The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(11)

Quinn and Knox were working the bar. Out of all the club’s bartenders, they were the two quiet ones. With the mood I was in, I wasn’t sure I’d be the best conversationalist tonight, so they were actually perfect choices for companionship.

“Hey, Asher,” Quinn greeted with his friendly, boy-next-door grin. “How’re the auditions coming?”

“Shitty.” I slumped onto a stool. “How’re the wife and kid?”

His smile bloomed with pride, and yep, that was exactly the kind of exuberant energy I needed. “Zoey seems a hundred percent better, and the doctor thinks we can take J.B. home in another week.”

“That’s great, man.” His wife had given birth to a severely premature baby a couple months back. It was nice to hear both she and the kid were making a complete recovery. I should’ve been happier that things were working out for them.

Instead of the cheer, however, a bitter ball of loneliness swelled inside me. Why couldn’t I find someone the way Quinn had?

A bottle of Angry Orchard appeared in front of me right before Knox flipped off the lid and strolled away.

“Thanks,” I called to his back, grateful he knew exactly what I needed. I picked it up and took a long pull.

God, that tasted good. I sighed and relaxed into my seat. Quinn went to help a customer at the other end of the bar, and I contented myself with my alcohol while both guys milled about me and did their thing.

Behind them, shelves of assorted bottles glinted in the low blue lighting overhead. It gave the atmosphere a calming effect that soothed a restless part of me. If I could’ve just sat there and lived on that stool for the rest of my life, I would’ve done it.

I closed my eyes and tipped my face forward as I rested both elbows on the countertop, letting the sound and smell of Forbidden seep through me.

But apparently, my peaceful reverie wasn’t meant to last.

“Asher?” A familiar voice had me jerking my head up and my eyes snapping open wide.

Instantly on edge, I swiveled toward the call and gaped in horror at the man who approached.

“Shit! Where did you come from?”

Pick, my boss and as of three weeks ago my older half-brother, slowed his approach and cocked an eyebrow. “Uh...my office?”

Damn, I should’ve known he’d still be around this early in the evening. It was his club; why wouldn’t he be around? But I’d been so sure I hadn’t seen his Barracuda out front.

“Did you get a new car or something?”

“Actually, yes, I did.” He squinted at me. “Why? Were you trying to avoid me?”

“What?” I snorted as if that were a ridiculous suggestion. “No.”

He knew I was lying. Pick had a way of eyeing a person that let you know he could read every thought in your head. I kind of admired that about him, even though it also intimidated the shit out of me. Hell, just about everything there was to Pick Ryan impressed and unsettled me in equal measures.

It was eerie as f*ck—as well as astonishing and yet utterly overwhelming—to know I was related to such an intuitive yet pleasant guy.

If I could’ve handpicked anyone on earth to choose as my biological big brother, it would’ve been him. He was just one of those personable, laid-back guys who accepted you for who you were and watched your back without you even asking him to.

And yet, the whole brother thing rattled me to the core. Me and “family” had never meshed. I just had this sinking feeling I couldn’t shake that if I let him actually be my brother, it’d all go to hell.

I had too much to lose if Pick ended up telling me to get lost. This place and what I had here were my entire life. My job, playing on Forbidden’s stage with my band, my friendship with him and all the other guys who worked here, and just...well, all of it had become the most important things to me. I didn’t know what I’d do without everything he’d already given me.

Pick continued to watch me with those omniscient brown eyes, which he must’ve picked up from his dad since our mom’s had been green, like mine.

“Prove it,” he murmured. “Tag along with me.”

“Huh?” I blinked at him as if he’d spoken a foreign language.

An amused grin cracked his face. He hitched his head toward the exit. “I have somewhere to be soon. Why don’t you come?”

“Why?” I winced as the suspicious-sounding word left my lips. What I really should’ve asked was where. But Pick answered me anyway.

With a careless shrug, he said, “Just to hang out.”

The offer was tempting. It was the exact kind of companionship I’d been craving only minutes ago. But I didn’t dare hope, wouldn’t fall victim to the lure. It would end badly. It had to end badly. Any and every familial thing in my life ended badly. Why would this be any different?

“Oh, Jesus.” He rolled his eyes and slugged his arm against mine. “Quit overthinking it already. Just get your ass off the stool and come with me.”

“But...I have to finish my beer.” Yeah. That sounded...lame.

Pick glanced at the countertop in front of me. “What beer?”

I spun to check on my drink, but it was gone, only a wet ring left on the bar where it’d once sat as Quinn tossed a bottle in the trash that looked suspiciously like an Angry Orchard.

“So let’s go already.” Pick nudged me again.