The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men 7)

Since the douchebag bassist was the only one bothering to talk to me, I focused my attention back on Galloway. “Is this some kind of joke?” Though I wasn’t amused, I let out a harsh laugh. “You haven’t even heard me play yet.”

“Don’t have to. You’re a chick.”

I lifted my hands in a what-the-hell manner. “Wow. Congratulations. Not many people get that right on the first guess. But, yes, I am female. So what?”

“So, we don’t want a girl in our band. We’re called Non-Castrato for a reason, honey. Because we all have dicks.”

Like I cared about any of their icky dicks! These days, all dicks sucked. To me, they could go choke on...well, themselves.

Besides, castrato would’ve meant they didn’t have balls, not dicks. Idiota. Except I didn’t tell Galloway that because I was too confused.

“But I’m great,” I argued. “I’m freaking amazing.”

Hart cocked a glance my way, lifting an eyebrow as if surprised to hear such glorious self-praise.

But Galloway only shrugged, totally not giving a shit. “Then go join an all-girl band.”

My mouth fell open. This wasn’t happening. It just...it couldn’t be happening. Here was a real, reachable chance to grasp my life’s dream, and some scrawny jerk-off bassist was telling me no because of my ovaries?

No fucking way.

“I don’t want to join an all-girl band,” I argued, clenching my teeth as I glowered.

Actually, if there were any kick-ass all-girl bands within a two-hundred-mile radius, looking for a drummer, I might’ve been knocking down their doors for a position. But there weren’t. Besides, I wanted to be in Non-Castrato. Their music was my kind of music. Plus they needed a drummer, and I happened to be the best damn drummer I knew. And I wanted to show Fisher my band could out-rock his sucky, limp-dick excuse of a band any day of the week.

Joining Non-Castrato was the perfect solution for everyone.

The only solution.

If only these fools would open their stupid, sexist, pig headed minds to see that.

“Okay, fine,” Galloway said with a self-righteous, holier-than-thou grin. “Name me one mixed-gender band that hit it big, and maybe we’ll give you a shot.”

I smirked. Game on.

“Black Eyed Peas.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, not impressed as he sniffed derisively. “Those are all singers. They don’t play instruments, princess. They’re not a band.”

“All right then.” I blew out a breath to flutter the spiky white-blonde wig bangs out of my eyes and began to rattle off a new list. “Fleetwood Mac, Blondie, Jefferson Airplane, The—”

Galloway gave another snort, cutting me off. “Yeah, and the only things the chicks in those bands did was sing. We got Hart; we don’t need another fucking singer.”

“Talking Heads,” I lifted my voice to speak over him. “Of which the chick was the bass guitarist, I believe.” I spiked a derogatory glance to the bass guitar strapped over his shoulder. “And so was the bassist in The Smashing Pumpkins and—”

“None of which were drummers.” Galloway held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “The fact of the matter is, we don’t want a female. And it’s our band. Our decision. So bye-bye now, sweetie. When I need a groupie to go down on me in the bathroom after a gig, I’ll give you a call.”

I narrowed my eyes at him only to turn toward the other silent members. “Are you two lemmings just going to stand there and let this douche make all your decisions for you? Is he, like, your dictator or something?” Heavy on the dick.

“Look, I’d listen to you,” Asher Hart finally spoke up. Dark green, penetrating eyes lifted to coast over my outfit before settling back on my face. When I only narrowed my eyes, he lifted his hands self-defensively. “Honest. But we’re picking our drummer by a unanimous vote, and you already don’t have that.” He glanced at Galloway with an irritated scowl. “Doesn’t look like you’re going to get it, either, whether he hears you play or not.”

“Nope,” Galloway said, popping the p-sound as he sent me a smug wink.

Tears threatened, but I swallowed them down as I licked my lips. With Galloway, I’d only been pissed by his foul-mouthed rejection. But for some reason, Hart’s sympathetic explanation split me in half and left me bleeding.

After a deep breath, I tried one last time. “Fine, then, Billy.” I focused all my attention on him since apparently he was the only guy I had to sway. “All I’m asking for is one shot. If you don’t like my work after that, you can tell me to kiss your ass.”

Galloway snickered. “I’d rather you kiss my dick. And maybe deep throat it a little. Hell, honey, I’m willing to give you a taste now, if you’re thirsty.” He reached for his fly but Hart sharply told him to cut it out.