The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men 7)

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.