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

by Linda Kage

  “Me?” The hair on the back of my neck immediately stood on end.

  Pick nodded. “You were at my wedding reception, in a tux, over by the sound system at Forbidden, exactly how you have the stage and everything set up now. That’s why I didn’t turn you away when you showed up that first day, asking about playing there. I’d seen you before. I knew you had to stick around long enough to be at my wedding.”

  “Shit,” I said, stunned by everything he’d just told me.

  “Oh, and by the way, the first song Eva and I have to dance to is ‘Baby Love.’ Don’t forget that.”

  “Shit,” I said again.

  He grinned. “Too much to take in all at once?”

  I shook my head but said, “A little bit, yeah.” Then I turned fully in my seat to gape at him. “You’re not shitting me, are you?”

  He shook his head. “Not even at all.”

  “Huh.” I tapped my fingers against my bottom lip to the rhythm of “Baby Love,” because now that song was stuck in my head. “So, let me get this straight. You’re searching for that backyard you saw in your vision during all these house hunting trips?”

  When he nodded, I snorted. “Well, that’s just stupid.”

  “Excuse me?” He shot me a surprised scowl right before he pulled down the alley to my place and stopped in front of my door.

  I only shrugged, not apologizing. “The way I see it, you already have the best parts of the dream. The woman and the kids, right?”

  “Right,” he said slowly.

  “So, why don’t you just enjoy them and let the rest of it fall into place on its own. Stop trying to force shit to come true, because hell…someone else could still be living in your dream home. It could be years before it even becomes available for sale. Why torture yourself—and Eva—with turning everything else down and upsetting her in the process, when you could just be enjoying the best parts together, right now?”

  Pick was thoughtfully quiet before he murmured, “Good point.” Then he glanced at me and grinned. “It’d sure make Tinker Bell a lot happier if she actually felt as if she had a say-so in deciding where we lived.”

  “Then…there you go.”

  “Damn.” He huffed out a small laugh. “Why didn’t I think about it that way?”

  “I guess you just needed your little brother around to slap some sense into you.”

  He grinned, genuinely pleased by my answer. “So you’re finally ready to admit we’re related, huh?”

  I glanced out the window toward the rusted metal door that led down to my apartment. “I suppose I should, since I’m going to be the best man in your wedding, and all.”

  When I risked a glance his way, he beamed at me and reached out to ruffle my hair, like he was some kind of older brother.

  I kind of wanted to hang out with him some more, but it felt too risky, like something bad would happen if I stuck around him too long, and I’d lose him, so I mumbled, “See you around,” as I opened the door.

  But Pick grabbed my arm. “Hey, wait.”

  I glanced back at him.

  He turned his attention to my front door as well, but his gaze seemed to linger on the three deadbolts keeping it shut. “You haven’t heard from your father again since last night, have you?”

  I groaned. “Jesus, you sound like Sticks. No, he never showed up here, and I never saw him at the bar after you left.”

  “Good.” Then he used his teeth to play with his bottom lip ring. “What’s up between you and your new drummer anyway?”

  That question caught me totally off guard. “Nothing. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. You two just seem awfully close for just meeting.”

  I blinked, not sure what he was leading his questions toward. Slowly, I said, “Yeah, I guess. I like him. He’s funny, has good taste in music, and can play the shit out of the drums.” And he had an uncanny way of making me tell him all my personal drama. Plus I felt a strange connection to him.

  “I think he likes you, too,” Pick murmured. “A lot.”

  I began to snort and deny his claim, but then I shrugged. “I don’t know. He is gay; I guess it’s possible.”

  “Huh. Maybe that’s it. He’s just gay.”

  I frowned, confused. “What do you mean? You don’t like him?”

  “Yeah, I do. He seemed fine. There was just something…different about him.”

  I straightened, almost defensive of my new friend. “Different how?”

  “I don’t know,” Pick answered with his own confused frown. “There was just something about him when I was talking with him last night that made me want to treat him like he was…a woman.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I’m guessing that’s the gay thing. I’m not sure.”

  “So you’ve noticed his little effeminate qualities too? Damn, we must be related then.”

  Grinning, I opened my door wide. “Leave my poor drummer alone. He can be whatever the fuck he wants to be. I still think he’s cool as hell.”

  “I did have fun talking to him.” He leaned toward me as I stepped out of the car and called, “And just so you know, if he ends up turning you toward men, I’ll still proudly claim you as my brother.”

  “Oh…fuck you, man.” I slammed the door on him but still had to chuckle and shake my head as I turned away and unlocked my door.

  But really. Couldn’t a heterosexual man just be friends with a homosexual man without everyone assuming shit?

  I couldn’t calm my nerves. It was Saturday, we were in Chicago, and we’d be playing in hours—mere hours—in front of a new crowd of listeners, a larger venue, pickier fans who were used to having bigger named bands in their club. And we were getting paid ten times the usual amount.

  It was as if we were actually on our way to somewhere!

  Asher had rented a van to take the four of us together plus all our equipment, my drum set taking up the most room. It was cramped, and stunk to high heaven—because Heath had a serious gas problem—when we alighted in the city, four hours after being trapped in one vehicle together. I gasped for air as soon as I pushed out the side-sliding back door. But God, as soon as I got into my room at the hotel where we were planning on staying the night before heading back first thing in the morning, I was taking off this mask and fake chest and lying naked on my bed to just…air out.

  Behind me, Gally and Heath began to unload their luggage while Asher headed for the front desk to secure our rooms. I stole another moment for myself, glad I didn’t have to listen to Gally degrade women anymore while he bragged about how much pussy he got, or smell any more of Heath’s dirty sock farts.

  But Gally just had to go and holler, “Sticks, get your shit already. I’m not hauling your gay-ass luggage around for you.”

  I spun to glare at him; my luggage was a plain, boring black. Dios, he was such an ass. But I tromped back to the van, anyway, because I didn’t want his disgusting hands anywhere near my things.

  “Sorry, guys,” Asher announced as he rejoined us, flashing two key cards. “Looks like we’re doubling up tonight.”

  My stomach immediately began to swirl. “Say what?”

  I’d made it explicitly clear I’d wanted my own room; I didn’t care how much extra it cost me.

  But holy shit, this couldn’t seriously be happening. How the hell was I supposed to take my mask off to sleep? Panic clawed at my throat.

  “Wha…wha…why are we doing that?”

  Asher sent me a small cringe of apology. “We’re too close to Soldier Field, and apparently the Bears have a home football game tomorrow. I got us the last two rooms available.”

  I scowled. Stupid Bears. Stupid football. Why, why, why would they do this to me? I was counting on having my own damn room.

  Asher tossed a piece of plastic at Gally. “You and Sticks can take 5B. Holden and I will be in—”

  “Oh, fuck, no,” Gally exploded. “You’re not bunking me with the queer. What if he crawls into bed with me in the middle of the night a
nd tries to get kinky?”

  I snorted. “As if that would ever happen.”

  “He’ll see me change,” Gally whined to Asher, completely ignoring me. “And I sleep naked. I don’t want Sticks seeing me naked.”

  Him and me both. Now, I was turning toward Asher, my eyes begging. “Please, God, do not stick me with him.”

  “Fine.” Asher rolled his eyes big enough to encompass Gally and me together. “You take Heath then. Sticks can room with me.”

  Oh, Dios, what?

  Me room with Asher Hart?

  No! In its own way, that was worse.

  I actually wanted to see him naked. Crap, what if I saw him naked? Then I probably would try to crawl into bed with him in the middle of the night to get kinky.

  I felt a little sick to my stomach with worry.

  But seriously, how the hell was I going to hide the fact I was a girl from someone sharing a room with me?

  Oh, fuck. How was I supposed to take off my mask at all during this trip?

  “There’s two beds, right?”

  Asher sent me a dry look. “Yeah.”

  I almost passed out from the relief of that answer, but I managed a much more contained nod. “Cool.”

  So we unloaded our overnight bags from the van, left the instruments inside, and while Heath and Gally wandered off to find 5B, Asher and I stayed on the ground level, looking for 1D. I trudged along after him, rolling my suitcase behind me while he only toted a small duffle bag over his shoulder.

  My mind raced as I kept thinking up ways my identity could possibly be revealed. Thank Dios it wasn’t that time of the month; I wouldn’t have any feminine hygiene products lying around. I’d even gone out and bought all new manly toiletries so I could play the part. But still, it’d take only one peek inside my luggage to see my girly thong or spare mask Jodi had made me, in case this one had a costume malfunction.

  I wasn’t sure how Asher or the other two would react when they found out, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to risk it happening while I was trapped with them in Chicago.

  Trying not to worry or think about that, I said, “I’m sorry you got stuck with the gay guy.”

  Asher’s back was to me as he unlocked the door to our room. Holy shit, I couldn’t believe I was going to share a hotel room with Asher Hart.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He glanced over his shoulder to grin at me. “What Gally doesn’t know is I’ve seen Heath fall asleep on breaks when we used to work together. He snores like a freaking freight train.”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “Burn.”

  He flung the door open and entered ahead of me. “Do you have a preference of beds?”

  And now I was talking about beds with Asher Hart.

  Unreal.

  “Uh…no. Whatever.” I’d be totally fine with just sharing, I didn’t say aloud.

  He flung his bag onto the bed nearest the door and immediate toed off his shoes. I rolled my case to the end of the bed closest to the bathroom and ducked my head inside to see how much room was in there, because apparently, this might be the only space I’d get to peel off Sticks for a couple minutes and actually breathe.

  It was small but clean, so I guessed it’d have to do.

  When I exited, Asher was shedding his shirt and flinging it onto his bed.

  My mouth went dry. Seriously, for such a slim guy, he knew how to pack a few awesome muscles into his lean frame. Then he reached for his fly, and my eyes almost bugged from my head.

  “Wha…wha…whatcha doing?” I managed to ask.

  He shimmied his jeans down his legs until he was in nothing but boxer shorts. “I’d rather not smell like Holden’s ass for the rest of the night so I’m taking a quick shower.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he unzipped his duffle and fished around inside, keeping his boxer shorts on. I should probably look away or do something productive like… I don’t know. But I really needed to stop gawking.

  Not that I did that either.

  I just kept right on staring…and probably drooling.

  “Damn,” Asher muttered suddenly. “I forgot to pack my bathroom shit.” He glanced up. “Hey, did you bring any toiletries? I hate those little bars of soap they leave. It’s like they only provide enough to clean your big toe.”

  It took me a second to actually return to reality and the conversation at hand, and then I blinked. “You forgot everything? How can you forget all your freaking toiletries?”

  As I hauled my luggage onto my bed and opened it, easing my hand inside and afraid of what I might’ve left sitting on top, Asher snorted. “How can you remember all of them?”

  Extracting my very manly cosmetic bag, I flung it toward him, where he caught it effortlessly. “It’s not that difficult.”

  He opened my tote and whistled. “Jesus, you really did remember everything, too. What the hell is all this for?”

  Offended by his question, I scowled. “What do you mean? I only brought what I needed.”

  “Really?” Arching one eyebrow, he lifted a bottle. “You need this? I don’t even know what it is?”

  “It’s gel. You know, to style your hair.”

  “Right.” He shoved it back into the tote, only to fish out a comb, soap, shampoo, and aerosol deodorant. “This is all you need, man. And a razor if you’re going to be gone a while.”

  With a sniff, I rolled my eyes. “Such a caveman.”

  He laughed. “Shut up.” With a grin, he flung my bag at me. Unprepared, I fumbled to catch it against my chest.

  “I’m taking a shower,” he announced as he strolled into the bathroom with my things. “Thanks for letting me borrow your shit. I owe you one.”

  “Uh-huh,” I murmured, distracted as I glanced into my cosmetics bag. “Wait! Don’t you want the conditioner?” Pulling it out, I held it up for him to see.

  He paused and glanced back, scowling. “I thought only women used that.”

  “Oh, gee, would you read this here little label? It says conditioner for men.”

  “Yeah, but only—” He broke off suddenly, as if he knew he was about to say something offensive.

  “Only what?” I asked, lifting my brows. “Go ahead and finish that sentence. Only gay guys use it?”

  He scowled. “That’s…not what I was going to say.”

  I sent him a look, letting him know I knew better, and he frowned harder.

  Then I sighed. “I seriously can’t believe you don’t condition your hair.” It looked so soft and shiny, as if it was properly taken care of. “With those blond highlights, you must have split ends galore. It’s just…what a sad state of affairs is all I can say. And I bet your roots—”

  “Oh, brother.” He reached out a hand. “Toss me the fucking conditioner.”

  I did, smiling smugly for some reason. “And when you’re done, I’ll use the gel on you and show you how to probably style that gorgeous mane of yours.”

  He froze, staring at me, only his eyelashes moving as he blinked. “You…want to style my hair?”

  “What?” I asked innocently. “I’m gay, remember?”

  A small smile cracked his lips and his shoulders relaxed an inch. “You’re fucking with me right now, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.” With a wink, I blew a kiss at him. “How could I resist?”

  “Jesus.” Shaking his head and chuckling softly under his breath, he began to close himself inside his bathroom as he said, “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  As the latch clicked shut, a broad smile swept across my face. That had been kind of fun.

  Note to self: verbally joust with Asher Hart as often as possible.

  Sure, he’d treated me like a guy the entire time, but this giddy little bubble inside me kept floating higher and higher in my chest.

  Despite his forgetfulness and complete lack of organizational skills, Asher was a cool guy. Not once on the ride up here had he done anything to annoy me, quite unlike the other two, who thank G
od, I was actually relieved I didn’t have to room with. And he had my sense of humor. No one had my sense of humor.

  This was just…awesome.

  The water in the shower kicked on, and my grin died a sudden death. All I could picture was him…naked and wet, slicking the very soap I’d bought onto parts I’d never get to see…or touch. I wanted to be his hands so bad right now, smoothing their way up his muscled abs, or soaping his hair. Damn. This wasn’t awesome at all. He was torturing me without even knowing it.

  Asher Hart didn’t need some fancy seduction to draw a woman in. He just had to be himself for me to want him. Bad.

  I ended up letting Remy style my hair. I have no idea why; I knew he’d just been joking about that. But it’d been fun to tease around with him, and I needed a distraction, because truth be told, I was a little nervous about tonight.

  Performing at Forbidden had become comfortable and predictable. I loved it, but I knew if we were ever going to grow, we needed to branch out. So…here was to new-and-terrifying experiments.

  Gel-styled hair included.

  Sticks jabbered the whole time, altering his voice to sound like one of those flaming hairstylists from old eighties movies and making his wrist limp when he flung out a hand. “Don’t you worry, darling, we’ll make you look just marvelous.”

  “Shut up, asshole.” I punched at his knee, though he jumped back in time, dodging me. “Just do your thing.”

  So he’d gooped his hand with that gel crap and sunk all ten fingers into my hair.

  I closed my eyes and tried not to enjoy it too much. But…fuck. For someone who wasn’t raised by the touchy-feely kind of parents and then by an uncle who was the exact same way, even the slightest human contact was like complete carnal awareness for me. And he really had to torture me by working slowly, gently tugging at my scalp with these rhythmic pulls that forced me to swallow down a moan of delight.

  It reminded me I hadn’t really been touched, aside from friendly jostles or pats on the shoulders from friends, in months. It made me crave sex, body against body, hands and lips caressing, mouths full of breasts and fingers buried deep in tight, wet—