The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(68)

“You wish.” I moved it back so he couldn’t see the boring file folders I’d organized and arranged.

He shrugged, nonplussed, as he straightened again. “Eh, no matter. Caroline’s and my collection is already complete, so I’m good, anyway. It was Hart I was thinking about. That boy’s long overdue.”

I frowned, confused. “Overdue for what?”

He blinked as if he couldn’t believe I had no idea what he was talking about. Then he said, “Sex,” adding a silent duh behind that.

Oh, brother. I should’ve known better than to ask.

“Seriously,” he went on. “I don’t think it’s healthy for a guy to go as long as he has without any.”

“Wait, he talks about all his...exploits?” This I did not want to know. It disappointed me to learn Asher was a kiss-and-teller. I didn’t want him to disappoint me. I was just starting to think he was okay.

Fine...better than okay.

Ten lifted his eyebrows. “Exploits? Yeah, there she is. Now you’re sounding chick again.”

I rolled my eyes and turned away, deciding to look for Asher myself and get out of here.

But Ten called after me. “Of course he doesn’t talk about that shit.”

I shouldn’t have stopped, but I did. And when I turned back, Ten sent me a smug smile, knowing I was more interested than I should be. “I just know when he’s been laid,” he explained. “Hart has a definite tell.”

“What’s his tell?” Dios, why had I asked that? I didn’t want to know...except, okay, I totally did.

Ten chuckled. “Why don’t you go find out for yourself? He’s alone in the storeroom right now, sorting through a load of inventory that just came in.”

I sniffed and frowned. “You’re an ass.” Then I whirled away to find the storeroom.

“Watch out, Sticks. Your girl’s really showing now.”

Knowing I wasn’t going to win against this guy, I ignored him, wondering where the hell to look for the storeroom, until he called, “Down the hall, last door on the left.”

I went that way, and could hear the muffled singing before I reached the last room on the left. The door was cracked, so I nudged it the rest of the way open and paused just inside the entrance where Asher was belting out a kickass rendition of Hozier’s “Take Me to Church.”

He really did have the most amazing voice, and I was coming to realize he liked songs that challenged his vocal chords. He loved to let it loose. And God, I loved to listen to him. I propped the box against my hip, leaned a shoulder on the wall, and enjoyed the show.

He’d just emptied a cardboard crate of bourbon bottles onto a shelf and was beginning to tear down the empty box when he hit the round of Amens in the song. So he paused to tip his head back and really wail the chorus. Mesmerized, I shook my head.

Didn’t matter if he was alone or in front of a crowd, he put his entire heart and soul into it, didn’t he?

Once he started the next verse, he kept singing but returned to work, straightening the row of bottles on the shelf. Then he stepped back to inspect his work, only to step forward again and nudge one bottle an inch to the right until he was satisfied.

I laughed because I couldn’t help it. He was just too adorable. The guy was as easygoing as they came, acted as if nothing ever bothered him, messy and forgetful on occasion, and yet he had this small perfectionist side that totally contradicted the rest of him.

Startled, he stopped singing and spun toward me.

I shook my head and said, “Te amo,” blurting out the first thing on my mind.





I didn’t realize what I’d said until Asher sent me a confused grin. “Te amo? What does that mean?”

I froze, my mouth opening, but no words coming. I totally hadn’t meant to say that. He’d just been so cute with his OCD bottle arrangement and his voice flooding me with a happy, content feeling; the words had poured out.

“Uh...” Thinking way too slowly for my own taste, I said, “You know...good job...with your stocking abilities. I think you could win some kind of award with such damn fine alcohol shelving.”

The tops of his cheeks brightened as he strolled toward me. But then he shook his head and grinned. “Shut up, smart-ass.”

I loved the way he walked—that unintentional swagger in his hips was just so incredibly male. It was nothing like the cock-and-go Jodi had tried to teach me and had nothing to do with hip movement. It was in the arms, his posture, and even the way his thighs were spaced. It was just so confident and slow. There was no way “Sticks” could ever cop a walk like that, and thank goodness; I’d probably want to do myself if I could.

“Did you get it done already?” He reached out to take the box from me.

I didn’t answer, could only watch as he pulled out a folder and started flipping through the spreadsheets I’d made. “Hey, these are awesome. Thanks, man.”

I studied his expression, the eager appreciation making something heat in my belly. I cleared my throat, noticing he’d gone back to humming “Take Me to Church” under his breath as he looked over my work.

“You really love to sing, don’t you?” I mused.

“Yeah. Sure.” A grin split across his face. “I definitely didn’t go the rocker route because I wanted a mob of women to attack me everywhere I went.”