Page 51 of Forbidden Heart

It makes me desperate with Charles. The thought of stopping right now, when all I want is for this hot pleasure to last forever, makes me tug harder on his hair.

I hold his head in place and kiss him with everything I’m worth. Charles groans into my mouth, the sound so sexy, so masculine, that a wave of heat courses through me. I push my breasts against his chest, my body igniting at the caress, and I suddenly want more. Need more.

I reach for the buttons of his dress shirt, undoing them much more adeptly than I had with JJ. Which reminds me that I did this exact same thing with JJ. In this apartment. And with Tate, too. I kissed all three roommates, cheated on all of them, after everything they’ve done for me.

How could I do this to them? How could I kiss all three roommates like this? It’s wrong. Oh so very wrong.

Angela may have said it’s okay to experiment with the guys, but what I’m doing is so much more. I’m falling for them, for all three princes, and I’m betraying them with every kiss.

They’re not just roommates. They’re in an a cappella group together. They have a competition coming up, and I can’t be the thing that tears them apart. I can’t be the reason their singing dreams don’t come true.

“Charles, we can’t,” I cry, scrambling off his lap.

“Why not?” Charles asks, a look of hurt flitting over his face. Hurt I put there.

So I tell him the first thing I can think of that won’t hurt him more. That won’t tell him how I betrayed him and Tate and JJ. I tell him that I need to work on the competition song.

Chapter 20

The next morning, Tate tells me a little bit about his visit with his sister before the guys head to class. Turns out she got into LUV Academy, but her parents pressured her into going to an Ivy League Pre-med school instead. Luckily, he got there just before she sent in the acceptance, and she made the right choice in the end.

I’m still thinking about how lucky Tate’s sister is to have him when I plop down on the couch and try to decide how to spend my day. I’m definitely not in the mood to apply for more jobs, and none of the places where I left my resume have called so far. They probably never will.

Hanging out with Charles yesterday was a great distraction, but this morning all I seem able to do is catalogue all my failures. Made zero progress on the competition song. Am over two grand in debt. Didn’t get into school. Couldn’t get a job. Ran away from home. Made out with all three roommates, and they’ll probably kick me out the moment they find out.

There’s only one thing I can do to make it right—even if only a little, tiny bit right—and that’s finish the competition song. Yesterday, Charles was there, distracting me, but today is a brand new day. If I can just do that one thing, maybe things will work out after all.

I grab the brand new guitar Charles had delivered yesterday—because apparently he really can order a guitar just like takeout—and strum a few tunes. I pull up the song “outline” on my laptop and stare at the word FRENCH typed in all caps. I get to my feet and pace around the living room. I sing some of my old songs for inspiration. I dance to some French music, adding hip movements the way Angela taught me. Finally, I groan and flop backwards onto the couch.

It’s no use. I really am a failure.

I cover my face with one of the throw pillows and groan into it. Loudly. Then scream for good measure. It doesn’t help.

I stay like that for a while until someone unlocks the front door. I quickly sit up and return the pillow to its rightful place as JJ walks in.

“There you are,” he says, as if there’s anywhere else I could possibly be.

“Here I am,” I sigh, wringing my hands on my lap.

“Did something happen?” JJ asks as he comes to join me on the couch.

“Nothing happened.” Which is the problem. And the way JJ’s looking at me makes me feel like I can tell him anything. “I’m really struggling with the competition song, JJ. I’ve been trying to write it all morning and for a good chunk of yesterday, too, but I’ve gotten nowhere.”

“You can’t force creativity.” JJ shrugs, not sounding the least bit worried. “I’m sure it’ll come to you.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Don’t doubt yourself, Roonie.” JJ squeezes my hands lightly, and I suddenly wish I had half the confidence in my song-writing abilities that he does. “Plus, I got you something. For inspiration.”

“It better not be another guitar,” I tell him as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry bag. “Jewelry? But it’s not even my birthday.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” JJ wraps a strand of my hair around his finger, and my pulse spikes. “When is your birthday, Roonie?”

“July 2nd, so not for a while. When’s yours?”

“August 11th.” JJ grins, and I mentally catalogue the date.

Then I start to wonder if we’ll even be in touch by the time either of our birthdays roll around. I’ll probably screw up the competition song. The guys won’t make it through to the next round because of me. They’ll want nothing to do with me. I’ll end up living on the street, or worse, at home with Father.