. I’ve had loads of crushes. And Gibbs isn’t any different. If I were smarter, I’d remember that random stranger’s warning about Gibson’s ex. I’d remember the venom on Gibson’s tongue any time he speaks to me. I’d remember how small and inconsequential he makes me feel, even though he’s a complete gentleman to everyone else around him.

Instead, all I hear is his voice humming lyrics under his breath as his fingers strum against his guitar strings. The way he was lost in his music. The way he strode toward me before closing the door in my face.

Puffing out my cheeks, I force out the air and head to one of the nearest, recently vacated tables as a familiar melody echoes off the walls. Broken Vows is playing on the stage. Again.

They’re good.

Really good.

And this song is something else, even when Gibson isn’t the one singing it. I hum along, getting lost in the lyrics, the vibrations, the guitar riff while trying to focus on wiping the crumbs off the table.

My one vice has always been music. Whether it’s hymns, country music, or even rap when I could get my hands on it. The power in a song or a melody is endless. It’s consuming. And I’ve found that the world doesn’t look so bad when I have lyrics streaming through my head on an endless loop of beauty.

Because that’s what music is.

It’s beautiful.

And it only fanned the flames of my crush when I realized that Gibbs was the mastermind behind Broken Vows’ success.

I lick my lips and search the premises again.

We haven’t spoken. Not since our little run-in at his house. I think I upset him. I shouldn’t have pried. But I couldn’t help it. To hide a talent like that? It’s inconceivable.

When my gaze lands on him behind the bar, I freeze. His signature smirk is firmly in place as he leans against the bartop and says something to one of the customers. She’s gorgeous. Tall. Curvy. Dark hair. Eyes lined with makeup.

She’s the opposite of me in every way imaginable. Confident. Comfortable in her own skin. And willing to go home with him tonight if her body language is anything to go by.

Gibbs’ eyes flare with interest as he sets a freshly made cocktail on the counter and pushes it toward her. Their fingers brush against each other at the last second.

A lump forms in my throat before I swallow it back and pick up my tray of half-finished drinks. Turning around, my face smashes against a very tall, very skinny woman that looks like Barbie. Liquid spills everywhere, followed by glass shattering as it crashes against the floor.

“Watch where you’re going, bitch!” the angry barbie yells.

My face flames. “I’m so sorry––”

“Sorry’s not gonna get this shit out of my dress.” The girl looks like she stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog, but her upper lip is curled in revulsion, twisting her flawless features into something out of a horror movie. Disgusted, she looks me up and down and motions to her skin-tight dress. “Do you have any idea how much this thing costs?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, though it comes out as a quiet squeak. Like I’m nothing but a mouse.

She grabs my biceps and squeezes, leaving crescent-shaped indents in the shape of her manicured fingernails as she leans closer to me. Her minty breath fans across my face and leaves my stomach churning. “You clumsy. Little. Bitch. You’re gonna pay for this.”

“I-I’m so sorry––”

“Get your hands off her,” Gibson orders, his tone brooking no argument. The girl’s grasp disappears almost instantly, and her breath hitches at the authority in his voice before he steps between us, daring her to piss him off any more than she already has.

She shakes her head and snaps herself out of the Gibson-induced haze from his close proximity, motioning to her barely-there dark red dress. “She spilled shit all over me!”

“And we would’ve happily reimbursed you to get it cleaned as well as offering free drinks for the rest of the night until you touched her.”

The woman scoffs. “Excuse me? She was staring at you like some crazy stalker before she bumped into me. How is this my fault? Aren’t you going to take care of this shit?” Her frustrated gaze lands on me, turning darker and darker with each passing second.

---