Wild Forces: A Friends to Lovers Romance (O-Town Book 2) by Karen Renee (summer reads .TXT) 📕

of the table. “We shouldn’t be having such a heavy conversation tonight.”

Her head wobbled. “No, but when else would we have it?”

I brought her hand up and kissed the back of it. “I don’t know.”

“Did you try to get into any other music programs after —”

“No. I moved to New York, even though Juilliard gave me the snub. Spent time waiting tables, hitting auditions. Trying to get into jam sessions, but I didn’t always know when there’d be a session open to just anybody.”

She nodded, and I continued. “Then I tried busking and nearly got arrested.”

“What?” she cried, trying to snatch her hand back.

I gave her hand a squeeze, and lowered my voice so we wouldn’t draw any more attention. “Yeah. A guy tried to steal my tips and my horn. It got ugly.”

“Oh God,” she whispered.

“Not long after that, I moved to L.A.”

“Really?” she asked sounding impressed.

Excitement hit her eyes, and it made me smile.

“Yeah. Dad has an Army buddy who lives in San Bernardino. He let me crash on his couch for a month while I got my shit together.”

“Did you get started deejaying out there?”

“No,” I said, just as the server arrived with our salads.

Cassie unwrapped her silverware, put the napkin in her lap, and pointed her fork at me. “There’s an ex-girlfriend in this story, isn’t there?”

I grinned. “You’re too smart, Cassie,” to divert her attention, I speared a crouton from her plate, “Eat your food, darlin’. Because this place has some of the best croutons in town, and I will steal yours if you don’t hurry.”

While I ate the crouton, her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t!”

I swallowed. “Oh, but I would. I don’t fool around about bread or products derived from bread. Surely, you know that.”

19 Best Damn Lie

Cassie

BACK IN OUR ROOM, I sat down at the small table and took off my shoes.

Gabe sat down opposite me and said, “So, Daughtry.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Can’t believe I never asked you this before, but are you related to J.P. Daughtry? The local millionaire?”

Oh boy, here we go. Normally only nosy old men asked me that. With them, I could brush it off, but with Gabe, that wasn’t an option.

Knowing Gabe’s outlook on women with money, this conversation wasn’t likely to go well.

“I’m surprised you never asked me that, too. But, yeah. He’s my dad.”

His eyes searched mine, trying to figure me out. “That’s the best damn lie you’ve ever told me.”

I stared into his eyes for a moment before I gave him a small smile. “Not a lie, Sullivan.”

His lips turned down, but it wasn’t quite a frown. “So, you don’t need a new roommate, do you?”

I inhaled. “Not financially, but for my peace of mind and mental health, yeah, I do.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Shit.”

I sensed a strange vibe coming from him. I exhaled. “Why do you act like this changes anything?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t, but why didn’t you ever tell me?”

I snorted. “When would I bring it up? And after what you said to Cecilia about no woman puts the roof over your head, why would I?”

“That’s no reason not to tell me.”

“Also, not a reason to tell you. How does it change who I am and who you are to me?”

“You grew up in a mansion.”

I dipped my chin a touch. “No. And if you think that, you don’t know anything about John Daughtry.”

“Bullshit.”

My eyes widened. “Not bullshit. My parents live in a three-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch home in Altamonte Springs. Same house Dad bought before Sera was born. He paid it off, and saves money like a squirrel with the last nut.” I stood up, and finished, “So, no, Gabe. I didn’t grow up in a fuckin’ mansion.”

“You grew up rich,” his voice rose.

I walked around the table. “No. I didn’t. You need to get this damn chip off your shoulder when it comes to women and money.”

He stepped closer to me. “Then, why are you so defensive about growing up rich?”

“Because you make it sound like I’m not the same person I was ten minutes ago.”

His eyes flared, and I expected a retort, but suddenly his lips were on mine and his tongue pushed into my mouth. I tried to pull away, but then I realized his hand was cupping the back of my head.

I twisted my face away. “No way! You’re not going to kiss me silent like Brock does to Cecilia. You’re way the fuck out of line, Gabe. How I grew up doesn’t mean jack—”

Damn him. He kissed me again, but his other arm had wrapped around my waist and he was moving us toward the bed. I pushed my hands between us and slapped at his chest as much as I could with such limited space.

“Gabe, stop it!”

“I am not out of line,” he growled.

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. Reflexively, I pushed into him and yelled, “The hell you’re not!”

Our faces were inches apart, and I swore I was seeing red. I had no idea what came over me, but something about the anger between us drew me to him. I went up on my toes and put my mouth on his. He brought up both of his hands to cup my cheeks, holding me in place. Our tongues clashed with as much force as our heated words.

I was so pissed, I yanked at his shirt. I pulled at it and heard something snap. He let go of my face, reached down my back, and fisted my dress in his hands. Our mouths disengaged as he pulled the dress over my head. I unfastened the top of his khakis and yanked down the zipper. He wrapped his arms around me and pushed so we landed on the bed hard enough to bounce once.

I shoved at his pants, and rather than help me out, he put both hands into the sides of my thong and he ripped the underwear apart.

“You’re paying for those, Gabe Sullivan!”

“Nope,” he murmured, and his mouth went