Sophie
THROWING a party on Gabriel’s coach is akin to being in high school and having your friends over when your parents are out of town. At least if feels that way.
The guys, Libby, Jules, and Brenna enter with caution, looking around as if Gabriel might pop out and scold them at any second.
“You are one ballsy chick,” Killian tells me, bringing in a cooler full of beer. “I like it.”
“I have Daddy’s permission,” I say with an eye roll.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Jax takes a seat and grabs a handful of chips. “You don’t even have coasters out. There will be hell to pay.” His smile is wide, as if this pleases him greatly.
And then I realize, they want to get caught. Because they want Gabriel here too. Oh, they love teasing him, but they’re happier when he’s around. Why can’t he see that?
Brenna hauls in a karaoke machine, and Rye helps her set it up. “I don’t know why I agreed to bring this,” she tells me. “It’s a completely uneven playing field.”
“We’ll go easy on you, Bren,” Rye promises with a wink.
“Going easy on us won’t help,” I tell him. But I’m happy they’re here. The coach is filled with laughter, chatter, and the warmth of bodies—a far cry from the cold and silent place it had become when I was alone. Doesn’t stop the pervasive ache in my chest, though. I miss him.
But I’m not even going to utter his name in my head any more. Out of sight, out of mind, out of heart. It has to work.
“I have this app,” Brenna says as she curls up on the couch next to me. “It gives you a category, and you have to choose a song that fits.”
“Okay.” Rye takes a long pull of beer. “I’m ready. Hit it.”
Brenna taps a button on her phone, and we all crane our necks to see. I’m too far away, but Brenna starts cackling as Jax and Killian groan. She holds up the phone and announces, “Yo! MTV Raps.”
“How convenient,” Killian drawls, giving Brenna a look I can’t interpret. She avoids his gaze with a little sniff.
“Fuckin’ A,” Rye says with a chest thump. “I will slay ya’ll motherfuckers.”
Jax blows a raspberry while making a jerk-off motion with his hand. “Sure you will.”
“You quake in terror, JJ.”
“Aren’t you the wannabe JJ?” he counters. And I bite back a laugh because Rye kind of does look like the linebacker, JJ Watt.
Rye gives him the finger before rubbing his hands together. “Okay, okay, this is gonna be good.” He glances around the room. “I’m picking Whip as my musical backup, and Jax, since you’ve been so encouraging, you’re with me on vocals.”
Jax makes a pained expression. “Hell.”
Rye nods. “We’ll go against Killian and Libby.”
Brenna settles down next to me. “He’s up to something good.” “You know it, babe.” Rye winks at her.
Brenna flinches as if he’d pinched her instead before she’s back to her easy demeanor. “Well, get on with it.”
“Run-D.M.C.’s version of ‘Walk this Way’.” Everyone starts laughing.
Killian grabs his guitar. “I get it. Libby and I are singing Aerosmith’s part, right? Because someone thinks he can rap.”
“Knows, Killian. Not think, knows.” Rye takes a mic and glances at Whip. “You good with the beat? Or are we using the karaoke machine?”
“You’re seriously asking me that?” he scoffs. He’s only got his small electric drum kit, but he’s already messing with it. “Don’t piss me off, Ryland.”
“Instruments it is,” Rye answers easily.
“This is going to be so good,” Libby says, her eyes bright. She doesn’t seem to be the type to get excited over trying to mimic Aerosmith, but she’s clearly in her element.
She and Killian put their heads together to plan, and the guys do the same in their corner.
“You know we’re next,” Brenna says to me.
I laugh a little. “I was terrified when I thought I’d have to sing in front of these guys. Because screeching cats is an understatement.”
Brenna grins. “So annoying, isn’t it? When they make it look effortless?”
“Daunting as hell,” I agree. “But rapping? Ha. I can rap.”
She raises one perfectly plucked brow, and I feel a twinge of heartache. That look reminds me of Gabriel. His brows are thick and imposing, but he and Brenna both have that elegant way of expressing themselves with a simple look.
“Most people would be more afraid to rap,” she says.
“Eh, it’s all about owning it. Besides, I had a babysitter who loved hip- hop. This is literally the music of my childhood.”
Brenna grins suddenly and leans in close. “I love hip-hop too. Which is why I totally rigged the game to choose that.”
“You evil genius,” I say with a gasp.
Her grin goes wider before she gets it under control. “I’m pretty sure Killian is on to me.”
So that’s what the look was about. I don’t mention that Rye seems very pleased by Brenna’s pick as well, as if she’s done him a favor too.
“I thought you’d be freaking out,” Brenna says, eyeing me.
“Now you know better.” I give her a nudge on the shoulder with my own.
She nudges back. “If Scottie hadn’t already claimed you, I just might.”
I drop right out of my happy place, and clearly my expression shows it because Brenna winces. Thankfully I don’t have to hear any awkward apology or deflated ego soothing. Whip starts up with a beat.
Killian begins to play the guitar, and they’re on.
Brenna and I squeal with glee as Jax and Rye begin to rap RUN- D.M.C.’s lyrics. I expected Rye to own it, but not Jax. We can’t stop laughing, but we lose it when Libby—not Killian—takes up Steven Tyler’s part, making her voice screechy and throaty just like Aerosmith’s legendary singer.
Killian is grinning so wide, I think he might strain he cheeks. But his playing is on point.
I’ve always wanted to live a life less ordinary, see the world in a way few others have. And I know I’m not alone in that desire. Who wouldn’t want to escape the mundane? Yet, I’ve always known I was ordinary. Not in a bad way, but I was simply Sophie Darling: mostly happy, likes people, has a talent for taking snapshots of daily life. Nothing amazing. I tried to soak up the excitement of fame by being an entertainment journalist. But that only left me feeling tainted and foul.
I’m not certain where my future lies. But I’m here now, living this life. And it is extraordinary. I have one of the best rock bands on Earth singing karaoke for me. Even better? They’re my friends, these funny, talented, generous people. They like me, past wrongs and all.
I soak in the moment, laughing and watching them dance around. And yet, there’s a cold spot along my back, in the center of my chest, that won’t go away. I yearn for the one man who isn’t here, who left me behind.
It hurts, and I have to swallow down the pain, my smile too brittle.
The song finishes, and they’re all giving happy high fives, while Brenna and I wolf whistle and cheer.
Whip plops down next to me, a sheen of sweat shining on his brow. He flicks a lock of inky hair back from his face and smiles. “That’s gonna be hard to top.”
“Show off,” I tell him, nerves fluttering in my belly. I know the song Brenna and I chose by heart. Still, I have to perform it in front of these freaking music virtuosos.
“No stalling,” Rye says, sitting on the other side of me. “It’s your turn now.”
Brenna stands up and smoothes her skirt, taking a mic from him. “We’re doing ‘Shoop’.”
Everyone cheers, and I rise on unsteady legs. Libby hands me her mic.
Brenna is taking Pepa’s lyrics, and I’m Salt. And because neither of us can play an instrument to save our lives, we’re using the karaoke machine. We glance at each other. Brenna’s eyes are gleaming, but her smile is nervous. “All in?”
“All in,” I say, giving her a fist bump.
The song starts, and I can no longer worry. Brenna is true to her word, delivering her lyrics with sass, her hips gyrating. She slaps her butt, and Rye howls, laughing so hard tears stream down his face.
But they’re all looking at Brenna with pride and encouragement.
And then it’s my turn.
I don’t think. The song takes me. I dance, gyrating, and Brenna joins me. It’s so freeing; I understand why these guys sweat their asses off night after night.
“Kill it, Sophie,” Jax yells, clapping.
So I do. I’m rapping about nice dreams and big jeans, my ass wiggling, when he walks in.
It’s pretty impressive, actually, that the man can simply enter a room and everything stops.
I mean, the background music plays on, but all of us have halted as if he’s pressed pause.
Gabriel freezes too, his brows knitting over that arrogant nose. Impeccably dressed in a blue suit, platinum cufflinks glinting in the low light, he’s king of all he surveys. The guys in this room might be the biggest rock stars in the world, but they stand silent before him like recalcitrant kids caught stealing liquor from Dad’s stock.
As if to punctuate that thought, Rye suddenly points at me. “She made us do it!”
“We didn’t touch a thing,” Killian wails dramatically while flailing his arms out. “The lock on the liquor cabinet was already busted!”
It breaks the tension, and everyone laughs. Well, everyone except for me and Gabriel.
Because his gaze has landed on mine. And I can’t look away.
Why him? Why is it that one direct look from this man has the ability to paralyze my body, take my breath, make everything hot and sticky along my skin?
I didn’t lie that day on the plane. He is the most devastatingly attractive man I’ve ever met. But what I feel when I look at him, when we silently assess each other, has nothing to do with how he looks.
His male beauty isn’t what makes my heart ache like a tender bruise. It isn’t what has my insides swooping to my toes and my lips suddenly turning sensitive. And it certainly isn’t what makes me want to cross the small distance between us and wrap my arms around him, hold him close.
Because he looks so very battered. Thinner about the face, shadows beneath his aqua eyes. His gaze conveys pain, yearning, need. I see it, even if I’m fairly certain he doesn’t want me to see. I’ve always seen the loneliness.
Maybe because it matches my own.
We’re both experts at hiding our true selves behind a public mask. I make jokes and smile. He plays the robot.
The karaoke machine stops with a click. I still can’t look away from Gabriel. I’ve missed him. Too much.
He hasn’t acknowledged anyone, hasn’t even budged from his stance just inside the door.
“Time to go,” Jax murmurs, and everyone shuffles, grabbing instruments, their stuff—Killian takes the tequila.
They leave without another word.
Gabriel’s voice is rusty when he finally uses it. “You’ve been well?” His gaze flicks to the mic still in my hand and a flash of humor lights his eyes before neutrality settles back into place.
I’m sweaty and flushed, my heartbeat still rapid from abruptly stopping my dance.
“Don’t I look well?” It’s a cheap tactic, but the insecure part of me needs some sort of sign. And he still hasn’t moved from the doorway.
He glances at my breasts, the swell of my hips, making all those places perk up, become tender with the need to be touched. He meets my eyes again.
“Very well indeed.”
Damn, that shouldn’t fill me with heat. I set down the mic, take a swig of my beer. It’s warm and flat now. “You should have let them stay.”
“I didn’t ask them to go.” He says it softly, his expression a bit perplexed and a bit pissed off.
“You didn’t have to. You show up and everyone scatters like cockroaches to the light.”
His nostrils flare in clear irritation. I ignore it.
“Why is that? Why don’t you let anyone in here?” I take a step closer. “Why don’t you let anyone in?”
“You’re in here,” he retorts hotly, his gaze cutting away, as if the sight of me pains him. “You’re in.”
“Am I?” My heart pounds now, pushing the blood through my veins with too much force. It makes me jumpy, in need of comfort.
Gabriel frowns at me. “You have to ask?”
I take another step, aware that he stiffens when I do. “Were you really off doing business?”
“What else would I be doing?”
Another step. Close enough to catch his scent. Heat radiates off him despite his cool outward appearance. He stares down his nose at me. Arrogant bastard.
“You look like shit,” I tell him.
He scoffs at that. “Well, thank you, Darling. I can always count on your candor.”
“Yes, you can.” I look up at him. “You’ve lost weight. Your color is off
—”
“Sophie,” he cuts in with a sigh, “I’ve traveled all day. On a bloody
plane. I’m tired, and I want to sleep.” He inclines his head, his chin set in defiance. “Shall we?”
For a second, I can only blink. “You honestly expect me to sleep with you now?”
That stubborn, blunt chin rises. “You promised me every night if I wanted it. Well, I do.”
“Not until you tell me where you’ve been.” “What?”
I lean in, my nose nearly brushing the lapel of his perfect suit, and breathe deep. I straighten with a glare. “You may have had a shower, but your suit stinks of cigarettes and perfume.”
His eyes narrow to laser-bright slits. “What are you implying?” “Were you off fucking someone?”
There. I said it. And I’m sick with the idea. “That is none of your business.”
I don’t care if he says it without inflection, it still feels like a slap to the face.
“It is if I’m sleeping with you,” I snap.
He takes a step into my space. “I told you at the beginning, this isn’t about sex.”
The tips of my breasts brush his chest with each agitated breath I take. “You’re right. It’s more than that. We are more. And you fucking know it.” I poke his hard shoulder. “So stop being such a coward and admit it.”
With an actual growl, he backs me against the wall, his arms caging me in. Our noses bump as he bends down.
“Here is what I will admit: I was not ‘fucking someone’ and it pisses me off that your first suspicion went directly to that.”
He’s so close, his angry heat feels like my own. I can’t move or avoid his eyes. I don’t try to. “Why shouldn’t I think that when you smell of other women?”
“Because there is only you!”
His shout rings out, broken and desperate. But it’s the rage in it, as if he hates the truth, that has me flinching.
Even so, his confession sits between us. And I can’t help but put a hand to his waist. Tension vibrates through his frame. But he doesn’t pull away, just stares down at me, breathing hard.
“Gabriel, you think it’s any different for me?”
He pulls back at that, his expression going blank.
I don’t let it stop me. My voice stays soft. “Why do you think I push?”
“Because you can’t help yourself, stubborn, chatty girl.” His gaze darts over my face. “Even when you should.”
“Why should I, Gabriel?” I use his name to keep him from retreating. I know how much he craves hearing it. Even now, when he’s angry, his lids flutter each time I utter it. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. I do. We dance around it night after night. And it’s a fucking lie. I’m tired of the lie. Tell me why you resist.”
His lips pinch. “I have already told you. I will fail you, Sophie. Christ, look at me. I left when you were in need.”
“Did you do it to prove that to me?” I press, tears threatening. “Is that why?”
That clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “No. I needed a break, time for myself.”
Oh, that hurts. And yet he’s been a solitary man for so long, can I blame him for wanting his space?
Exhaustion lines his face as he watches me with cautious eyes. “I can’t be the man you expect me to be, Sophie.”
The faint yellow of a bruise on his cheek catches my attention. I lift my hand to touch it, and he takes a step back, evading my hand. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?” he counters. “In the end, the result is the same.”
I should walk away, save what’s left of my pride. But I’ve never been able to hold back from engaging with this man. “Are you going to tell me where you were?”
“No.”
Jesus, I want to stamp my foot. On his. “Why not?”
He’s fully away from me now, retreating to the kitchen to grab the kettle and fill it with water. “Because I don’t want to.”
“Asshole.”
“Admitted that already, love.”
My back teeth click, as he fusses with his tea leaves.
“Teatime, is it?” I grind out. “Having a problem that needs soothing?” “Yes,” he says without turning. “You.”
A gasp of pain leaves me before I can hold it in.
He turns at the sound, and his brows lift in apparent surprise. “Chatty girl?”
I blink rapidly. “You are an asshole. And it isn’t something to be proud of.”
I grab my shoes and head for the door.
“Sophie.” He makes a grab for my arm, but I evade his reach.
“Don’t,” I say, wrenching the door open. “I need to be away from you for a while.”
He runs a hand through his thick hair and grips the ends as if he needs to hold something. “At least tell me where you’re going so I don’t have to worry.”
A bitter laugh leaves my lips. “Oh, the irony.” I glare at him. “Guess what, Scottie? I’m not telling. Because I don’t fucking want to!”
I slam the door behind me and head out into the night.
