The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7) (9 page)

Gracias. Me and my two boys will see you then.

After I told him okay, all the while wondering who his two boys were, he spit back another message to me.

And by two boys, I meant my drumsticks, not the pair in my pants.

Before I could even think up a response to that, he messaged me again.

Not that the other two won’t be there too, of course. But technically, you won’t be seeing THOSE boys, so yeah...I’m only talking about the drumsticks.

I grinned, growing more amused by his rambling posts. I could almost picture him groaning to himself as if he knew he kept saying shit he didn’t mean to even as he typed more. And on cue, he wrote.

So, yeah, I’m just going to shut up now before I dig myself any deeper into my humiliation. See you tomorrow.

I laughed outright and typed back that I’d see him then.

“Who’re
you
flirting with?” Ten asked, making me jump out of my skin because I’d been so preoccupied with pushing
Send
.

Scowling at him, I shoved him back when he tried to read the screen over my shoulder. “None of your business, nosey ass.” Then I tucked the phone into my pocket out of his sight.

He snickered and wiggled his eyebrows. “Just tell me she’s hot.”

I rolled my eyes. “What makes you think I was even talking to a girl?”

“Because you were grinning and laughing as you read the messages, like a little douche boy with a crush.”

“What the hell ever.” I shoved at his shoulder again, this time to shut him up. “I was not. It was the new drummer in my band. And
he
said something funny...so I laughed.”

“Yeah...” Ten kept eyeing me as he scratched at the scarred side of his face. “I’m not buying it. You were reading your screen far too long for it to be from another dude.”

I stared at him in absolute confusion. “Huh?”

“It took you a while to read the screen,” he explained. “Ergo it had to be from a chick. Two guys messaging back and forth to each other will keep it to five words or less per text...or they’ll just call. So yeah...you were most definitely sexting.”

“Whatever.” I shook my head as I walked off. “You’re weird. Stop being so weird.”

“That’s okay if you don’t want to talk about her yet,” he yelled after me. “I’ll learn who she is soon enough.”

“Freak,” I muttered under my breath. But for some strange reason, what he said stuck in my head. Making sure he wasn’t looking, I pulled my phone from my pocket and reread my conversation with Sticks.

Sure enough, everything I’d typed to him had been squeezed into five words or less. His shortest text to me had been ten words long.

“Huh,” I murmured, frowning as I shoved the phone back into my pocket. Then I finished my shift and didn’t think about the bizarreness of it again.

“¡Dios mío! I am such a moron.” I tossed my cell phone onto the coffee table as if it was infected and swiped my hand across my forehead, utterly mortified.

I’m surprised Asher hadn’t called me a freak and told me not to bother coming to the show tomorrow. What I’d just texted him had been beyond idiotic.

I’d started out, trying to be funny, but then it’d sounded like I was being too sophomoric. Yet when I tried to explain what I’d really meant, it’d all just gone downhill from there and splashed right into shit lake.

“Ugh.” This was
his
fault, I decided. The guy was just too hot. After spending hours in his company, listening to him sing, I was still rocking too many raging hormones.

But Asher had shocked me today. In a good way. After my first encounter with the group, I’d had it stuck in my head that Galloway was their leader. That had concerned me. I mean, not enough that I didn’t want to play with them tomorrow, but it’d still been a distressing, disturbing, depressing thought.

After this afternoon, however, it was apparent that Asher took care of things. He knew where the songs were kept, had paid the bill for the studio rental, he’d made all the suggestions on changing and fine-tuning songs here and there, and he’d been the one to remind us where we were supposed to meet for our next gig. Him, I might be able to get behind as a leader...especially since he had such a nice behind. But Gally? Hell to the no. I would never stick with a band longer than one gig if he led it.

Remembering Asher’s reminder about our gig, I’d realized I hadn’t gotten an exact time. And thus had begun the ten-minute debate with myself whether I should call or text him...and it
had
to be him I contacted; he’d been the only band member who’d bothered to exchange numbers with me. So, I’d ended up going with a text, since calling would be disastrous; I knew too well what hearing his voice did to me.

And yet I still managed to flub even texting up. I was once again groaning through my embarrassment when the front door blew open and Jodi breezed inside, toting a small bag and a big smile.

“Hey, puta. Damn, do I have some goodies for you!” Then she pulled to a stop as she got a look at me. “You’re still in your mask.”

“Huh?” I blinked at her before I realized... “Oh, shit. I am. I just got home from band practice.” As I slowly peeled my “Sticks” mask off over my head, I grinned, giddy from actually being able to say I’d been to a practice...
with my new rock band
! “You know, I actually dig this whole gay idea.” I had already texted her that the guys had caught me scoping out Asher’s bare chest and about the whole gay conversation that had followed. “Now I can check out a guy,” meaning Asher, since I was sure I wouldn’t notice other men while he was around, “and no one will think it’s weird. Shit, why didn’t I come up with this idea before even auditioning with them? It’s brilliant.”

Then I scratched at a place right on the inside of my upper thigh where my man panties I hadn’t taken off yet were chaffing.

Jodi squinted at me scratching myself. “Sweetie, you do remember you’re a
girl
, right?”

I jerked my hand from my crotch. “Yes.
Hush
. Besides, the man panties
you
made me were itching like crazy.”

She sighed. “I’ll forget you just bashed my clever invention, because I’m still too jazzed about all the awesome shit I just did for you.”

“Why? What’d you do?”

Sniffing airily, she fluttered out a hand in a girly, dramatic fashion. “Well... despite the fact I don’t approve of this idea and I think you’re crazy for actually going out like this in public tomorrow, I decided to show my support for you, anyway. And I bought you a couple things you’ll need.”

Sitting up straighter, I clapped happily. “Really?” Ooh,
gifts
! I loved gifts. “I knew there was a reason I adored you. What’d you get me?”

“For starters, there’s this...” She pulled a small chunk of plastic that looked like a credit card from the bag and waved it with a flourish before stopping to display it for me. “A fake ID!”

Blinking, I slowly slid it from her hand. “Oh, wow. You shouldn’t have. This is so awesome, Jodi.”

The last time I’d tried to get a fake ID, I was seventeen and my uncle had discovered it before I could even try to go to a bar with it. Surprisingly it was still naughtily thrilling to have one, even at twenty-three.

Jodi had taken a couple pictures of me after dressing me up the first time, but I figured it was for school credit or something...not this. I snickered at my manly mug set alongside my real name and weight and height. Actually, the only thing that wasn’t true, was the picture...and honestly, that was me too, just...an altered version. Even the gender was marked the same.

“Wait, this says I’m a female.”

Scowling, Jodi ripped it from my hand and carefully tucked it into a brand new wallet. “As if anyone’s going to check for an F or an M. Gah.” She handed the wallet back, which must be another present from her. “You probably won’t even get carded.”

“True,” I murmured, standing up to test out what it felt like to stash a wallet in my back pocket. My butt cheek flinched in surprise as the billfold slid past it and into place. Interesting. Not painful, or ticklish, or anything; just different.

“And....I saved the best for last.” Jodi tossed a flesh-colored chunk of silicone at me.

I caught it against my chest before pulling it away and turning it at all angles, studying it. It looked like some kind of funky-shaped funnel.

“Uh...thank you. But...” I squinted at her. “What the hell is it?”

“It’s a Go Girl.”

“I’m sorry, a
what
girl?”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes and strode over to yank it out of my hand. “A female urination device. You know, so you can pee standing up.” Demonstrating, she held it up to her crotch so it poked out like a strap-on. Then she made a hissing sound and swiveled her hips as if she were pissing all over the floor.

I would’ve laughed—because it was freaking hilarious—but I had a bad feeling she actually meant for me to
use
this thing.

“Umm...” I scratched the side of my hair where the wig had left me all itchy. “You’re not joking right now, are you?”

She stopped fake peeing and straightened, lowering the
urination device
from her privates. “What? I was just thinking...you’re going to be hanging out in a public club all evening and eventually you’re going to have to go.” She shrugged. “Since you’ll be in man drag, I just assumed you’d have to use the little boys’ instead of the little girls’ room. This way, you won’t look so suspicious if you’re caught sitting down to take a leak. And look...” She held it up proudly. “I even got you the khaki-colored one so it could look more penis-like.”

“¡Dios mío!” I covered my eyes with my hand. “Please don’t tell me they come in
different
colors
?”

“My favorite was the lavender, but I figured it wouldn’t help your cause any to go that route.”

“¡Locos!” I shook my head, unable to believe she could act so serious right now.

“Check it.” She bent the funnel into a different shape. “The reviews said this was the best brand since it’s more flexible for storage.”

“And...they’re so popular they come in different brands,” I murmured in disbelief.
Of course
, they did. “How the hell have I never heard of a Go Girl before?”

“Beats me.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because you’re not big into hiking or camping.”

Or maybe it was because I squatted and hovered and hoped to God whatever was tickling my bare fanny wasn’t a snake or poisonous leaf whenever I peed in the woods. Like a normal girl.

Jodi appeared to be hurt by my reaction to her gift. I hated hurting her feelings, and besides, it’d been really sweet and considerate to think of me, so I took it gingerly from her hands and said, “Gracias,” with all the sincerity I could manage.

I had no idea where she thought I was supposed to stash the thing whenever I wasn’t using it. Tape it to my thigh or something? I already had a faux penis in my man panties. How many fake cocks did one pretend dude need?

My roommate did pose a good question, though. How the hell was I supposed to use the public restrooms when I was out and about with the band? All I could hope for was a pooping stall in the men’s room at Forbidden.

Twenty-four hours later, it was time to find out. Once again, decked out as “Sticks,” I left the Go Girl at home and drove to the address Asher had texted me. It’d been months—back in early summer, or maybe late spring—when I’d last been here. But it looked familiar, so I parked and hiked across the street to the entrance.

The sign said they didn’t open for half an hour and the open light wasn’t lit up, but a doorman was already hanging out just inside the front doors, so I tapped on the glass to get his attention.

He turned to frown at me, so I motioned for him to open up. When I refused to give up on hand signaling, he finally cracked the door and stuck his head out.

“We’re not open yet.”

“Yeah, I know, sorry to bother you, but...I’m in the band.” When he just stared at me as if he had no clue what I was saying, I carefully added, “You know...Non-Castrato. They’re supposed to play tonight, and...I’m in the band.” God, it felt awesome saying that. “I need to get in and set up my drum set before we play.”

“ID?” He held out his hand with a bored glance.

“Uh...okay.” Reminding myself I owed Jodi big time for the fake driver’s license and wallet, I fumbled in my back pocket and finally yanked the crisp, new billfold free. When I showed it to him, I bit my lip, hoping he didn’t notice the big, glaring F in the gender box.

He barely glanced at the piece of plastic before flipping it back to me and studying a clipboard in his hand. “You’re not on the list.”

For a brief moment, my heart seized. The band had already rejected me, and my big chance to perform before an audience was over before it had even started. I opened my mouth, but it took a second for words to come. “Oh...yeah. I’m new. Just joined this week.”

Dude didn’t seem to care. And all he seemed to know how to say was, “You’re not on the list.”

Anger, fear, and worry slithered through me. I decided to let the anger take front and center. I’d come this far; I refused to give up now. “Look. I need in there so I can prepare for our show that we’re getting paid to provide
your
customers.” Wait,
were
we getting paid? I hadn’t even asked, and honestly it’d been the last thought on my mind. Didn’t matter. The point was, “I have to get to the stage and—”

“You’re not—”

“On the list!” I boomed. “Yes, so you’ve said. Repeatedly. But I swear to you, I’m not pulling your leg. Can’t you just grab one of the other band members to come out here and vouch for me?”

“Are you going to be a problem?”

I gritted my teeth. “Not if you let me in already.”

When he left the doorway and took a menacing step outside toward me, I gulped and backed away from him, suddenly remembering he saw another guy when he looked at me. He probably had no qualms about getting physical and roughing me up.