The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7) (12 page)

I blinked at her, momentarily clueless what she meant before I tipped my head to the side and asked, “How the hell did he get your panties?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “How do you think, puta?”

My mouth dropped open. “¡Dios mío! You had
sex
with him? Just now? But...you...how...Holy Lord, you just
met
him. And you were only gone
five minutes
.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? He hit the right spot. Didn’t take me long.” Then she paused, her eyes growing big. “Oh, shit. You didn’t want him for yourself, did you?”

“What?! Eww, no.” Wrinkling my nose with disgust, I shook my head, still trying to deny what she was telling me, but...no. I didn’t want her to have any kind of carnal knowledge of
any
of my bandmates. Especially that one.

“So...you didn’t mind that I...?”

When she lifted her eyebrows, I sighed. “A little too late to ask me that now, but no...I guess not. I just can’t believe you actually wanted him.” He was disgusting.

With a shrug, she flipped her hair and started to scan the crowds again. “Why wouldn’t I take him on? He’s like a male version of me.”

The hell if he was. Promiscuous-wise...okay, maybe. But other than that, Gally was a bigoted jerk who didn’t care about anyone but his dick. Jodi was a fun-time girl who sometimes—or lots of times—didn’t think things through or consider other people’s feelings, but underneath that, she had a good heart and never set out to purposely hurt anyone. Or maybe I just always made excuses for her because to me, I’d known her long enough, she was more like a younger sister than a friend. I might’ve possibly put up blinders to her flaws, forgave her too easily, and got a bit protective when anyone tried to bash her.

“Ooh! There he is.” She arched up onto tiptoes and peered through the crowd of people before saying, “Those were my favorite pair, too. Excuse me. I have undergarments to retrieve.” And she was gone again.

I gaped at the spot where she’d been standing, still stunned that she’d already captured one of my fucking bandmates.

Suddenly, Ten slapped the top of the bar and then pointed at me.

“
Remy
,” he nearly shouted. Then he pointed after Jodi. “Jodi, Remy. Remy, Jodi.
Holy shit
!” His eyes went huge and he jabbed his finger in my direction. Then he leaned my way and hissed, “It’s you. You’re...” His gaze skimmed over me. “Jesus, now I understand why you text such long messages to Hart. You’re not a dude at all. You’re a fucking chick!”

“
What
?” I immediately glanced around to see who’d heard him, but fortunately, no one was paying us any attention. So I whirled back to the wide-eyed man who kept staring at my chest and squinting. “How...what...?”

He learned forward. “Unreal. What’d you do with your tits—”

I smacked a hand in front of his face to divert his attention from my chest. “Will you cut that out? I am
not
a girl.”

Denying it was pointless, so I’m not sure why I did. I’d planned on telling Asher and Galloway, and Holden after tonight what I was...or rather what I wasn’t. There was really no need to put if off any longer, but...I thought it more respectful to tell the band face to face instead of letting Asher find out this way.

Up until this very moment, I hadn’t felt any qualms about what I’d done. I’d seen a goal—though goal was such a minor understatement for the ungodly desire I’d had to be in their band—then I’d taken note of the obstacles in my path and I’d done what I’d had to do to get what I wanted. And the tiny little lie of omission I had to tell? Pfft. Those jerks had deserved it for not even letting me audition. I had actually relished the moment of revealing my true identity...until now.

Gally...yeah, I still didn’t care about deceiving him. He’d started out a jerk in my mind and still was. Heath...okay, I didn’t know him well enough to worry about his feelings. But Asher...he’d been nice and decent to me—er, to
Sticks,
anyway—and the more I learned about him, the more I admired him as a musician and a person.

He was...different. And okay, fine, maybe his level of hotness was affecting some of my thought process there, but still...I was a little more worried about how I’d lied to
him
.

“Yes, you are too a chick,” Ten insisted, dragging me back to the problem at hand...one hot, scarred, married bartender who somehow knew too much. “You’re Incubus shirt girl.”

“No, I...wait,
what
?” Wrinkling my nose, I frowned in confusion. “Who’s Incubus shirt girl?”

“You know...” Ten whirled out a finger. “The chick Asher wrote that song about, the one who came here and sang karaoke in the Incubus shirt and totally rocked his world.”

Shaking my head, I asked, “Seriously, do you take a shot for every drink you serve, because I think you’re wasted, man. You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m not wasted, and you’re a fucking chick,” he insisted. “I was here, working with Hart the night you came and sang ‘All
About That Bass’ ...with Jodi. I was standing right beside him when he claimed you were going to have his babies one day and all that lovey-dovey bullshit. Then I watched all his sweet little hopes and dreams crash and burn when you jumped off stage and frenched some other dude.”

My mouth fell open as I stared at him. But seriously, how the hell had he known I’d sung
that
song here...with
Jodi
? And Jesus, had I still been with Fisher then? I couldn’t remember.

“What the hell?” I murmured, confused and curious to know exactly what he was talking about.

He grinned and waved at my flat chest. “Seriously, I’m not sure why you felt the need to dress in drag and join his band just to get his attention. All you have to do is tell him who you are. I swear to God, he still looks for you every Saturday night. If you want the guy, he’s already yours.”

“I don’t...I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I am
not
a girl.”

With a snicker, he challenged, “Yeah, and you totally didn’t check out Hart’s ass when he walked away just a minute ago.”

I stuttered a second before spitting out, “Because I’m
gay
.”

“Or female.”

“Listen here, asshole.” I pointed at him, but he grabbed my finger and twisted my wrist to examine my palm.

“Yep,” he said more to himself. “Total chick hand.”

I yanked away from him. “Hey! Don’t—”

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

That caught me by surprise. I straightened and blinked. “Huh?”

“This is how I see it. I owe that fucker one. He knew the one girl I was supposed to stay away from was sneaking into my room to fuck my brains out without my knowing it was her, and he said
nothing
. So I don’t feel inclined at all to let him in on the fact that the girl of
his
dreams is actually the new drummer in his band, posing to be a gay-ass dude, which I’m still confused about.
Why
again are you doing that?”

“The...wait, back up. Why do you keep saying shit like
the girl of his dreams
? And what the ever loving hell are you talking about with some...song?”

“Holy shit.” He stared at me as if I was insane. “Do you seriously not know?”

I frowned, beyond irritated. “If I knew, do you think I would be asking what they hell you’re talking about right now?”

“Jesus, you’re sassy. Haven’t you heard the song he wrote for you?”

“No.” I shook my head stupidly. “Will you please start making some damn sense before you give me a fucking headache? What song?”

Ten grinned suddenly. “Oh, I like you. You’ll be good for him.”

“Ten,” I growled, fed up with this conversation because actually it was already giving me a headache.

With a sigh, he explained. “He wrote a song about you, you know, about how he saw you singing up there on the karaoke with Jodi. Jesus, you’re in the band now, why don’t you know about this song?”

“Oh, I don’t know; maybe because you’re talking utter bullshit. No song like that exists. Trust me, I’m familiar with
all
of Non-Castrato’s songs.”

“No. I really don’t think you are. You should look into that.” I opened my mouth to disagree some more but he straightened and glanced behind me. “Incoming.”

“What?” I glanced back and nearly peed my pants when I found Asher almost upon us, lugging a case of alcohol. He heaved the box onto the counter and extracted two bottles before telling Ten to do something with the rest. Then he popped the caps to both and handed me one.

“To our best performance yet,” he toasted.

Warmth flooded me, making me forget everything Ten and I had just discussed. Had tonight really been the band’s best performance? Oh God, I loved hearing that.

I tapped the neck of my bottle against his and took a tentative sip, only to lift my eyebrows in surprise. “Holy shit. This isn’t half bad.”

Asher laughed. “I know. I’ve become addicted to them.”

He slid onto an empty stool and motioned to the free seat beside him. I glanced around for Jodi, only to spot her sitting at a table with Galloway...on his lap as he stuck his tongue down her throat. Eww. I wasn’t sure where Holden had disappeared to, or if he was even still in the building. Since I didn’t know anyone else and I couldn’t think up a good reason to refuse Asher’s invitation, I sat on the stool next to him, even though it kind of felt like I was deceiving him to play all buddy-buddy like this.

“So how long have you been playing?” he asked, drawing my attention back to him. I liked his hands—long, slender musician’s fingers—and how he always kept them busy, like the way he was idly spinning his bottle on the countertop in the puddle of its own sweat ring. It was as if he had this pent-up energy inside him and he had to use his fingers to expend it.

A shiver and hot trail of lust curled through me, imagining much more productive ways he could put his fingers to use.

God, I was awful.
Concentrate, Remy. He asked you a question
.

I shrugged. “For as long as I can remember. I grew up next door to Jodi’s parents, and they owned a music store, not like a place that sold records and CDs either, but an actual music store that has pianos and clarinets and flutes and guitars and such. They always played the coolest eighties music every time I went over there. My family played nothing outside mariachi music, so it was like a whole new exciting world to visit the Maleskys’ house.”

“And I assume that’s where you bought your first drum set.”

I winked. “Oh, you know it.”

As he grinned, I nodded my chin at him. “What about you?”

“Oh...” He shrugged and picked at the label on his bottle, peeling it free. “I don’t know. I’ve always liked to sing. I think it was an only child thing to help keep myself company. And then, when I moved in with my uncle when I was seven, he was gone a lot, so...” His shoulder lifted again, telling me he wasn’t too comfortable sharing his story. But he kept talking anyway. “I found an old guitar in his closet one day. It had this instruction booklet with it, and that was that.”

I blinked at him a good five seconds before saying, “Wait, you taught yourself how to play?”

An adorable, rueful expression crossed his face. “I had plenty of free time to practice.”

I was still amazed, and I’m sure my jaw hanging open made it obvious. “Shut the front door. You freaking
taught yourself
to play the guitar?”

He finished the rest of his Angry Orchard in one long draw and then sighed in one of those refreshed ways as he tapped the bottle against the bar top and motioned to Noel that he needed another.

When he turned to me, I could tell he was totally going to change the subject.

That intrigued me. A lead singer of a band who wasn’t interested in talking about himself. Weird. And not only that, he seemed more embarrassed than puffy-chested and proud that I was impressed by his self-taught skills. Fisher would’ve been eating up any praise that came his way and making sure I knew the whole story behind his greatness.

Not that I was comparing the two. There was no reason for me to do that, other than, you know, they were both singers in a band.

Still, I really liked Asher’s more humble approach on being so awesome.

“So, who’s your favorite band?” he asked, almost making me grin because I’d been able to read him well enough to know he’d steer the conversation away from himself.

I snorted and made a face. “As if I could narrow that down to one group.”

He laughed. “I know, right?”

“But if I had to name, say...my top ten or so,” I went on, curious if he had similar tastes. “I’d go with Metallica, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, The Stones, Incubus, Rush—but only because of Neil Peart.”

Asher grinned and nodded. “The drummer. Of course.”

I felt my own lips curve up in amusement and kept listing. “The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Joan Jett, Heart, The Bangles—”

Choking on the drink he’d just taken, Asher burst out laughing. “The
Bangles
?”

“What?” I scowled at him for laughing at my Bangles.

He waved a hand. “Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting a punk band listed among all the rock groups you were spouting off.”

“Hey, they were rock...sort of.” Then I shrugged. “They came up with ‘Walk Like an Egyptian,’” I argued my point. “That song is fun as shit to play on the drums. For me, it ranks right up there with ‘Hot for Teacher,’ ‘Enter Sandman,’
and
‘Tom Sawyer.’”

There were more girl bands I loved, but I didn’t want to somehow give my gender away by listing too many, so I merely watched Asher continue to chuckle.

“Trust me. I’m not bashing your choices in the least. I agree with every single one of them. And hey, I’ve been known to listen to Katy Perry and Taylor Swift with the best of them, so don’t worry about music genres with me.”

“Dude.” I leaned in closer. “I wouldn’t go broadcasting that to Galloway. I don’t think he’d be so—”

“Yeah.” He lifted his hand to let me know my warning was moot. “I know.” Then he shrugged as if unconcerned. “I just like all kinds of music. As long as it’s got a good beat, cool lyrics and resonates in my bones, I’m in.”

I nodded respectfully. “I get that.” I didn’t tell him I was pretty much the same way. Country, rap, alternative, hip hop, classics, I just loved music.

“But I grew up with my parents listening to Nirvana on a loop, so that’s probably why most of our songs lean more the way they do.”