The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7) (13 page)

“Hmm, I wondered about that. I can definitely see the influence.” I wondered if this meant he’d had a hand in creating any of our original songs. Just how many hats did he wear in our little group? Guitar player, vocalist, manager and now possible songwriter?

The guy seriously needed to stop saying and doing things to impress me.

He sneezed, and immediately said, “Excuse me,” as he reached for a nearby stack of napkins to wipe his nose. And dammit, I even liked his gentlemanly reaction while he tossed the used tissue into a trash can. Ugh! My tiny little crush was getting ridiculous here.

Needing to get my head back into the conversation and away from him being a hot, interesting piece of man candy, I finished my own beer and said, “I’ve really been getting into Breaking Benjamin lately.”

“Mmm.” He pointed at me as he took a drink, then had to wait to swallow before saying “And Five Finger Death Punch.”

“‘The Wrong Side of Hell,’” we said together, naming our favorite song from that group. Then we laughed at the same time.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Ten asked, appearing in front of us.

I tensed, hoping he kept his big mouth shut. But Asher let out a small moan, and waved his empty bottle in his friend’s face. “Don’t be a dick. Just get me another drink.”

“Dude, slow it down. What is this, your fifth of the night?”

“No, it’s my...” He frowned as if confused so I answered, “third.”

“Right.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “It’s my third...and it’s my last,
mother
.” After a quick scowl to Ten, he asked me, “You want another?”

“Mmm. Okay. Uno más.” I slid my empty toward Ten, who shook his head.

“Huh?” Ten only blinked. “What the hell does uno más mean?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s Spanish. Means one more. Por favor. But this should be my last drink, too. I’ll probably end up driving Jodi home...if she hasn’t already left with someone else.” But when I glanced around for her, I was surprised to find her still hanging around Galloway and his table full of women.

“You know, I took like two years of Spanish in high school,” Asher said from beside me. “And I learned jack shit.”

I turned back to him and was blasted with a fresh wave of lust. Damn, but he was too pretty. And those green, green eyes...so frigging intense.

“Well, my entire family is from México, so I grew up with plenty of people who don’t know anything but Español,” I explained. “It’s pretty common for me.”

“Really? Huh. I never would’ve guessed that about you. You seem so...American.”

I arched an eyebrow. “I am American. Born and raised right here in Illinois.”

“I mean...” He rolled out a hand and his eyes flared as if he was worried he’d offended me.

“My dad was American,” I explained. “But since I don’t remember him and grew up with my mom’s side of the family raising me, yeah, you could say my heritage is very deeply embedded in all things Latino. I probably fell in love with the type of music I did because to me, it was so much more exotic and exciting than what I was used to my family always listening to. Plus, it was kind of fun to be the rebel in the group.”

With a laugh, Asher nodded. “That makes sense.” He opened his mouth to say more but two girls approached, one sliding up right against his side and running her fingers along his chest. “Hey, you’re Asher Hart, aren’t you? We loved your performance tonight.”

The smile he sent her was friendly enough as he said, “Thanks,” but then he leaned away, obviously uncomfortable with her proximity.

I couldn’t keep my narrowed gaze off her red painted fingernails as they kept traveling lower and lower down his chest and over his stomach, steadily making their way toward his lap. “You have the most amazing voice ever.”

He caught her wrist before she could get a handful of little Asher but still managed a tense smile. “Glad you liked it.”

“Hey! You two.” Noel pointed at the two women and waved them off. “This is a VIP area. You need to move along.”

The women huffed out their displeasure but Noel narrowed his eyes, and they finally slunk away. As soon as he was relieved of the girl’s grasp, Asher spun on his stool so he was no longer sitting sideways to face me but now had his legs tucked securely under the counter space...so no more women could climb into his lap.

“Thanks, man,” he told Noel.

“Aww...anything for our delicate little cupcake.” Noel went to pinch his cheeks, but Asher slapped his hand away and called him a dirty name.

As Noel moved off, laughing, a blushing Asher slanted a glance my way. “Sorry about that. They can get really...forward.”

Again, he surprised me. Fisher would’ve already been all over those two girls—a very sad fact I hadn’t learned until
after
I was engaged to the douchebag. Yeah, it’d been kind of downer to hear he’d slept with a new girl pretty much every time he’d gone out into public without me.

I took a small sip of my beer as I studied Asher’s face, watching him glance over his shoulder at the ladies Noel had shooed away. His expression confused me. I saw the flicker of interest; he definitely didn’t mind what he saw. But there was also a wariness that didn’t mesh with his initial attraction to them.

“And...you don’t like forward?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He zipped his gaze to me, his green eyes filled with surprise. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know. I just...” He shifted his shoulders again. “I guess I just like to be the one pursuing, you know.” With one last glance at the women he’d rebuffed, he added, “And I haven’t had the chance to do that in a while.”

“I can imagine.” I’d definitely experienced the same draw to him every other female tonight had. He was probably constantly chased by a horny mob.

Shifting closer, he lowered his voice and admitted, “It’s embarrassing as fuck. They all crowd around me as if I’m something, I don’t know,
amazing
, and they don’t know jack shit about me. I’m just a regular guy, and I can’t help but think they’d only be disappointed if they really got to know me.”

Oh, I begged to differ on that point. So far, he was turning out to be incredibly interesting...and growing more interesting by the moment.

Thank God Jodi showed up then, before I could say anything, because I might’ve blurted out that I thought he was by no means dull or regular.

She slid up against me, giggling—obviously drunk off her ass—and almost knocked me off my stool, right into Asher. I had to put out a foot and slam my hand onto the counter to catch myself.

“Hey, puta,” she cried, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me a big sloppy kiss on my masked cheek. “Oh my God, you’re so hot tonight. Have I told you how good you look in this get-up? Are you going to drive me home? I could give you fake road head in the car.”

I rattled out a nervous laugh, glad she hadn’t given my identity away yet, aside from the puta reference and fake road head offer, but I hoped Asher hadn’t caught that. Still, she was so wasted she might actually give me away soon. “Looks like I will be,” I answered, slipping an arm around her waist to keep her upright. “You are plastered, chica.”

“Feels
good
,” she answered, tipping her head back, only to catch sight of who I was sitting beside. Eyes flashing open wide, she gasped. “Oh my God, there’s that gorgeous lead singer dude in your band again. Don’t you just want to lick him?” She started to climb into my lap and crawl across me to reach him. “Hey...Asher Hart? Can I lick you?”

“Jodi!” I hauled her back to the other side of me. “Down girl. No licking my bandmates.”

She wrinkled her nose and made a pouty face. “You’re no fun. Besides.” Her tongue came out to waggle at me. “I just gave that bastard Billy head under the table to get my panties back. And my tongue was
all
over—”

I slapped my hand over her mouth to shut her up. “Eww.” Then I remembered where she’d just had that mouth, and I quickly removed my fingers to wipe them on my pant leg. Glancing at Asher, I cringed and mouthed the word,
Sorry
.

He only laughed. “Don’t worry about it.”

But I kept stressing. “How long do you think it’ll take to clean off the stage?”

Waving me away, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about that either. I’ll take care of everything. Just get this lovely lady home safely, and we’ll be square.”

Jodi tittered and rested her head on my shoulder. “Did you hear that? He called me lovely.”

“He also called you a lady, so he’s also obviously had too much to drink as well.”

“Hey,” Jodi muttered in outrage and pinched the inside of my arm at the most tender spot ever, making me yelp and squirm away.

Next to us, Asher’s phone rang, keeping him from having to respond.

As he answered, my roommate leaned up into my ear and loudly whispered, “Have you told him you’re a girl yet? You said you were going to tell him right after the gig tonight. I bet he’ll want to jump your bones when he finds out.”

“Shh...” I hissed, scowling her quiet as I waved a hand to hush her. “Not yet.”

After this evening, my goals had changed. I was still riding some of the giddy rush I’d gotten from playing for people, people who cheered us on and loved what we did for them. And then Asher...sitting here, just talking to him...I realized I didn’t want to leave the band.

So I needed a new plan. I needed to approach this delicately, in a way where I could convince the guys to keep me on after I revealed my true identity to them. If I played my cards right, maybe I could coax them into letting me stay on as a girl.

Before I could explain all that to Jodi, though, Asher grabbed my arm. “Holy shit, Sticks, you will not believe this.” Excitement radiated from his voice as he continued to shake my shoulder vigorously. “That was some casino owner from Chicago. He was here tonight and saw our show. And he wants us to play at one of his clubs. Next Saturday. He offered us two grand for one night. Can you fucking believe that?”

My mouth dropped open in shock as Asher threw back his head and let out a relieved, happy, excited laugh. “I’ve been working for over a year to get us an opportunity like this. Then you’re with us
one
night—one fucking night—and boom, we’ve got an offer from fucking
Chicago
. You’re some kind of good luck piece, you know that?”

“I...” No words came. I shook my head, feeling some of the same awe as him, but also gaining a load of nerves.

For real, though... Fuck! I couldn’t tell him what I was now. What if it pissed the guys off enough that they kicked me out of the band? Then, where would they be? They needed a drummer for next weekend. I couldn’t let them down. I couldn’t let
Asher
down. He looked so freaking adorable when he was excited like this.

And yes, damn it, I really wanted to play at that bar in Chicago, too.

So, yeah, I guess this meant Sticks, the dude drummer, was going to have to hang around just a little bit longer.

That call. That wonderful, amazing, life-changing phone call.

Ever since I’d gotten it, I’d been a bundle of anticipation and nerves. The whole thing reeked of Pick, however. I mean, seriously. Why would some big-time casino owner from Chicago be down here in Ellamore and inside the Forbidden Nightclub, of all places, to even hear us play? I had a feeling my new brother had pulled a few strings to get the guy into the building. And yep, when I’d straight up asked Pick about it, he’d suddenly turned too vague and busy to talk.

I wasn’t sure what to do about that. Just appreciate it and move on? Somehow try to repay him? Tell him to stop because I knew someday he’d regret helping me? I wasn’t sure, so I decided to not even think about it for now.

I concentrated on the positives...like the fact Non-Castrato had just been given the opportunity of a lifetime. Good things were about to happen, I could
feel
it, like some kind of adrenaline rush surging through my veins. It had my muse running wild with ideas for songs, and my chronic insomnia hitting a new high.

The afternoon after the call, I sat on the seat of an old exercise bike, scribbling lyrics in my notebook, and jiggling my knee to expend some of the extra energy still tweaking though me. I paused every few seconds to sing the words in my head, then I marked out a phrase here, or sometimes a whole line there that didn’t work, and I wrote in something new above or below it.

I’d just come up with a stanza that made my blood pump eagerly when someone called, “Knock, knock.”

Glancing up, I grinned at the new drummer. “Hey, man. You’re early again. That’s going to be a thing with you, isn’t it?”

Sticks shrugged as he strolled into the garage, carrying a restaurant’s takeout bag, which
shit
...smelled really good. “And here, I’ve yet to be earlier than you,” he noted.

“Touché,” I murmured, watching him plant himself on his drum set stool and open the bag, only to pull out a fried burrito-looking thing that made my mouth water, and reminded me it’d been too long since I’d last eaten.

I never remembered to eat or sleep when I was binge writing.

But when Sticks sank his teeth into the fried breading, I couldn’t handle it. “What the hell is that?” I demanded. “It smells amazing.”

Pausing mid-bite, Sticks lifted his eyebrows and glanced my way. Then he bit down, chewed a second and finally covered his hand over his mouth before saying, “Sorry. I had to come straight from work and was starving.”

“No.” I waved my hand. “I don’t care if you have to eat. Whatever. That’s totally fine. I meant, specifically what is
that
you’re eating?”

“Oh. It’s a chimichanga.” When I licked my lips, he arched an eyebrow and held it higher in my direction. “You want one? I have more in the bag.”

“Really?” I instantly came to my feet. “Fuck, yes, I want one.”

Smirking, Sticks pulled another chimichanga free and handed it over. I unwrapped it and took my first bite, barely thanking him before diving in, and that was that; I was a goner. We spent the next few minutes in silence, quietly inhaling our food before I could form a coherent word. Finally, I pointed at my mostly eaten chimichanga and announced with a full cheek, “This is good.”

“I know.” Sticks wiped his mouth with a napkin. “My family owns the restaurant. I grew up on this shit.”

“Lucky bastard.” I made a small whimper and closed my eyes as I downed the last little bite I had. Taking note of the name of the restaurant on the side of the bag, I decided I needed to go to Castañeda’s for a full meal someday soon.

“Seriously, I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing.” Sticks motioned to my abandoned notepad across the room.

I shrugged. “No worries. I’d just written down what I needed to. You got any other extra food in there you don’t want?”

With a chuckle, Sticks reached into the bag. “I have a couple empanadas.”

I had no idea what that was. But when he handed me one, my mouth watered. “You’re a goddamn saint.”

He watched me stuff my face a few seconds before he lifted his eyebrows and opened his mouth to say something. When he didn’t, I motioned for him to talk.

His shoulders fell a fraction before he cleared his throat. “You know the other day when you said I could go through all our songs...?” When I nodded, he cringed. “Is that offer still open?”

“Sure.” I dusted crumbs off my fingers and onto the thighs of my jeans, tempted to lick them clean. “The box is over there. I usually keep it here in the garage because it just seems easier that way. Less of a chance to misplace anything.”

Sticks nodded and sat his bag on the floor next to his stool. As he wandered toward the box, I returned to the bike and tried to come up with a line to complement the last few I’d written, but nothing seemed to measure up.

“Hey, there are a couple of receipts in here too,” Sticks spoke up suddenly, making me glance over to watch him frowning into my box.

“Yeah.” I waved my pen. “I put everything related to the band in there. Like a catchall. It’s simple and helps me keep track of where things are.”

“Really?” His eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Because I don’t know how you could find jack shit in here. This thing is a fucking mess.”

I had to laugh at the horror on his face. “Feel free to organize it however you like,” I said. “Just don’t lose anything.”

Sticks snorted. “You’re worried about
me
losing something? Increíble.”

“Oh, shut up, smart-ass.” I laughed and reread the last line, finally coming up with a new one.

Holden arrived then. It took Gally another five minutes to show, so while I continued to fiddle with my song, Sticks attempted to drag a conversation out of Holden while he stacked papers on the floor around the box, but he didn’t have any more luck than I’d ever had. Holden only answered him with a couple grunts and a nod or shake of the head.

Once everyone had arrived, I put my pen and paper down, and we spent a good half hour hashing out which songs we wanted to sing for the Chicago gig. For the new drummer’s benefit, I added “Hot for Teacher” to our list of cover songs since we didn’t have enough original compositions yet to last through a full show, and it reminded me of Noel, who’d hooked up with his college professor and married her.

Sticks hooted in pleasure when I mentioned that choice, which made me smile. No one really picked on the song choices I’d selected; it was the order in which I wanted to sing them that set Gally off into a tangent.

“Man, ‘Stone-Hearted’ is our biggest hit. We need to lead with that shit.”

“I disagree,” Sticks spoke up. “No concert I’ve ever been to started with their most popular song. It needs to wait until later, so people have time to show up and then make them stick around a bit waiting for it. About three-fourths of the way into the set is best.”

Which had been exactly where I’d placed it. I sent Sticks an appreciative smile, but Gally sniffed. “Shut up, queer. You don’t have a say in this.”

“
Hey
!” Glaring at the bass guitarist, I snapped, “Will you stop with the derogatory remarks already? And yes, he does too have a say. Sticks is just as much of a member of Non-Castrato as any of us are now.”

Gally sent us a round of dirty scowls, but at least he shut his trap before he moodily crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, “Whatever.”

“I think it needs to come later, too,” Holden finally said.

“Three against one,” I told Gally with maybe a bit too much glee.

“I said what the fuck ever,” he snapped. “But I think we should start with that Kongos song then. ‘Come with Me Now.’”

“Actually, we should probably start with an original,” Sticks argued.

I knew Gally was going to say something else totally uncalled for, and I was fully prepared to come down on him for it, but at the last second, he closed his mouth and smoothed up his Mohawk, which was green today. “Hell, why doesn’t
gay boy
here just decide everything?”

“Honestly,” I said. “I already had an order planned, and yeah, the first song I put down was ‘Ceilings.’”

Sending me two thumbs-up, Sticks mouthed,
Good one
.

I had to glance away to keep from grinning, which I had a feeling would send Gally into an even moodier pout. So I read off the complete list I’d planned. Everyone had their own input, so we tailored it until most everyone was happy. By the time we actually got to practicing any of the songs, I was so ready to drown myself in music I picked the most vocally challenging ones that forced me to put everything into my voice.

By the time we finished, my throat was a little sore from the workout, but I felt better than ever, achieving a high that only came when I sang.

“Shit, man,” Sticks said in awe. “You sure can belt out a melody when you want to.”

I grinned at him, amused with the way he’d phrased his compliment. “Not so shabby yourself, drummer boy. You weren’t lying when you said you did a good rendition of ‘Hot for Teacher.’”

“Oh, Jesus.” Gally groaned. “I’m leaving before you two start complimenting each other’s purses and hair ribbons. Go shopping at the mall together or something, and get it out of your system already. Fuck.”

With that, he flung his guitar strap over his shoulder and stomped from the garage.

“He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t get his way,” Holden said in his deep, quiet voice.

“That or it’s just his time of the month,” Sticks agreed.

I laughed. “Well, I think we have a decent list to play on Saturday, despite his mood.”

“We totally do.” Sticks stood and stretched his muscles. “We are so going to rock the fuck out of that club.” He returned to the box of music sheets and receipts, picking up where he’d left off in his self-appointed task of organizing.

I packed my guitar, and Holden did the same, waving us goodbye before silently slipping out the opened bay door.

Sticks glanced my way as I found a more comfortable place to sit than the bicycle seat and hiked my ass onto the top of an old scarred nightstand table.

He frowned. “You don’t have to stick around here just for me. I’ll close the door when I leave.”

“It’s fine. We have to pad-lock it too, and I haven’t gotten you a key yet. So, yeah, I kind of do have to stick around.”

“Oh.” He stood abruptly. “Shit, sorry. I can go then. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, really.” I waved him back down. “I’m in no hurry. I don’t have to be at work for another hour or so. And this...” I motioned to the notebook I was writing in. “I can do here just as easily as I can at home.”

He gingerly reseated himself on the floor where he’d been sitting with his legs crossed. “Well, if you don’t mind... I think I’ll finish organizing this shit then, or it’ll drive me batty.”

With a laugh, I waved him on. “Knock yourself out, man.”

So we worked in companionable silence for a while until he suddenly said, “All these songs are written in the same handwriting.”

“Yeah.” I glanced up curiously. “Was there a question in there?”

“No, I just...” Sticks looked down at the sheet music, then a couple other pages. Then he whipped his head up to gape at me. “Wait. Did you...?”

I arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

Finally, he blurted, “How many of the songs for Non-Castrato did
you
write personally?”

I cocked my head to the side, confused. “All of them. Why?”

“All....
all
of them?” he squawked. “Get out. Even ‘Ceilings’?”

Unable to help myself, I grinned. “Yeah. Why? You like that one, don’t you?” I knew he did. It was the only one he ever requested.

“I
love
it,” he gushed. “I can’t believe you wrote that.”

“Yeah, I could tell it was your favorite. What makes you like it so much?”

Sticks lifted a hand as if to wipe hair out of his eyes, when there wasn’t any hair in his face. “I don’t know...” The move made me crinkle my eyebrows because I’d seen Caroline do that to her hair many times. Made me wonder if he’d recently had long hair. “It reminds me of my mom, I guess,” he finally answered.