Forbidden Lyrics Page 9

  Brecken doesn’t look at me like that. Every guy I’ve ever compared him to has. Not him. Never him. He’d always seen me for who I was, am. But ever since that night we kissed, he closed himself off to me, tighter than any security system imaginable. Sure, he flirts. I’ve watched him from afar enough to see that. Brecken Lavery is a nice guy. Just being around him makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Somehow, I’ve managed to infiltrate his system. The hard looks and awkward stares after that night are gone. In my observations, I noticed that when he thinks I’m not looking, he’s staring at me. And I always know it. That feeling like something is crawling across your skin, a whisper-soft breath or a light breeze. Enough to make the tiny hairs stand on end. It’s his eyes lighting my senses, touching me without being near me. And I don’t want it to stop.

  “Stop fooling yourself,” I mutter under my breath. “Get a life.”

  This waiting around for something to happen is borderline pathetic now. Taking my mug, I freshen the coffee inside and walk to the living room. Man, it’s so different in here without carpet. Not that the brown shag was anything spectacular to look at. The exposed subfloor is still an improvement from that.

  I slide across the floor in my slippers, trying not to step on anything sharp that would warrant a run to the hospital. Leaning against a wall, I close my eyes and envision what the space will look like when it’s finished.

  Dark wood or light? Fat panels or skinny? Real wood or laminate? Things I never really thought of until this moment.

  Opening my eyes, I look at the curtains and try to place the furniture back in my mind. Everything I own is a light, neutral color. Darker may be better. But not too dark, otherwise it’ll show every speck of dirt and dust. A medium color maybe?

  Just then, a knock turns my head toward the door. With a smile, I shuffle over and find a smiling Brecken, holding up a white box and cardboard carrier with two cups of what I’m going to assume are coffee.

  “Morning,” he says with a slight rasp to his voice. Oh, dear heaven above. He cannot make that noise if I have any intention of keeping my willpower where it is. I’m a sucker for a manly rasp. Add in stubble and some hard muscles and you might as well scoop me off the floor.

  I smile up at him, noticing the days’ worth of gruff along his chin. Perfect.

  “Yes, it is. Thank you for not putting the added pressure of saying it was good.” He laughs at my little joke as he crosses the threshold. “Whatcha got there?” I ask, nodding to the box in his hand.

  “Breakfast. Can’t get all this work done on an empty stomach.”

  As if on cue, my stomach rumbles as we walk to the kitchen to deliver the goodies. I flip the lid off the box and dive into the first chocolate-frosted donut I find. The vanilla custard squirts out of the corner of my mouth as I moan in delight.

  “Damn, that’s a good donut.”

  Glancing over at Brecken, I catch him staring again with a weird expression on his face. It almost looks like he’s in pain yet still amused.

  “There are so many dirty things I could say right now, but I’m going to keep them to myself.”

  Realization dawns as I wipe the blob of custard from my lips. Leave it to a guy to make everything dirty.

  “Keep your thoughts to yourself, perv.”

  He rolls his eyes and takes one of the fritters out, eating half of it in one bite. Taking one of the paper cups, he removes the lid and slides it my way.

  “Coffee for you?”

  “Please.” Even though I’m on my second cup already, I can’t resist. This coffee is to die for. And just as I thought. The first sip is like nirvana in my mouth. Warmth spreads through my veins, tingling all the way down to my toes.

  “Good?” he asks.

  I nod. “Like an orgasm in a cup.”

  Pieces of fritter fly out of his mouth as he coughs and sputters, turning bright red in the process.

  I quickly walk over and start slapping his back to prevent him from choking. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he says between coughs. “Fine.”

  Once his face turns back to normal, I smirk as I take another sip from the cup, though it slips when he takes the coffee out of my hands.

  “I think you’ve had enough for today.”

  “Meanie.”

  Mischief dances in his eyes. “Only if you want me to be.”

  See. Flirting.

  I smack his shoulder. “Let me go change so we can get started.” Before I turn around, I point to the mess he created. “How about you make yourself useful and clean up?”

  “Slave driver,” he says with a playful tone.

  “Only if you want me to be.” I echo his words back to him as I disappear down the hall.

  Two hours, a sore knee, and throbbing hands later, we finally have all the staples and tack strips off the floor. Of course, we didn’t spend the entire time working. There was a dance off once I put on some music. We started out with “Never Gonna Give You Up”, then migrated to “Yeah!” by Usher, and ended with “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. Absolutely the most random songs, but Captain Playlist Commando kept hitting shuffle until I pulled him away from my phone.

  “Ready to hit the store?” Brecken asks, brushing the dust off his pants.

  I stand and stretch my arms above my head, letting my shirt ride up just enough to show a sliver of skin. “Please. I need to get out of this house.”

  He doesn’t make a move, just stands there, statue-still with his eyes fixed on that one spot of bare skin just above my navel. Feeling self-conscious, I tug the shirt down as if doing so would magically make more material grow.

  Brecken smirks, bringing his eyes up to meet mine while holding out a hand. “Come on, let’s go get flooring.”

  Is he serious? I look like a hot mess. In sweatpants. And a shirt I’ve had since high school that is practically see-through. A shirt I should probably get rid of except for the fact it reminds me of one of the happiest moments of my teenage life.

  I’m surprised he doesn’t recognize it.

  Then again, he probably didn’t even realize I took it when he wasn’t looking.

  Placing my hand in his, I follow my teenage heart and allow him to pull me into his truck—well, my brother’s old truck—and forget what I look like on the outside. The way he looks at me, I could be wearing my prom dress rather than these rags.

  It’s a little harder to ignore the stares of the patrons wandering up and down the flooring aisle of whatever home improvement store Breck has dragged me to.

  “People are staring. I told you I should have changed before we left.”

  He looks over his shoulder at me, a strange expression marring his face. “What are you talking about?”

  Another couple passes by, whispering as they quickly walk away. When they’re around the corner, I point in the direction they left. “That. That’s what I’m talking about. People are staring because I look like a hobo who is obviously in the wrong spot.”

  “You don’t look like a hobo,” he says, studying the tags under each piece of wood.

  I huff a breath through my nose. “Like you know. You’re not even looking at me.”

  To my surprise, Breck turns, all humor gone from his expression. “I am looking at you,” he says, blinking several times.

  “No, you’re not.”

  With a few steps, he closes the distance between us and places a palm on my face while running his thumb along the crest of my cheekbone. “Lizzie, trust me. I see you.”

  Time stands still. Moments tick by as if the wind were carrying them away. The store, everything melts from view. Instead, I focus on the bright hazel color keeping my attention glued to the man who is making my head swim and heart beat straight out of my chest.

  One never expects to declare their affection in a hardware store. It’s not something you think of daily when you’re thirteen and drawing hearts in a notebook you stash under the mattress. And yet, standing here with Brecken touching me in a way he hasn’
t in years, it doesn’t even matter. Hell, we could be in a cemetery at midnight for all I care. That’s not true. Ghosts and creepy shit scares me.

  A cough to our right pulls us from our daze, allowing the world to slowly come back into focus.

  “You’re Brecken Lavery, right?” A college-aged girl slinks up next to us with her friend bouncing on her toes behind her.

  Brecken’s expression changes, transforming into the professional persona he’s built over the last year. A slow, lazy smile pulls at his lips while he flashes those pearly whites.

  “I am,” he says with smooth confidence. It’s like his voice knew to change. So different than the soft tone he was using moments before. This one is sultrier, sexier, meant to illicit a reaction from the opposite sex.

  And it works.

  The girls giggle and practically melt on the spot. “Can we get a selfie with you?” She takes a phone out of her purse, shaking it between them.

  Without thought, he straightens his shirt and waves them over. “I don’t see why not.”

  “Oh, separate,” the other girl says. Brecken nods, not noticing that I’ve moved down the row. I don’t want to be a spectator to the rush of hormones happening.

  Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

  Do I listen to myself? Hell no.

  Looking over my shoulder, I’m just in time to see the redhead plant a giant kiss on his cheek, excitedly thanking him for the photo op. The blond does the same, both turning a shade of bright pink.

  After they scurry away, Brecken stands there, watching them as they round the corner to leave. I can’t witness this.

  I’m almost to the end of the row by the time he tugs on my elbow. “Hey! Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  Keeping my eyes cast downward, I fidget with the hem of my shirt. “You were busy, and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

  Breck tilts my chin up. “Why would you think you’re in the way?”

  “I, um, didn’t want to have an accidental photobomb for their picture. You know, have the hobo in the background staring at the hotties with the celebrity.” Jerking my head away, he drops his hand to his side with only a nod. No rebuttal, no denial. Only acceptance.

  “Let’s keep moving.” His voice is back to normal, the one I’ve heard for years. I guess that should make me feel better, that he doesn’t have to pretend around me, be someone he isn’t. It doesn’t, not when I feel off my game.

  “How about this one?” Breck points to a piece of dark flooring.

  “Too dark. What about this?” I reply, pointing to a really light sample.

  He shakes his head. We go back and forth, not able to agree on anything as we travel up and down the aisle.

  “You know, we don’t have to buy it here. There are a few stores we can look at.”

  “Yeah, but I can afford these,” I say.

  Breck tilts his head, his brows drawing together. “Don’t worry about money.”

  This time, it’s my turn to frown. “I told you, I can take care of it.”

  “I never agreed to that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Whatever you say,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.

  Ignore the biceps and tightened shirt. Ignore the tingly feeling coursing down your spine. This is a stupid, childhood crush. Nothing more.

  “I do say, so let’s drop it.” No point in staying if we haven’t picked anything out. “Let’s get back home.”

  Breck shakes his head. “Come on, let’s have some fun while we’re here.”

  “Fun? How do you have fun here?”

  Grabbing my hand, he tugs me into his stride as we walk through the store. Before I know it, we’re back by the kitchen displays. “Why are we here?”

  “Let’s play house,” he says.

  I scoff. “I’m not playing house with you.”

  “Sure you are.” Taking me by the shoulders, he weaves me through the displays. “What about this one? This feels like a Lizzie kitchen.”

  White cabinets are my thing, but I can hear my mother’s nagging voice, saying they’re a bitch to keep clean. Especially if I ever have kids. That’s calling for dirty handprints everywhere.

  Kids. Ha! I almost laugh at the idea.

  “Well, I like the design, but the color isn’t doing it for me.” It’s very rustic, almost cottage-y. Lots of cabinet space, more than I currently have. I play with the drawers, withholding a squeal when I realize they’re the soft-close kind.

  Brecken looks around. “Yeah, white isn’t your color. Not for the kitchen.” At least we agree on that. We wander to another display. “What about this one?”

  “Too dark,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “If I’m in the kitchen, I want it to be light. Airy. Cozy.”

  “How much time do you plan on spending in the kitchen?”

  A valid question. Does it really matter? In the grand scheme of things, I’m truly only in there for an hour or two a day. I should really be looking at this from a resale point of view. What type of kitchen would bring the most bang for my dollar while still fitting into my style? Whatever that may be.

  “I’m not exactly a chef, but I want it to be functional and pretty.”

  He runs a hand over a very large stove. “You’re saying something like this is overkill?”

  I laugh. “Nothing gourmet. Just a standard stove. Something simple.”

  We hop from display to display, pretending we’re a married couple while noting the different patterns of knobs and pulls, cabinet styles and colors, and the merits of having a country sink versus a standard divided one. Two employees tried to help us, but I think we scared them away when Brecken kept asking which freezer was large enough to hold a dead body. It’s a miracle security wasn’t called on us.

  “Okay, so hickory cabinets, country sink, a drop-unit stove, and a French-door refrigerator.” Breck is quite proud of himself, having worn me down enough to actually pick enough items to build my own kitchen.

  “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and read the text from my mom. “Ugh, looks like it’s family dinner tonight.”

  He looks at his watch and cringes. “Oh man, I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten. We should probably head back so you can get ready.”

  “I’m sure the staff here is thankful we’re leaving, considering the raucous you were making.”

  “Me?” he asks, holding the door of the truck open for me. “You were the loud one.”

  “Only because you were chasing me around, asking when dinner was going to be ready.”

  The loud roar of the engine covers my laugh as we head back to my place.

  “It’s a valid question.”

  I look over and see his suppressed laugh. If he bites his lip any more, his teeth will pop right through. “Is that some sexist joke about a woman’s place in the kitchen?”

  “No,” he says, elongating the word.

  “Ass.”

  This time he lets go and laughs almost the whole way home. When he quiets down, the silence is deadly. As my house comes into view, I realize I’m not ready for him to leave yet. Today was fun, even if we didn’t accomplish what we set out to do.

  Putting the truck in park, we sit in my driveway, staring out the windshield.

  Say something. Anything. Keep him around just a bit longer.

  “You should come to dinner tonight. I’m sure Mom would love to see you again.”

  Breck looks over. “You sure?”

  I nod. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

  A grin is his response. “What time?”

  “Six.”

  Taking my hand, he kisses the top of it. “It’s a date. I’ll be here around five-thirty to pick you up.”

  Slipping my hand from his, I climb out of the truck and wave goodbye, watching him drive down the block to his house.

  Wait. Date? At my parents’ house? With Myles there?

  Shit. Probably not the best idea. B
ut it’s too late now.

  Damn home improvement stores. I’m blaming this on them.

  Pax glances in my direction when the door slams. Shit, I shouldn’t have called it a date. That was stupid on so many levels. Besides, Myles will kill me; she’s not the kind of girl you see for a few weeks and then never see again. She’s a commitment, a promise kept. Starting something now would be foolish since my time here is limited. Lizzie deserves better than a fling.

  “What’s eating you?” Tossing the controller to the side, Pax turns my way from his bean bag chair.

  “Nothing.”

  “How was shopping?” he asks, batting his eyes like a fool.

  Pulling over the extra bean bag, I plop down beside him and look up at the ceiling. “It wasn’t shopping. We were picking out flooring.”

  “Aww. Did you register for housewares, too?”

  Dick.

  “You’ve got a sick sense of humor. Weren’t you the one warning me this was a bad idea a few days ago?” I steal one of the beers by his side and cringe as the lukewarm liquid hits my mouth. “Ugh, how can you drink this crap?”

  Pax laughs and tosses me a cold one from the cooler hidden on the other side. “I was saving them for you. Figured you’d need something to drink when you got home.”

  “Next time, don’t think of me.” He cracks open a beer and raises his can to mine. “And I can only have one.”

  “One?” Pax tilts his head to the side. “Why?”

  I practically drain the can in a few gulps, buying some time before I utter the words out loud. “Going to dinner at the Donovan’s.”

  Silence. And wide eyes. Followed by more silence.

  “Um, okay. Well, on the plus side, you don’t have to worry about the awkward ‘meet the parents’ phase since her mom helped raise us.”

  “It’s not like that,” I say, blowing out a slow breath.

  “Enlighten me, then.”

  Straightening, I take a moment to think about how I’m going to word this. “I’m doing this as a favor. I don’t think Lizzie wanted to be the fifth wheel at the table.” Pax tilts his head again. If he keeps doing that, it’s going to fall off. “Myles and Tatum will be there. So two couples and then her, the fifth wheel. At least, that’s what I’m gathering.”