Page 156 of Forbidden Lyrics

“Love you, Dove,” she whispers before I can end the call.

I puff out my cheeks and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Love you too.”

When I hang up, an incoming text message from Gibson that was sent a couple minutes ago catches my eye.

Gibson: Hey. You still coming over?

Another one followed right after it.

Gibson: I love you, okay?

That sounds promising.

Fighting the need to drive off into the distance, I open the driver’s side door of my car and head to Gibson’s without bothering to text him back. He’s too busy talking to Maddie to read it, anyway. And I’m too anxious to hear the results face-to-face to put together a coherent response.

But whatever the outcome is, we’ll get through it.

We have to.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Dove

“Oh. Hi,” I murmur as Jake comes into view. His hair is a disheveled mess and sticks up in every direction, and the bags under his eyes suggest that he should sleep for a week, but I keep my lips zipped from pointing that out to him.

“Dove, right?” he asks.

“Yes. Hi.” I wave awkwardly.

“Gibson’s in his room.” Keys in hand, Jake scoots past me toward the car parked out front.

“Lock the door on your way out,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Oh. Okay?”

“He was talking to me,” a high-pitched voice informs me from behind as I stand outside the entryway.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head as I take in her tube top that barely covers her giant breasts and the short mini skirt that shows the bottom half of her bum.

“Oh,” I repeat. “Hi. I’m Dove.”

A hot pink bubble of gum grows from her pursed lips before she wiggles her manicured fingers back at me.

Pop.

“Mal. Nice to meet you.”

“Are you Jake’s…girlfriend?” I grimace as the word slips past my lips.

With a very unladylike snort, she rolls her eyes. “Jake doesn’t do girlfriends. Just orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms. Too-da-loo.” Her heels click-clack against the pavement as she walks down the short sidewalk and disappears out of sight.

“So much for locking up,” I mutter under my breath as I step over the threshold and let myself in. The door closes behind me with a soft click before I slide the lock into place, take a deep breath, and head to Gibson’s room.

Déjà vu hits like a sledgehammer as a familiar melody seeps through the cracked door like the first time I stumbled upon him all those nights ago. Playing music. Effortlessly connecting with me on a level I’d never expected. My chest aches at the memory, and I close my eyes, letting the moment wash over me, bathing me in hope for our future. No matter what it entails.

He stumbles over a few chords, bringing me back to the present. As I peek through the cracked door, a sense of peace washes over me, and my mouth pulls into a soft smile.

On the floor with his legs crossed sits Gibson, his acoustic guitar cradled in his lap. He strings a few more notes together, his brows pinched with concentration and a pencil hanging out the side of his mouth.

---