The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men 7)

And Heath...yeah, Heath didn’t give an explanation. He just shook his head yes or no. Maybe he was going on gut feeling alone. Who knew? It was hard to tell with him.

I had to admit, no one had impressed me enough to flip up my skirt either, but there’d been a handful I would’ve settled for, if my two fucking bandmates hadn’t immediately nixed them.

I was beginning to think this little democracy thing we had going was the worst idea ever when Gally flopped into a chair and groaned as he smoothed his hands up either side of his Mohawk—which he’d dyed orange this week—as if to make sure it was still in place.

“This fucking sucks. I say we call it quits for the day.”

Yes. That was about the only thing I could agree with right now. I motioned toward Heath. “Clear’em out.”

As Heath pulled the strap of his guitar over his head and set his baby down before heading for the door, I unhooked myself from my Taylor and rolled my shoulders to ease knotted muscle. We hadn’t had a break in hours, and I could feel it.

“Reconvene here at eight?” I asked the guys when Heath returned from sending all the applicants in the hall away.

“Re-what?” Gally asked, sending me a confused scowl with his mouth fallen open and eyes squinted.

I refrained from the long, tired sigh caught in my chest. “Meet,” I said. “Do you guys want to meet back here at eight...in the morning?”

Gally shook his head. “Why the fuck didn’t you just say that the first time?”

Oh my God, I really needed to get out of here.

This time, I did sigh. After cupping the back of my neck in both hands, to hopefully keep all the veins in it from exploding, I ground out, “See you in the morning.”

I zipped my guitar into its case, flung the strap over my shoulder so the Taylor rested against my back, and hurried for the exit.

I’d never really connected with anyone in the band before. After working a night shift alongside Heath for over two years as a package handler at a local shipping warehouse, I’d finally coaxed out of him during a break one night that he liked to play guitar. When I suggested we hang out and jam some time, he hadn’t said no.

Starting an actual band had been about the furthest thing from my mind at that point. But Heath’s cousin’s boyfriend at the time—aka Billy Galloway—had heard us play one night and he’d butted his way into our sessions, saying he knew a drummer, and so...our garage days had begun.

Friends would stop by to listen to us. It still hadn’t occurred to me to start an actual band until one of Gally’s many women had told us we would be famous someday. From that point on, all Gally and Rock could talk about was getting bigger.

Since neither of them had the wherewithal to actually do anything about it, I’d dug into the research scene and figured out what we needed to do to start.

The naming thing had taken us over a week. That had almost been a bigger headache to survive than finding a new drummer. But we’d finally been able to settle on Non-Castrato. Next was finding a place to perform. After striking out at nightclubs that were well known for taking on new talent and giving them a chance to show their stuff, I took a leap of faith and contacted the newbie owner of Forbidden. The place had never had anything above jukebox music in its bar before, but I’d already been batting zero. I had nothing to lose by simply asking.

After cornering Pick Ryan in his office, I’d blurted out my request, and I have no idea why—I must’ve caught the guy on a good day or something—but he’d agreed to let us play in his club. It might’ve had something to do with me saying we’d play for free and that I’d come to work for him as a bartender since that’s what he’d needed at the time, but whatever. He’d agreed!

So I found myself quitting the package handling job to work for Pick and starting this music venture with basically three strangers. I hadn’t regretted it once, though, not through any of the long hours or headaches or pretty much having to set up all the gigs and create any original song we sang. It was a challenge I loved and a place I knew I belonged as soon as I’d stepped into the position.

But yeah, sometimes I thought it would’ve been nice if we all understood each other a little better, or if my bandmates actually knew what half the words I said meant. I guess we didn’t need to be tight to make a group, however. There was no reason for me to be whiny and wistful. I was probably just one of those people who simply wasn’t meant to have a great meeting of the minds with others.

Besides, tomorrow was a fresh, new day. I assured myself we’d finally find a fourth band member to agree on and my current frustrations would be moot.

As I pushed out of the studio and into the cool November evening, however, I felt restless. Unsatisfied. Because I still wished I had...fuck, I’m not even sure. Maybe a friend. Just one person I could hang out with and do shit with, or maybe not even do anything with. Just someone to be there, to help me get out of my own head for a while. A lifeline of sorts.

I’d told myself for years that I wasn’t lonely. But screw it, I was lonely.

And oddly enough, this past year that I’d worked at Forbidden and made more casual friends than I’d ever had before, I was realizing just how utterly alone I was.

Or maybe I was just in a mood because I was still letting what that girl had said earlier bother me. But, dammit, we were not a cliché. I’d worked hard to be my own kind of person and write songs that were different from everything else out there. Why had she gone and said the one thing that would bug me the most? Now her words were going to fester until they drove me crazy.

And what was up with calling me a man-whore? Was she for real? She didn’t know me. She didn’t know how I interacted with women, or that it’d been months since I’d last had sex. It itched at my craw that she would so easily label me like that.

But then, I tried to tell myself she’d been upset, for which I totally didn’t blame her. Gally should’ve let her audition (yet another reason I was irritated with him). So maybe it’d only been her anger talking.

Okay, fine...the truth was I was stewing because I was mad at myself. I could’ve forced the issue and let her audition, except damn...she’d affected me. Instantly.

As soon as she’d walked in the door with her long, tan legs