The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men 7)

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—

When Sticks said something about how amazed he was by the lack of split ends, I jumped in surprise, suddenly remembering he was the one touching me.

“You about done?” I asked, moodily shifting my weight around on the closed toilet lid.

His hands in my hair suddenly felt way too personal. Even the women I slept with didn’t play with my hair this much. They’d been known to grip it when they were coming, but after that, it was no use to them. I wasn’t too sure how to deal with Remy being so familiar with it. And I’d never in a million years admit I liked how it felt when he messed with it.

“Geez, impatient much?” He pulled his hands free, and I almost whimpered from the loss of his touch. After picking up the comb, he did a little swishy thing here and there and then stepped back. “There. Perfection.” Grinning proudly, he motioned toward the mirror. “What do you think?”

I stood and checked out my reflection. He’d fashioned it all to flare up and off to one side in a somewhat messy fashion, but it was like a controlled kind of chaos. I looked like a freaking rock star. But then, I guess that was the idea. “It’s...”

“Sexy as hell,” Remy confirmed, earning a glower from me. But he shrugged, nonplussed. “Yeah, you thought you had a lot of women crawling all over you before. Just wait until tonight, boy. That beautiful mess is going to bring all the girls to the yard.”

I laughed, but the mention of women made me think of sex again.

It reminded me how long it’d been since I’d gotten laid, and a pulsing heat spread through my dick. Then my mind went into über caveman mode, thinking of nothing but pussy. And thrusting.

Damn. This was getting bad. I really needed to do something about this.

Grunting out something—I’m not even sure what—I escaped the bathroom and gathered up my wallet and keys. “I’m going to scout out the area, find out how close we are to the club. Then it’ll probably be about time to head out. Bathroom’s all yours, man.”

He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb, watching me. When all he said was, “Okay,” a strange unease claimed me, as if I should do more, or know more, or hell, I don’t even know. I just didn’t feel right. So I ran. “Thanks again for...you know.” I motioned to my hair and hurried out the door.

I stayed away longer than I probably should have, but at least I learned the lay of the land, and when I returned to gather up the band, I was able to drive us straight to our destination without getting lost.

With Gally’s jabbering and Holden’s loud silence, the weirdness I’d experienced earlier with Sticks dissipated, and I was able to think about the actual gig. While we waited backstage for our time to start—because this place actually had a backstage—Sticks cracked his neck and hopped on the balls of his feet, as if preparing for a race or something.

I shook my head and grinned. “What the hell are you doing?”

He only shrugged. “Loosening up.” Then he rolled his shoulders and kicked out each leg before shaking it. “You have no idea how stiff I get after sitting on that stool for so long.”

Made sense, so I turned away, and sucked in a breath when the coordinator waved us forward. “We’re up,” I announced to the guys and led the way onto the stage, where a crew had already set up our equipment.

I exhaled a rush when I saw the crowd. This place wasn’t as packed as Forbidden usually was, but it was easily four times the size, meaning it held at least twice as many people. It was dark out on the floor with about four blue spotlights flaring down on where we were each supposed to stand, already heating the back of my neck.

I jogged to my place, slipped on my Taylor, and reached for the mike, glancing around me to make sure the others were ready. When Remy nodded, I gave him the signal to begin before we even introduced ourselves.

I finally did a little talking two songs later, telling the crowd a little about who we were, where we were from, and where they could find more information about us. By this point, we’d riled them up with our music, and they were more responsive, cheering when I introduced each member.

And then we were playing again, rocking each song. I thought we were going to have a problem when Holden experienced a smidgeon of stage fright and missed a lick on the guitar. But Remy kept the beat steady the entire time, and it was easy for Heath to pick right back up with us.

Relieved, I sang a little stronger to make up for it, and no one seemed to notice. They cheered us on, and danced, and seemed to have fun.

By the time we finished, I was drenched in sweat but riding an adrenaline high that felt freaking incredible. The owner—yeah, the actual owner—met us behind the stage to invite us back again in a month, and I only had to glance at my bandmates for them to agree, so I bobbed my head yes.

After that, we were given coupons for discounted drinks at the bar, and I think all four of us were too wired to crash yet, so we took them and headed out into the club.

Gally immediately disappeared, on the search for a one-night stand, but Holden, Sticks and I found a free table to park ourselves. It took a few minutes for people to recognize us, but soon a trio of carbon copy blondes were gathered at our table, one particularly bold as she slid right up onto my knee and perched herself there to tell me how much she’d liked watching us.