Page 1 of Muse (The Forbidden Hearts #1)

SOPHIE

M usic thrums through my veins, syncing with the steady beat of the drums on stage.

Hypnotized, I watch from the shadows. Sal, my best friend, dragged me here tonight, practically begged me to come, but she abandoned me over an hour ago, growing tired of hiding by the bar.

I can spot her through the crowd of bodies, swaying to the music, eyes locked on Jace like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen.

Jace, her step-brother, commands the small yet brightly lit stage.

His presence fills the space, crowding out his band-mates as he strums his electric guitar.

The band flies through each song with reckless energy.

It feels wild and untamed. Their passion and talent is undeniable, but their precision could use some work.

Sal’s constantly frustrated with them and their lack of motivation to shoot for the stars.

She thinks he could really be someone, and as I sit here, I begin to believe it too. He’s a rock god in the making.

The venue is twenty-one and up, but Jace pulled some strings, guaranteeing our admission.

He’d wanted Sal to see him perform. He’d do anything for her, I’m convinced.

The air inside is thick with the scent of beer and sweat, pressing in on me from all sides, suffocating me.

It clings to my skin like a humid summer day in Georgia.

The cracked red vinyl of the barstool I’m perched on pinches my thighs, my short skirt providing little protection.

Shifting in my seat, I sip on my coke and listen to the music serenading me as I wait for the night to be over.

Near the stage, clusters of college-aged kids move to the music, their faces lit up by the flashing stage lights.

While the bar hums with energy, the tucked-away corner I occupy provides me a safe-haven.

I watch as a man moves in on Sal, his greedy hands grabbing at her curves.

She laughs but quickly swats him away, uninterested in his advances.

She tends to draw attention wherever she goes, but she couldn’t care less for it.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles, sensing someone approaching from behind. I steel my spine, resisting the urge to turn and look. Wouldn’t want to invite conversation.

“Jack and coke, please.” The deep voice behind me is rough and gravelly. Attractive, I must admit. The bartender gets to work in front of me, moving with practiced ease, ice clinking as it drops into the short glass.

“Enjoying the show?”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s speaking to me.

Internally, I cringe. I’m friendly, sometimes overly so, but I’ve never been great at small talk—strangers put me on edge. I tend to spiral, second-guessing every word that comes out of my mouth, but I put on a brave face and turn in his direction, anyway.

Hot. Damn.

Hello , Mr. Gorgeous. His eyes crinkle just a bit as he smiles at me, his teeth white and straight, and the dark stubble shadowing his sharp jaw is the perfect contrast. Messy, dark curls tumble over his forehead, threatening to cover his eyes, which look like pools of midnight in the dark bar.

His black tee and jeans are effortlessly cool, just fitted enough to show off his well-toned frame without looking like he’s trying too hard.

“Hi.” I squeak out. Be cool. “Yeah, it’s great.” That’s the best I could come up with?

He chuckles, the sound deep in his throat. “Well, I was about to head out, but you looked bored over here hiding in the shadows… figured maybe you could use some company. Feel free to tell me to fuck off, though.” A dimple appears in his cheek as he flashes me with a disarming smile.

“No, no… that’s okay. Feel free to join me.” I may be awkward… but I’d also feel bad turning him away. He seems harmless enough, for now anyway.

He settles onto the stool next to me, his knee almost touching mine in the narrow space. “So, what brings you here tonight?”

I nod towards the stage. “The guitarist is my best friend’s brother. She dragged me here to see the show.”

He hums in understanding. “My buddy owns this place, so I stopped by to see him. Not really my scene though, if I’m being honest.”

“Mine either,” I say with a small smile. I try not to stare at his lips, but when his tongue flicks out, catching the bottom one, my brain short-circuits.

“What’s your favorite band?” He asks.

It’s ridiculous, but my stomach flips at his question. What if he judges my taste in music?

I woman up though, and answer honestly. “Right now? Probably Sleep Token. But really, it depends on my mood.”

He nods, contemplating my words. “I get that. My playlists are all over the place. Though, I’m sorry to say… I’ve never listened to Sleep Token.”

I gasp, fake outrage fixed on my face. “You, sir, are missing out! ”

The laugh that bursts from his chest warms my heart, genuine and loud. It makes him all the more attractive. “I’ll have to fix that then. I can tell you have great taste.” He winks, and my heart stutters in my chest.

He motions for the bartender. “What are you drinking? I’ll order you another.”

“Oh… just a coke for me. I’m driving tonight.” It’s not a lie, but I conveniently leave out the fact that I’m not legal drinking age yet. He’s clearly older than I am and I don’t want to spook him. Surprisingly, I’m enjoying his company.

He doesn’t make a big deal of it and appreciation floods through me. “You got it. Two cokes, please.”

Pulling a slim, black leather wallet from the back pocket of his fitted jeans, he pays for both. A gentleman. When his drink arrives, he gulps it down, but his eyes stay on mine. How is something so simple, so attractive? His attention heats me from the inside out.

Conversation flows naturally between us, with him leading the way. He’s easy to talk to, slowly pulling me out of my shell with his stories and easy humor. I find myself laughing and talking more than I usually would with a stranger, which surprises even myself.

He lavishes me with stories of previous nights spent at the bar, drunken crowds making fools of themselves as he sat idly by, watching. I even crack a few jokes myself, enjoying the way his eyes come alight when he laughs. Their darkness transforming into a sea of stars.

Sometime between one song and the next, his hand finds mine. A jolt runs up my arm, but I don’t pull away. He leads me towards the stage. We find a place near the back of the crowd, close enough to enjoy the music, yet far enough to still be able to breathe.

He stands close, his body just brushing against the back of mine when I move just right. Electricity flows through me with each touch. I don’t usually do this, dance with strangers or lose myself in the moment, but I don’t want to overthink it. Not tonight.

Jace’s band must’ve retreated backstage, likely taking Sal along with them.

A new band transitions to a cover of an old classic, Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls .

I sing along, stealing quick glances up at him.

And every time I do, our eyes connect. He watches me, not the band, and I die a bit inside at the palpable chemistry between us.

Who am I right now? And where did my sensible brain wander off to?

When his hands find their way to my waist from behind, I don’t stop him. I lean back, swaying with the music, pressing my body against his. I relish the feel, the solid warmth of his torso, his strong hands holding me close.

The songs blur together as we lose ourselves in the music and in the feel of each other.

I find myself savoring this moment. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so carefree.

Our bodies seem to press closer together with every song the band plays.

His voice belting out the lyrics is the only sound I’m really paying attention to – he may not be the best singer, but he’s plenty entertaining to me.

The grin affixed to my face has my cheeks hurting, but I can’t help it. I’m having a blast here in the arms of a stranger. Then, between songs, he dips his head down, breath warm against my cheek.

“I just realized I’m the absolute worst… What’s your name?”

A laugh bubbles up from inside me. I can’t help it.

I hadn’t thought to ask him, either, but something about sharing names will make this picture perfect night fall apart, let reality sink in.

That I have no idea who this guy is, and if he knew I was only eighteen, he’d likely not have his hard body pressed up against mine .

I hum thoughtfully, before turning my face up to his and whispering, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Another one of those beautiful smiles graces his face, and he tilts his head down, our lips just a whisper apart. His grin is slow and lazy, and my insides melt like butter.

“Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

My breath catches in my throat, his serious tone catching me by surprise. In that moment, I decide I want to know his name, too. Before I can tell him, a hand yanks at my arm.

I whip around. Sal. Her face is streaked with tears, and her grip is urgent. I immediately go into best-friend mode. One look at her expression and I know she needs me now.

Behind me, Mr. Perfect Stranger tenses, stepping forward as if to shield me. His protective instinct makes my stomach flip in a good way. Later, I’ll pause to appreciate that.

But for now, I shake my head, heart hammering. “It’s okay, she’s my friend.”

And then I’m moving, being pulled away from him, towards the exit. Sal’s clear distress brings me back to reality, leaving behind the twilight zone I’d just spent the night basking in.

As we reach the doors, I glance back. Just once. He’s standing where I left him, his eyes glued to me, a wistful expression on his face. Regret courses through me.

I should have gotten his name.

Sal doesn’t stop moving until we’ve reached her car.

She fumbles with the keys, her hands trembling and unsteady, before unlocking the doors in a rush and sliding into the passenger seat.

I take my place behind the wheel, knowing without question that she’s in no state to drive.

The engine hums to life and I crank the heat.

Warm air fills the car, combating the chilly autumn night.

She exhales a shaky breath, using the edge of her shirt to dab at her eyes. Black streaks of mascara run down her cheeks, and she wipes at them half-heartedly, trying to erase the evidence of her tears.

“You okay?” I ask, hesitantly. My voice is soft and careful, unsure if she’s ready to speak.

“Mhmm,” she says unconvincingly. “I’m fine. The guys were just being assholes.”

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Do I need to go kick their asses?” The words are light and teasing, knowing damn well I’m no match for anyone, let alone four grown men. Plus, violence really isn’t my thing.

She lets out a small laugh, giving me an appreciative glance. “Thanks, girl. I think I’ll be okay.”

I nod and ease the car onto the street. Atlanta hums with late-night energy.

Horns blaring, neon signs alighting shop windows, people weaving through the crowded city sidewalks as we pass by in a blur.

The traffic is ruthless. If you aren’t going at least ten over the speed limit, you’ll be run over. You might as well be standing still.

Sal connects her phone, and Paris Paloma’s voice spills through the speakers, raw and haunting.

We ride in silence, but my thoughts stay back at the bar.

With him . The stranger without a name. I should’ve asked, should’ve gotten his number, or at least found out who he was, but if I’m being honest with myself, I know better.

There’s no version of reality where he’d want to see me again, especially once he learns my age, but the idea of it? Of knowing him? Wishful thinking might as well be my middle name.