The Girl's Got Secrets

by Linda Kage

  “Oh, Jesus,” Asher muttered.

  Ten lifted an eyebrow and challenged him with a look. “What? Caroline can’t keep her hands off it. Or her mouth. Her pussy loves it too.” Then he finally narrowed his attention back on me. “And you...don’t even get near it, gay boy.”

  Finally getting the response I’d been seeking, I grinned and winked at him.

  He frowned even harder. But a split second later, a new grin broke across his face. Nudging my arm, he coaxed, “You think I’m hotter than Hart, don’t you? Come on, you can admit it.”

  “Ehh...” Not that I wanted Asher to know just how attracted to him I was, but I kind of gave myself away with the incredulous look I sent Ten. So, since I’d already screwed myself, I just went with it and mildly answered, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  It wasn’t my intention to make Asher uncomfortable, but I just couldn’t lie about this. Too afraid to glance his way and check his expression, I focused my scowl on Ten for putting me in this position.

  “Oh, whatever. I have a way better ass than he does.” He turned to let me see his backside.

  I looked. I mean, how could I not? A hot guy was purposely showing me his tush bundled up in a pair of jeans, and yeah, he definitely had it going on back there. But even with the nice curvature Ten provided, there was just something about Asher’s cute, tight little buns of steel, framed within his narrow hips, that appealed to me more.

  So I said, “No. You really don’t.”

  Ten scowled. “Oh, whatever. You suck.”

  Next to me, Asher roared with laughter. It was one of those open-bodied laughs where a guy had to tip his head back to let all the sound out. Beyond relieved that he wasn’t bothered by the things I’d just said about him, I grinned his way.

  He smiled back and tapped me on the arm. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys. Don’t worry, they aren’t quite so...Ten.”

  “Which means they’re lame,” Ten called as he hopped back behind the bar and turned to a customer waiting for service.

  Asher and I weaved our way to the other end of the bar where a group of couples were gathered, Caroline—who I hated a lot less now that I knew she wasn’t Asher’s girlfriend—included.

  “Guys.” He waved his hand, gaining the attention of about half a dozen people. “This is Sticks, the new drummer. I thought I’d introduce all new band members to you from now on, in case he turned out to be related to anyone.”

  I glanced at him for that odd comment, but it made the others laugh.

  And the finger-pointing began. “That’s Mason and Reese. Mason also works here, but it’s his night off. Same thing with Knox right there. And that lovely thing at his side is Felicity, who is a waitress here. Caroline, you’ve already met. We’re missing three more of the ladies, Eva, Zoey, and Aspen, because they opted to stay home with kiddos this evening. But I think Pick is around somewhere...”

  He glanced toward the opening of the back hall before a voice spoke from our left, saying, “Right here.”

  Asher and I both whirled that way, and I found a hot man smiling at me with a pierced lip and eyebrow ring.

  “Sticks, this is Pick, my...” Asher fumbled a second and grabbed at a piece of his hair as if suddenly uncomfortable. But then he finished, “The, uh, the owner of Forbidden.”

  A brief flash of disappointment flickered across Pick’s face before he forced his smile to return.

  I held my hand out to him, saying, “Nice to meet you. Awesome place you’ve got here.”

  I’m not sure why I shook with him and none of the others, maybe because he was Asher’s boss, maybe because he seemed to give me more attention than the others had, or something in the way Asher reacted to him, but it felt as if he needed more...I don’t know, notice? Respect?

  Something stiff and uncomfortable emanated from Asher as Pick thanked me and told me I’d done well on stage. Then Asher was tapping on my arm to pull my attention from his boss. “And this guy is Noel. The other bartender working over there is Quinn, who you sort of met earlier.”

  Torn from Pick, I nodded at Noel, who nodded right back. Quinn was at the very other end of the bar in front of a blender making what looked like, oh God...a piña colada. I would die for one of those right about now. Then Quinn went and put a little umbrella in it, along with a pineapple wedge and cherry, and I nearly whimpered.

  Piña coladas were my vice.

  I was about to go all Jimmy Buffett and start singing about making love at midnight and getting caught in the rain, when Asher told Noel, “Hey, man. Get me an Angry Orchard, will you?” And I suddenly remembered, crap, if I was going to drink anything, it couldn’t be a girly mixed drink like piña coladas.

  Could it?

  No, probably not.

  “We’re out,” Noel called back as he filled a pitcher with Miller Lite at the tap.

  Asher scowled. “Are we really out, or are you just messing with me?”

  “There’s none behind the counter. If you want to go back to the stockroom and see if you can dig up a fresh case of warm ones, be my guest.”

  “Sure, I can do that.” Asher turned his gaze my way. “Hey, Remy. You want one?”

  I’d never tried the brand before, and I wasn’t a fan of malt liquor, but I couldn’t go drinking a piña colada, and no way could I say no to him for some odd reason, so I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Remy?” Ten repeated with a frown as Asher strolled off. I jumped, surprised he’d appeared out of nowhere on the other side of the counter. Whirling to him, I dragged my stare from Asher’s perfect ass and into Ten’s hazel eyes. “Hmm? Sorry, what?”

  He frowned at me, turned his attention to a departing Asher, and then came back to me. “He just called you Remy.”

  “Yeah...” I said slowly. “Probably because that’s my name.”

  Just as I said that, Jodi reached my side and slung her arm over my shoulder. “Hey, puta. What’d you order me?”

  “Well, well, well,” Ten murmured knowingly. “If it isn’t Jodi.”

  Jodi whirled to him, her gaze immediately heating with interest. “Oh! Hey, Ten,” she purred in her most seductive voice.

  Unease stirred through my stomach, but fudge nuggets. If Jodi knew Ten, they’d probably slept together. Shit.

  I motioned my finger between the two of them. “You two...know each other?”

  As I silently begged them both to say no, Jodi licked her lips and skimmed her gaze down Ten’s tight black shirt. “Not as well as I would’ve liked to.”

  Ten’s eyes narrowed slightly. “As well as you’re ever going to, you mean. I’m married now.”

  Jodi’s smile spread slowly. “Hey, that’s fine. I don’t mind if the wife watches.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “I’m actually better when I put on a show.”

  “Okay, down girl.” I grabbed her arm and yanked her backward, away from the married bartender. “Try to keep your hands off friends of my new bandmates, especially the married ones, please.”

  She sniffed out a sound and scowled at me. “Speaking of bandmates, that bastard Billy Galloway refuses to give me my panties back.”

  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 l
ifted 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 addic
ted 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?”