The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7) (41 page)

Even though the band didn’t play, I worked Friday night, needing something to do, not wanting to be home at my overly quiet apartment. I never found Mozart, and he never showed up at my door. When I saw a dead squirrel on the road on the way to Forbidden, I told myself that wasn’t him. He’d found a nice, safe park somewhere and was living out his dream, collecting nuts and climbing trees.

I still missed the hell out of him, though.

On Saturday, I showed up to work extra early, even though it was another miserable karaoke night. At the moment, I kind of felt as if I could go about the rest of my life without ever hearing another karaoke song played ever again.

But unlucky me, about half a dozen ladies lined up first thing to sing “All About That Bass,” every one of them wearing Incubus shirts, too. I hated it. It sucked even more so tonight, now that I knew who Incubus shirt girl actually was.

I was about to go out of my mind as yet another woman finished the song. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Quinn and Knox I was going to head into the back and check our supplies when a familiar voice spoke over the speaker system.

“So I’ve been watching a couple of you try to imitate my original performance.”

I whipped around to see Remy—in tight blue jeans, a black snug Incubus shirt, and a guitar strapped over her shoulder with her long hair flowing down her back.

“And I must say, some of you...” She cringed and leaned closer to the mike. “Really suck.”

A lot of boos and catty comebacks rolled back, but she ignored them as she smiled at the crowd as if oblivious. “If you were curious, the exact Incubus shirt I was wearing that night looked like this.” She tugged at the sides of her shirt to display it. “Oh and the redhead who sang was with me... Right there.” She motioned toward the stairs up to the stage where Jodi was standing.

Jodi waved and blew kisses to everyone as Remy seated herself on a stool and positioned her guitar into her lap. “Now, I’m not going to sing ‘All About That Bass’ tonight because...well, Asher’s sick of hearing it, for one. And also, it’d just feel tacky to recreate my original show. So I’m going to play something a little different, and since this place doesn’t have karaoke music for this particular song, I brought my guitar to help me out.”

She patted the side of her Taylor—shit, she had a Taylor, too—and then began to strum. Perfectly.

“I didn’t know your girlfriend could play the guitar
and
drums,” Quinn said from beside me as he watched Remy begin to sing “Green Eyes” by Coldplay.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I murmured, my voice hoarse. “But yeah, apparently she’s just
full
of little surprises, isn’t she?” Because I’d had no idea she could play either.

But she played amazingly well.

My gaze was glued to the stage, and I had no idea what I felt as her clear voice sang shit like
I was her sea
, but it made all the air inside my chest compress until I could barely breathe.

They were just words, I told myself, steeling myself against the sweetness of her attempt to get my attention. Lyrics of someone else’s song that meant nothing to me, like she wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me. I didn’t even
know
her.

Still. I couldn’t believe she was up there singing...for me. Trying to beg my forgiveness.

Sure, other women had been singing “All About That Bass” to me for months. But this was Remy. That made all the difference.

Except I started thinking about every confidence I’d shared with her, how I’d poured my heart out to her and she’d only lied in return. The bitterness of that deception warred against the part of me that was melting and wanted to forgive her.

I turned away as she finished the song, glad it was over—no more mental war to keep me away. But then she went and said, “Oh, no. Sorry, honey, but I’m setting up my own little filibuster of sorts. I’m staying right here and singing until the message I’m trying to deliver reaches the ears I want to hear it. I’m not leaving this stage until Asher Hart himself comes up here and
makes
me.”

I whirled around to glare at her just as she shooed away the three women who were trying to take their turn next. When she turned back to the crowd, her gaze caught mine and she winked with this knowing smile, as if she knew she was getting to me.

I hated that she knew me so well, so I scowled back, setting my hands on my hips to show her I was not amused.

But she blissfully ignored me as she started in on “The Reason” by Hoobastank, where she told me she was sorry she’d hurt me and wished she could take all my pain away.

For a minute, I stared, captivated by her beauty and her voice, by the words she was telling me. Then I remembered how she’d purposely made me think she hadn’t known English and I began to wonder what the hell she was doing here, trying to torture me with her presence when the chorus came up, and it finally became clear.

She really thought singing was going to just...get me back.

“Fuck,” I muttered as her gaze found mine and held on. I narrowed my eyes ominously, but she just kept singing, so I whirled away, mumbling something to Quinn before I hightailed it from behind the bar and down the back hall. Once I reached the storage room, I paced and cursed under my breath, commanding myself not to be affected.

After a couple minutes, I eased open the door to see if a new song had started yet. I breathed easier when I realized it had, but then...I heard her voice. She was still up there, this time singing “Please Forgive Me” by Bryan Adams.

Christ. There were a lot of fucking apology songs; she might just keep her word and sing all night.

If I didn’t stop this now, I might end up doing something really stupid, like forgiving her.

So I marched out into the bar, determined. When I caught sight of Pick sitting on a stool, watching her performance, I stopped by him.

“Are you going to do something or not?” I demanded.

He turned to me, eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then he shrugged. “You heard the woman. The only person getting her off that stage tonight is you.”

I opened my mouth to tell him it was his damn bar; he could kick her out if he wanted to, but then he grinned. “Besides, I already gave her permission to sing the whole night if she wanted to.”

“Oh, you fucker,” I breathed. “No wonder you’re still here so late on the night before your wedding. You knew she was going to be here and you just wanted to see me suffer, didn’t you?”

Pick scowled. “No, I do not want to see you
suffer
. I wanted to watch my brother make amends with someone who’s been a good friend to him this past month and made him very happy in the process. And
she
apparently has.”

I wanted to argue. But I couldn’t stop remembering all the good times Remy and I’d had together...as both Sticks
and
Elisa.

“She isn’t—” I started to tell him she wasn’t the same person who’d befriended me.
Sticks
had been my friend. Except she was supposed to be Sticks now. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. But the irritation brewing inside me kind of took over.

I marched toward the stage.

Her eyes lit up with hope when she saw me approaching. But I didn’t smile back or give her anything to hang that hope on. I turned my gaze away and focused on the karaoke station. After I called up the song I wanted, I hopped on the stage, and tugged the microphone from her startled fingers.

She blinked at me, frowning slightly even as a smile lingered on her face. She thought I was going to sing something about forgiving her. But instead, Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” came on. And I sang it directly at her.

Her mouth came open as shock flooded her features.

About the fourth time I told her we had problems and couldn’t solve them, she puffed up her chest with an annoyed scowl and hurried off the stage. I watched, thinking that was that, but she only paused at the karaoke machine and picked something else from the list.

I didn’t want to be, but I was curious what she’d chosen.

So when Elton John’s “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word,” broke over Taylor’s voice and Remy stole the microphone right back from me to sing the lyrics, I shook my head. Stubborn-ass woman just didn’t know when to give up, did she?

So I chased her lyrics with “Better Things to Do” by Terri Clark.

For some reason, I expected more angry determination from her. I was kind of getting into the game, relishing the back and forth and impatient to hear what she’d come up with next.

But sadness crept into her gaze as she watched me sing and listened to the bitter phrases come from my mouth. Shoulders falling with defeat, she nodded her understanding and hurried off the stage. As about twenty women cheered, Remy fled. She bumped into Jodi after a few steps, then grabbed her friend’s arm and hurried from the club.

Strangely disappointed even though I didn’t want to forgive her, I shook my head and stepped away from the microphone, no longer in the mood to sing. Then I hopped off stage and stormed through swarms of people until I found myself back in the storage room, pacing until the door opened, and Pick slipped inside.

I ground my teeth and shook my head, in no way willing to talk about this. “Shouldn’t you be home with Eva and the kids?”

“Nope.” He leaned his hip against a nearby keg. “Tinker Bell wanted to be traditional so she kicked me out. Said I wasn’t allowed to see her again until the wedding.” He shrugged. “It seemed like a bad time to bug Mason and Reese and beg a night on their couch, so I’d planned on renting a motel room... unless you want to take your big brother in for a couple hours.”

I shrugged. “Sure. My couch isn’t anything to write home about, but...whatever.”

“Thank you.” Pick nodded and watched me pace and repeatedly run my hands through my hair before murmuring, “So...Remy.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped, glaring at him.

He only grinned. “She pulled off a pretty good disguise. I had no idea she was really a woman. And wow, she looks...really different
as
a woman. There’s no reason for you to feel like an idiot and think you should’ve figured it out sooner. No one else caught on either.”

“I didn’t say I felt like an idiot,” I muttered.

But Pick lifted his eyebrows so I sighed, relenting. “Fine. I feel like a fucking idiot. But I’m also pissed. She lied to me, fucking betrayed me for weeks. It’s like she made a joke of everything I ever told her. I thought I was actually making a friend, and she was just playing dress-up so she could be in a goddamn band.” I couldn’t even go into the deception she’d played as Elisa because....I just couldn’t.

Pick opened his mouth, but I was sure he was going to say something in her defense, so I kept ranting, “And now...
now
she thinks she can just stroll in here, wiggle her hips and sing a few songs, and I’ll, what, just forget what she did to me? Fuck no. I’m not getting back together with her. I don’t even
know
her.”

Smiling slightly, Pick said, “But don’t you?”

I started to tell him, no, I didn’t. Except I just couldn’t. Maybe I had learned a couple things about her. I’m sure the female version of her was just as competitive as Sticks had been. She was definitely musically talented, had good taste in songs, liked to tease and get people’s goat about as much as I did. Hell, she might just be the perfect person...if she hadn’t hurt me so bad.

“I assume she gave you a reason for doing what she did,” Pick spoke up, making me blink because I’d forgotten he was there.

I sniffed and glanced away. “She gave me something.”

“But you don’t believe the reason she gave?”

“I don’t know.” I set my hands on my hips and gazed up at the ceiling, torn.

I kind of did believe her reasons for why she’d started this entire charade because honestly, why else would she have dressed up as a guy? It couldn’t have been to get close to me after learning she was Incubus shirt girl, since she would’ve had a lot more luck getting anything from me if she’d stayed female. But still, after a while of getting to know me, why hadn’t she figured out I didn’t care if she was a girl in the band; I would’ve fought Gally and Heath to keep her on board?