The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(50)

With a sigh of relief, I slunk further in my chair and rested my head against the backrest. But as I panted out the last remnants of my orgasm, I only felt more pathetic than ever. Even though hooking up with some random woman after a gig wasn’t my preference, it had to be better than jacking off alone in my apartment. At least I might get a little cuddle time in before she took off, claiming her girlfriends would never believe her when she told them she’d just bagged Asher Hart.

My buddies at Forbidden were right; I needed to get laid. Bad.

A sound from the bed made me glance over and nearly jump out of my skin when I saw Mozart standing there on his hind legs, tipping his head to the side and staring at me, his bushy tail giving the occasional twitch of interest.

I jerked upright in my chair, immediately shielding my dick from him. “What the hell, you little perv? Did you really just watch that?”

At my voice, he darted away and disappeared back under the bed. I sniffed in disgust—more disgusted with myself than my pet—and quickly cleaned my mess, then tucked my cock away before Mozart tried to cop another glimpse of it.

After I picked up my pen and tapped it against my notepad, I sighed in defeat. The adrenaline rush from getting the Chicago gig was officially dead. I wasn’t able to write another word for the rest of the night.





I finally dropped off to sleep around eight the next morning after tempting Mozart back into his cage with some sunflower seeds.

By ten, my phone started blowing up. Okay, fine, I got three texts and then a phone call. But for me, that was busy. I ignored the texts but groaned and swatted my arm out blindly for my phone on my nightstand when it just kept ringing.

After I slurred out a hello, Pick’s way too awake voice blared in my ear. “Hey, I got another house to check out. You in?”

I wiped my hand over my face, yawned, and then sat up. “Sure. When and where?”

“I’ll pick you up in ten.”

He hung up on me, and I shook my head, not sure why he kept asking me to tag along. Then I went to erase the texts he’d sent, only to discover they weren’t from him. All three were from Sticks.

Hey, just checking in to make sure you made it home okay and your dad didn’t sneak in and suffocate you in your sleep last night.

The next : This is where you answer and tell me you’re fine. You can even add a “now f*ck off” if my worry irritates you.

And finally: Seriously, man. Are you dead or just pissed at me?

Having pity on him, I typed back. Not dead, just sleeping.

He shot back an immediate reply. Shit, sorry for waking you. Forgot you work so late. But glad you’re alive. Try to stay that way. We kind of need you next Saturday for the Chicago gig.

Grinning, I shook my head and told him I’d see what I could do. Then I tossed my phone back onto the nightstand and rushed to yank on some clothes before Pick showed up. I snagged an apple that I’d bought for Mozart and was just polishing it off when my brother pulled up to my door in his Barracuda.

“So which neighborhood are we going to this time?” I asked as I slid into the passenger’s seat.

When Pick answered me as he shifted the car into drive, I gave a low, impressed whistle. “Nice.”

A proud grin twitched across his lips. “Nothing’s too good for my family.”

“Which reminds me,” I said, settling deeper into my seat and tipping my head back to close my eyes. “Don’t you think you should actually, I don’t know, propose to Eva first before buying a house with her?” They called each other husband and wife already, as did half the group we hung with, but they’d yet to tie the actual knot. “Or do you not go for that kind of traditional shit?”

“Oh, I’ve proposed.” Pick sent me a smug, secretive smile as he wiggled his eyebrows. “And we’ve even set a date...in about a month, actually. Which reminds me, you going to be my best man or what?”

I choked on air. After sitting upright and pounding on my chest with my fist, I sent him an incredulous glance. “What? Me? What about Mason?”

Mason would be the obvious choice. He was Reese’s man, and since Reese was Eva’s cousin and best friend, she’d no doubt be the maid of honor. Besides, the four of them hung out a lot, or so I’d heard. He had to be much closer to Mason than he was to me.

But Pick only shrugged. “I’m sure he’d understand that I’d rather have you stand up with me.”

Shaken by such a declaration, I rubbed my hands over my face. “You seriously don’t have a problem with who my dad is, do you?”

“What do you mean?” He glanced at me, clearly confused.

I sputtered out my disbelief. “What do you think? He...he killed your mother.”

After squinting as if even more boggled by my explanation, he murmured, “She was your mother too.”

I blew out a breath. He definitely wasn’t the type to put the sins of the father on the son, that was for sure. “I still can’t believe you know everything already,” I muttered, more to myself than him. “I kept wondering why you never asked about her.”

He shrugged and turned down a nice, quiet residential street that had me staring out the window and salivating at all the amazing houses. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“It’s not a pretty story,” I said, watching a mother with two small boys open the door to one house and step outside. They looked like a happy, healthy family together.