The Girl's Got Secrets (Forbidden Men #7)(85)

“Why?”

“Because...” Yeah, Remy, why? “Because you don’t even know her.”

Again, he chuckled, but this time, it sounded more strained. “Which is the reason I want to meet her. So we can get to know each other, see how things flow.”

But I continued to shake my head. “No.”

Finally, irritation flooded his voice. “Just what the hell do you think I’d do to her? I realize she’s family to you, which makes you protective, but I thought you and I were good enough friends that you knew I’d never—”

“That’s not it,” I broke in before he could really work himself into a tizzy. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?” He seemed so affronted.

I shrugged, feeling shitty. “Maybe it’s the other way around,” I said before I could stop myself. “Maybe it’s you I’m worried about getting hurt. Not her.” Because honestly, this was all because I didn’t want to hurt him.

A couple seconds of silence followed. Finally, he settled with a perplexed, “What?”

“Please just...trust me,” I told him softly. “I can’t...I can’t tell you the particulars, but I know you don’t want to get tangled up with her.”

He sighed. “Okay. Fine.”

But I knew it wasn’t fine. He’d really wanted to meet girl-me. And when he tersely told me he had to go a few minutes later, I crumbled into a chair and hugged myself, wondering how the hell I was going to fix this.





I think I f*cked up.

I never should’ve asked Remy to set me up with his cousin. I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t trust me to treat his kin right or because he liked me himself. He’d insisted it was neither, but I knew it had to be something.

Like a woman telling you she was fine; he wasn’t fine.

The whole thing seemed oddly like I was dealing with a chick. With other dudes, I never worried about hurting their feelings, or even what they were feeling. Never so much drama. You either knocked another dude on his ass for pissing you off or told him the f*ck off. Five minutes later, you were friends again.

Not so with Remy Curran. I wasn’t sure if it was the gay thing or what, but it’d been three days and there was this distance between us.

I wasn’t helping things, either. I was still miffed because he’d so adamantly shut me down and not only refused to help me with a girl I wanted to meet more than...probably any other girl I’d ever seen before—probably even Incubus shirt girl—but he’d then gone and cock-blocked me, telling me he didn’t want me near her at all, so now I couldn’t even try to get to her on my own. Felt like a pretty shit move to me, frankly. He knew better than anyone that my intentions were actually honorable. I wouldn’t f*ck her and drop her. I legitimately wanted to get to know her.

The jackass.

And if it was because he wanted me for himself, he needed to cut that out too. I mean, I liked the guy. He’d probably become my best friend in the few weeks we’d known each other, but I wasn’t going to trade sides, not even for him. I couldn’t help it that I preferred women. Damn it. The whole f*cking thing irritated me to no end. Kind of made me want to drop him and his drama completely.

Except I missed hanging out with him. He was entertaining and competitive, had similar tastes as me so we always had plenty to talk about, and I knew I could rely on him for probably just about anything. He was the perfect friend, except for the part where he wanted my dick. But I could look past that.

There’d been so many times in the last few days I’d picked up the phone to call him up so we could hang out, only to stop myself. Because he was avoiding me too. He’d left straight after practice on Thursday without bullshitting with me like usual. And we always hung out together after our Friday night gig at Forbidden. But he’d gone home as soon the show was over, pleading a headache.

Total chick move.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was a girl.

“You’re quiet today.”

I glanced away from the window I’d been staring out to glance across the car toward Pick.

I also was getting tired of always being in the passenger seat, riding bitch. I needed to get my own set of four wheels so I could be in the driver’s seat every once in a while. I don’t know if it was lack of sex lately, or what, but I could almost feel my nads shriveling up into ovaries. I was sitting here, stressing about my friendship with another guy and upset because I hadn’t even been able to just talk to some girl. I had the sudden urge to rip a loud, foul fart or belch or something equally guy just to prove I wasn’t losing it.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, and immediately realized I’d just pulled the purely feminine I’m fine line. Not cool, so I quickly added, “I need to get laid.”

Pick chuckled. “The way the women flock to you after all your shows, I wouldn’t have thought you had a problem with that.”

“Yeah, but all they want is some singer in a band. I’m just…I’m over that shit. You can only handle so many meaningless, empty hook-ups before you want...” I didn’t bother to finish the sentiment. It sounded lame and whiny to my own ears, and besides, two guys did not talk about this. But not only had I confided in Sticks about it, but now Pick too. What the hell was wrong with me?