“What’s so strange about that?” I feel compelled to ask.
“He isn’t known to…er…partake,” Rye says with a shrug.
“Partake?” I look around at the guys.
“Fuck around,” Killian supplies. “He’s kind of like a monk.”
Whip nods. “When was the last time anyone saw him with a woman?”
“Fucking forever ago.” Rye shudders as if the thought terrifies him. “If he’s getting any, he’s doing it on the sly.”
Something ugly twists in my stomach. I don’t want to think of Gabriel with women. And really don’t like the idea of the guys discussing his sex life, or lack of one. Gabriel is a proud man; he’d hate this conversation. “We shouldn’t be talking about him this way.”
“You’re right,” Killian says. “No doubt his Scottie Sense is tingling.”
“We shouldn’t be talking about him,” Libby says in a stronger voice, “because it’s rude and none of our business.”
I knew I liked that woman.
Killian kisses her cheek. “Right you are, Libs.” He gives Jax a look filled with warning. “Sleep with one eye open, man.”
“He’s on another bus,” Jax grumbles.
“You look worried,” I point out. I admit this gives my inner toddler some satisfaction.
Jax’s smile is self-deprecating. “Little known fact, honey, Scottie boy is scrappy as shit. I’ve seen him make men twice his size cry for their mommas with a well-placed kick-punch combo. Fucking bare knuckle legend—”
Killian clears his throat loudly and gives a slight shake of his head.
But I’m a dog on the hunt now. “Hold on, he’s what?”
“A stone cold badass,” Rye says. “But you didn’t hear it from us. Seriously, he really can kick all our asses so…yeah, no more talking about Scottie, ‘kay?”
He’s laughing as he says it, but I get the feeling he truly doesn’t want Gabriel to find out I know about his fighting. I can respect that. Doesn’t stop me from thinking of his hard body and muscles that strain his properly cut shirts. Is that how he developed those? As a fighter? I can’t picture him getting into a fight out of anger, but a controlled match? I can see that, and it leaves me feeling oddly morose.
They move on to another topic, but I can’t help looking out of the tinted window. There’s nothing but darkness and the occasional flicker of headlights. Somewhere behind us, Gabriel is alone on his bus. I know full well he wants it that way, but I hurt for him all the same. Isolated from his friends, and why? Why does he hide himself away? Does he get lonely?
I hate that fate for him. The urge to be with him instead is so strong, I imagine myself leaping from the window and somehow landing on his bus, straight up Super Girl style. No, Wonder Woman. That way I could tie him down with my lasso when he protests my invasion of his Fortress of Solitude.
I’m in the middle of a Clark Kent/Diana Prince cosplay fantasy when Jax shatters my dream by loudly declaring, “‘Son of a Preacher Man’ is a song that can never be replicated.”
Rye leans back in an armchair and idly plucks on a ukulele he unearthed from somewhere. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”
“Play that song,” Jax says, “and women fucking melt, man.”
“Someone save me from hearing any more of Jax’s seduction routine.” Rye looks around desperately.
“Take notes, son, and learn something,” Jax drawls.
“Etta James singing ‘At Last’,” Killian butts in. “Fucking timeless.”
“Beyoncé did a pretty good version,” Libby says.
“Pretty good,” Killian repeats. “But it didn’t top the original. Etta still rules that song.”
Whip taps on his knees as if he can’t keep still. “Don’t let the Bee Hive hear that. They’ll sting you bad, bro.”
Killian shudders. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Bees,” he shouts to the air. “Don’t slay me! I love Queen Bey!”
“Man, I keep waiting for her to break up with Jay Z. Then I’m all in.”
“Dude, your dream is dead in the water,” Jax says. “You don’t have a chance in hell with her.”
“You’re gonna eat your words,” Whip promises. “Our love is destined. She totally winked at me during that charity concert we all did last month.”
“It was windy,” Killian says with a snort. “She had dust in her eyes.”
“She had me in her eyes.”
Rye shakes his head, and then his blue eyes find me. “What about you, Sophie? Got a song?”
They all turn to me. I’m supposed to play? Fuck. I love music, but my knowledge isn’t encyclopedic like these guys’. I think for a minute. “‘Sabotage’.”
“Beastie Boys?” Rye gives me a high five. “Excellent.”