The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)

by Linda Kage

  I sighed, feeling like an idiot for confessing that to him in the first place. “I’m fine. It’s okay. I have a hand; it knows my cock well.”

  That answer seemed to stun him. “Look.” I sighed, deciding to get real. “I just…I have a feeling it’d…bother you if I went home with a woman tonight. And you’re my friend. I don’t want to upset you by flaunting some chick in your face.”

  There. I’d said it.

  And boy had saying it gotten me a reaction.

  Remy jerked backward, his eyes flying open and mouth gaping wide. He shook his head for a second before sputtering. “Excuse me? What do you mean by bother me?”

  He sounded so affronted I immediately realized I’d fucked up. “Shit.” I lifted my hands, trying to restore the peace. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It sounded a lot less arrogant in my own head.”

  “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered, gawking at me as if I’d called him a liar and a cheat. “You seriously think I want you for myself, don’t you? Well, fuck you, man. I don’t care if you take home ten women tonight. Fuck whomever you like. I don’t give a shit.”

  He started to turn away, but I grabbed his arm. “Hey. Shit. I’m sorry. Seriously, Rem.” I lifted my hands again. “I’m sorry. I don’t…I was being an idiot.”

  He stared at me a full five seconds before muttering something in Spanish and then scrubbing his hands over his face. After lowering his hands to eye me wearily, he muttered, “Damn it. You’re right, though.” When I tipped my head to the side, he reluctantly admitted, “It would’ve bothered me.”

  Hanging his head, he looked so guilty and contrite; I wanted to reassure him. I even reached for his shoulder. But then I stopped myself, not wanting to send the wrong signal.

  So I blew out a breath. “I suspected as much.”

  “But the thing is,” he went on, finally looking up. “No matter how I may want you and how freaking sweet and considerate your worrying about my feelings is, you’re my friend too, Asher, and I want you to be happy. So don’t go turning into some miserable monk on my account. I assure you, I’ll live.”

  I nodded, watching him closely. When I was confident he really was okay with it, I said, “All right then. From here on out, I’ll just…I’ll be discreet about it.”

  He winced. “Actually…I’d rather know.”

  “Huh?”

  With a rueful shrug, he explained, “If you hid it, I’d drive myself insane, always wondering. Every time you’d smile or seem unusually happy, I’d think it was because you got laid. I’d always be stressing myself out, my mind coming up with the worst possible scenarios. But if I knew…well, then I’d know. And then I could deal with getting over it.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Strangely, that makes sense. I won’t hide it from you, then.”

  With a grave return nod, he answered, “Thank you.”

  “So…how’re we going to work this then?” I rubbed my hands on my hips. “I really don’t want to cause you any undue distress.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “I have no idea. Maybe, like, don’t stick your tongue down a girl’s throat in front of me. That’d be great. Though I can’t picture you as the PDA type, anyway.”

  I shrugged. “I never have been before.”

  Sticks nodded. “Then it’ll be fine. I mean, I get to vet them, right, throw out the rotten ones I don’t approve of?”

  I threw back my head and laughed. “How about you just set me up with someone who passes your muster, and if I like her, we’ll go from there.”

  “Nope. Sorry.” He winced. “That would be an impossible task. Frankly, I doubt I’d find a woman good enough for you.”

  Shaking my head, I sighed. I wasn’t sure about anyone not being good enough for me, I hadn’t even been able to find someone actually willing to be with me…for longer than a night. But I wasn’t going to think about that. Glancing at my bud, I had to admit, “You know this is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had with a guy, right?”

  “You’re telling me.” He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I admitted aloud I had a thing for you.”

  I shrugged, not sure how to answer. I’d had dudes hit on me before and it had wiped me clear out of my comfort zone. But for some reason, knowing what Remy thought about me was okay. Maybe because he didn’t come on strong or actually expect me to reciprocate. He was chill and laid-back about it, almost making light of his feelings so we’d ended up laughing instead of turning uneasy about it all.

  So I said, “Honestly, man. I’m flattered.”

  He swiped a hand my way as if to hit me in the arm. “Shut up. It’s embarrassing.”

  Chuckling, I said, “It’s not that bad.”

  “Whatever. Now you’re going to have to tell me something embarrassing about you.”

  “The hell if I do.” When he scowled, I gave in. “Fine. It says Ashley on my birth certificate.”

  At first, the words didn’t seem to sink in. Then he frowned and tipped his head to the side. “No way.”

  “Oh…yes way. My mother was so determined I was going to be a girl, she named me Ashley Jean. Had it on my birth certificate and legalized it before my dad found out. He was so pissed off. He refused to call me that, so I eventually morphed into Asher. And when my uncle got me under his custody, he helped me get it legally changed.”

  Remy’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit. She really named you Ashley…and not after Ashley Wilkes from Gone with the Wind, but Ashley because she wanted you to be a girl?”

  “Yep. And I suspect, she would’ve raised me as if I were a girl in frilly pink dresses if my father had let her.”

  “¡Dios mío! That’s just…”

  When he shook his head as if dazed, I sighed and said, “Fucked up. Yeah, I know. But go ahead. Laugh it up, asshole.”

  He chuckled but waved his hands as he did so. “No. Actually, it’s kind of sad.” He blew out a breath. “And here, I grew up miffed because I had such a guy name.”

  I sent him a strange frown. “Huh?”

  He started to open his mouth when a strange expression hit. After a second, he stuttered, “I just…you know, because of the gay thing, I kind of always preferred the more universal names that could go either way, like Alex or—”

  “Remy could go either way,” I argued. “Actually, Remy for a girl would be pretty kickass.”

  “You think?” he asked, his voice wistful.

  When I frowned at him, he quickly cleared his throat. “So, about this chick we’re going to find for you tonight.” Rubbing his hands together, he scanned the crowd for possible targets, but I held up my palm.

  “No. Let’s just give it a break for tonight. Besides, I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat instead.”

  Remy blinked as if he’d never heard of such an idea. “Food?”

  “Taco Bell,” I declared. “Only place to go after a night of drinking.” Then I grinned and quoted their slogan, “Yo quiero Taco Bell.”

  “No.” Wrinkling his nose, Remy shook his head. “No, no no. No quiero Taco Bell. The only Mexican food I eat is made at Castañeda’s.”

  Remembering the chimichanga he’d shared with me, I rubbed my stomach. That did sound good. But… “I’m guessing they’re not open this late.”

  He shook his head. “But I could call my cousin Big T and get him to fire up the grill. He makes the best tostadas de tinga. Ooh, or chicharrón preparado if you just want a cold snack.”

  I sighed. “Meh. Don’t bother him. Let’s just find an all-night cafe or something.”

  So half an hour later, we found ourselves sitting across a diner booth from each other, scarfing down bacon, and eggs, and biscuits and gravy.

  “We totally rocked tonight, huh?” Remy said, brushing crumbs off the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Better than we did in Chicago, I think.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. We were definitely developing our talent and learning to play better as a group. But the word Chicago struck a memory in me, making my mi
nd veer in a different direction. Snapping my fingers, I pointed. “Hey, I forgot to tell you earlier. I saw shower girl at the Granada.”

  Remy lowered his fork and blinked at me. Then he slowly said, “Shower girl?”

  I rolled my eyes, because, really, who else could I be referring to? “The stray woman I found in our shower in Chicago…in the hotel,” I added when he continued to stare at me as if he had no clue what I was talking about.

  Finally, he licked a crumb off his top lip and slowly responded. “And she was…at the Granada? Tonight?” When I nodded, he squinted. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely one hundred percent positively sure,” I answered. “It was her, same purple streaks in her hair and everything.”

  “That’s…that’s…” He shook his head and sent me a sly smile. “That’s actually a little hard to believe, man. I mean, the same exact girl was in Chicago and here in Ellamore?”

  He had a point. The idea was a little out there. I chewed on my bottom lip, certain it had been her, but doubting myself nonetheless. “You don’t think I’m going crazy, do you?” I finally asked. “I mean, not enough sex, jerking off too much lately… What if it’s making me delusional? Oh shit.” I sat back in my booth, stunned. “What if there wasn’t even a girl in our shower? What if she doesn’t exist, and this little obsession turns out worse than that thing I had for Incubus shirt girl, and I end up drooling and rocking in some corner because I’ve lost my damn mind?”

  “Uh…” Clearly at a loss for words, Remy moved his mouth a few times but couldn’t come up with anything to say.

  “Never mind,” I told him, letting him know he didn’t need to say anything. “You’re probably right. It couldn’t have been the same girl. I probably just wanted it to be her because there was, you know, so much chemistry there when I saw her in Chicago.”

  “Chemistry?” Remy lifted his eyebrows in interest. “Oh really? Do tell.”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Shut up, fucker. I’d rather talk about your infatuations than mine.”

  Murmuring out a sound of pity, he tipped his head to the side. “Ah, but we already know who my current infatuation is, don’t we?”

  I gulped, remembering I was. Shit. I hadn’t meant to go down that road again. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he swished out his hand.

  “Besides, that’s old news. Let’s get back to you. This shower girl. Be honest. More or less chemistry than what you felt for Incubus shirt girl?”

  I opened my mouth, stunned when I realized I didn’t know the answer to that. “I’m not sure,” I spoke honestly. “Strange. Both encounters were just…different, but probably held the same intensity. Does that make sense?”

  “Sort of,” he murmured, “not really.”

  “You know,” I spoke over him, frowning in thought. “Now that you mention Incubus shirt girl, the two of them did have a lot of similarities. Same basic figure, long dark hair, that certain Latino look. Too bad I never got a good up-close glimpse of Incubus shirt girl’s face.”

  Remy slapped his hand on the top of the table as if an idea had just struck. “Maybe they’re the same girl.”

  I snorted. “Right…because she just happened to show up at Forbidden, the Granada and in Chicago all on the same nights I was there. That’s totally possible. Sure.” Then I rolled my eyes.

  “It’s…slightly possible,” Remy hedged.

  I smiled and shook my head. “Yeah, and mix those two in with punk rocker chick, and we’ll have my dream woman…right there. Boom.”

  Straightening, Remy said, “Punk rocker chick. Who’s punk rocker chick?”

  Damn. There went my mouth. “No one. Just…some girl who auditioned for your drummer position the day before you did.”

  Remy brought his hand up to his chin. “I thought only one girl had…had auditioned for that.”

  “Yeah…and she dressed in this punk look with a spikey white Tina Turner wig, and I just had this brief little kinky vision of ripping it off and…” When I realized where I was going with my confession, I stopped cold and lifted a hand. “You know, I’m going to stop right there, stop thinking about sex, stop talking about sex, and women, and just…all that shit. Let’s go to my place and slaughter some futuristic zombies. What do you say?”

  Remy opened his mouth and then shook his head. “No sé; it’s late. And some of us don’t have insomnia. I’m one of those rare breeds who needs more than two hours of sleep a night, so…yeah. I’m going to head home and crash.”

  Disappointment hit me hard. I didn’t want to go home alone. But I nodded and forced a smile. “Fine then, loser. I’m going home to practice so I can finally kick your ass the next time we play.”

  He snorted. “Dream on, fucker. You should just face the facts. You’ll never beat me, because I am…a legend.”

  When I made it home from the diner with Remy, I felt lonelier than usual. I let Mozart out of his cage to play, so he ran and hid under the bed and was lousy company. I ended up practicing the lyrics of my new song as I cleaned out his cage.

  I finally dropped off to sleep around five in the morning, and Pick called at eight.

  “Hey, I got another house to check out this morning. You coming?”

  Yawning as I sat up, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, sure. But I thought you were going to go back to looking at them with Eva.”

  “She refuses. Says she wants me to check out this one last house. So…pick you up in ten?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I hung up and dragged my ass out of bed. Mozart banged around in his cage, reminding me I had to feed him. But after I tossed some broccoli in for him to munch on, he only looked at me, letting me know he wasn’t even about to eat that healthy crap. So I sighed and gave him some of my old stale corn nuts, which he promptly pounced on.

  When Pick showed up, the first thing he asked me after I slid into the passenger seat was, “Heard anything else from your dad?”

  I groaned and sank lower into my seat. “Jesus, you’re as bad as Sticks.”

  “Sticks?” He lifted an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

  After I told him about my run-in with the old man in Chicago and how Remy had threatened him with his mace and whistle, Pick threw back his head and laughed. “I like that kid. You need to keep him around.”

  I shrugged, declining to mention how my motorcycle’s fuel line had been cut and the theory Remy had about that. I’d fixed it the next day, so no harm done. No reason at all to mention it to Pick.

  “So which fancy-schmancy neighborhood are we headed to today?”

  Pick sent me a look for making fun of his possibly new neighborhood, then he said, “Glendale.”

  I nodded, deciding it wasn’t as ritzy as the last neighborhood we’d been to but it was a good modest, decent family-oriented type of area.

  “Tinker Bell’s aunt and uncle—Reese’s parents—live around here.”

  “Ahh,” I murmured. “Cool.”

  This time around, neither Pick nor I beat around the bush. As soon as we saw the realtor, we spoke in unison. “Backyard?”

  As I followed Pick out the sliding glass door, I asked, “So when’s your wedding anyway?”

  “The Sunday after next.”

  I froze on the back patio as Pick moved toward the middle of the yard and spun in a slow circle.

  “I’m sorry, did you say the Sunday after next?” I asked, shaking my head, sure I’d misheard him. “Because that’s only—”

  “Eleven days away,” Pick answered. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Shit, man. What’s the rush?”

  He shrugged. “We just decided we didn’t want to wait any longer. We’re doing it at Forbidden, so…there’s not going to be a lot of decoration or party planning. And it’s going to be small, mostly just everyone who works at Forbidden, their families and maybe Tink’s aunt and uncle. But that reminds me.” He finally looked my way. “Since you’re going to be the best man, am I going to have to find a different deejay to take care o
f the reception?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. I can ask Remy to do it. He’s learned the setup already; I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  “Cool.” Pick nodded, distracted as he squinted at a huge old tree in the corner of the yard.

  I hooked my thumb over my shoulder, motioning back to the house. “You ready to head back in yet?”

  But my brother just stood there, staring at the tree, then he glanced around as if looking for something.

  I blinked. “Holy shit. Is….is this the place?” I pointed to the ground under me; it suddenly felt as if I were standing on hallowed grass.

  “I don’t know,” Pick finally murmured, wiping his hand over his face. “It looks…different.” He motioned to the wooden fence, separating this yard from the neighbors. “That fence was white, and there was a small tree…right over there. A huge swing set here with a row of purple and yellow tulips to the side.”

  A big grin spread across my face as I clapped him heartily on the shoulder. “Well, it looks like you have some painting, planting and building to do then, because congratulations, big brother, you just found your dream house.”

  “Holy shit,” he uttered, looking stunned speechless as he pushed his fingers through his hair and gaped at the yard around him. “I did.” Then he turned dazed eyes to me. “I don’t know how to plant a fucking tree.”

  I laughed. “Then I guess you’re going to learn. Come on. Let’s check out the inside. How many bedrooms does it have? You going to have a spare one for Uncle Asher to come crash in every once in a while?”

  “I don’t even know.” Pick’s voice sounded hollow as he remained rooted to the center of the yard. “I didn’t bother to check how many rooms it had.”

  When I realized he was still too discombobulated to move, I retreated to his side, grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the back door. “Come on, old man. Let’s see what the master bedroom where you’re going to make sweet love to your wife for the rest of your life looks like.”

  That got him to move. We thoroughly checked each room, and with each one we entered, this smile would spread across Pick’s face as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d make little comments about which one would be Julian’s or Skylar’s room, or Chloe’s, though I had no idea who Chloe was. But I didn’t really need to understand—it was the growing excitement emanating off my brother that was awesome. He had a future, family, and now the perfect home to look forward to. I was happy for him.