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Brenna appears to think that is a terrible idea, but she's kind enough  to let it go. "Let's get you to bed. It will be better in the morning."

I'm fairly certain that means Brenna is going to try to talk me out of  things, or into things. Either way, I can't face being asked to review  the stinking NDA I signed. The humiliation would level me.

Maybe Gabriel has it right; maybe it's better to take a step back and  protect yourself. I've always been a walking ball of emotion. Maybe if I  take some time for myself, get away from the heady experience of being  wrapped up in Gabriel, I'll see things clearly.

Brenna stands, cutting into my thoughts. "I'll leave you to get ready."  She takes a few steps, then turns back. "If things turn out for the  worst, Harley Andrews is very interested in working with you."

"That's flattering." I feel absolutely nothing. I don't care anymore if  I'd be working with a huge movie star. And yet Australia sounds like an  adventure right about now. I could go there, take in the country, get  some perspective.

A little voice whispers that I'm running away like a chicken. I ignore it.         

     



 





Chapter Twenty-Eight





Gabriel







The guys find me the next morning in a pathetic heap on the couch, a  pillow over my face. I would say it is my lowest point, but that's  already happened. The second Sophie walked out the door and out of my  life will always be my lowest point. No, the second I doubted her and  tore apart her trust in me was my lowest point.

"Jesus," Jax says, somewhere above my head. "He's wearing sweats. Dirty ones."

And rather foul-smelling ones at that. I don't bloody care.

"Is he drunk?" Whip asks with some concern.

"Naw," Killian drawls. "All I see are empty water bottles."

"Drowning his sorrows in bottled water. At least he's not cliché," Rye  murmurs before sitting next to me. His hand comes down on my shoulder  and he gives me a shake. "Scottie, man, what's up?"

It takes true effort to make my mouth move. But I know if I don't answer, they'll never leave.

"I'm fairly certain Sophie wants to leave me."

They're all silent, which grates even more.

Then Jax sighs. "Fuck, man. That sucks."

The pillow lifts from my face, sending blinding light into my eyes. I squint as Killian frowns down at me.

"What did you do?" he asks.

I don't answer. My body is so leaden, I can't find the energy to talk. I just want them to go away.

"Was it the sex?" Whip asks tentatively.

I give him a glare that, in a perfect world, would cause instant annihilation.

Unfortunately it does little more than make Whip wince. "Sorry, sorry. Just thought I'd ask."

I stare up at the ceiling. Behind me, Jax rummages through the suite's kitchenette and finds some beers.

"Should you be drinking those?" I feel compelled to ask. He looks about as good as I feel.

Jax limps his way to the other couch and falls down on it. "It settles my stomach."

Doubtful.

"Are you all right?" I ask, partially afraid he'll be sick all over my suite.

He gives me a knowing look. "I feel like shit warmed over and left out to dry, but I'll live."

Rye passes beers to the others, but I wave off the offer. I don't  remember when I last ate, and in my current mood, I'm likely to punch  someone if I get drunk.

"Once found a book of Brenna's," Rye says, making a face. "Dude in it had some ‘monster cock' that was ten inches long."

"Yeah, right," Jax scoffs. "Was it a fantasy? The likelihood of a dude with a tenner is slim."

"Speak for yourself," Killian says with a smug grin.

"I am, anaconda. Just simmer down and keep it holstered."

They both snicker. But Rye shakes his head. "How are dudes in real life  supposed to compete when women are reading about python dicks and pussy  whisperers?"

Whip snorts and spins one of his drumsticks. "The average length of a  woman's vagina is three to four inches. A ten-inch dick doesn't mean  shit when it's all said and done."

"Are you trying to justify having a three-inch dick?" Rye asks with a growing smirk.

"Nice try, but you're not getting a look at this magnificent specimen,  no matter how badly you want to." Whip grabs his crotch and hefts it in  Rye's direction before rolling his eyes. "I'm trying to say, asshole,  that men shouldn't be worrying about how big their dicks are, but how to  use them. I've had women weep with gratitude because they're used to  lazy cock."

Jax laughs at that. "Lazy cock. So fucking true. You get a woman to come on your dick, and she's fucking hooked."

"Someone make it stop," I mutter, putting the pillow back over my face.

"Look, man," Whip says somewhere around the vicinity of my head. "We're just trying to give you some advice."

"Fuck all … " I tilt the pillow to the side to glare at him. "Sophie has been well satisfied. Repeatedly."

Hell, now I'm thinking of that look she has when she comes, the way her  little nose wrinkles and her eyes squeeze tight as she arches her neck  and moans …  I put the pillow on my lap and snarl.

"Are you sure?" Rye waggles his brow. "I mean she's obviously not happy about something-"

"She's upset because I tore into her like a jealous, untrusting asshole,  you git. Not because I couldn't get her off. Fucking hell."

"Ah."

Yes, ah. As if that does me any good.

Rye turns on the TV and settles down in a chair. "Oh, Supernatural is on."         

     



 

"No," I cut in, pained. "Not that one. Sophie has a thing for Dean. I  can't watch it without hearing her sigh and coo." God, I miss her.

Rye quickly changes the channel to a car show.

Unfortunately, all I can think about is Sophie lusting over my Ferrari.  Shit. The woman is threaded through every fiber of my existence. I'm  unraveling.

"I love her." The words come out stilted, foreign on my tongue. But they are the truest part of me.

"Of course you do," Jax says with the patience of a father talking to an irritable toddler.

Killian snorts. "We've all known since you threatened to kill Jax over her."

"I don't recall such threats." I only thought them. I was so blind back  then, trying to convince myself Sophie was a passing fancy when I'd been  falling for her from the moment she opened her mouth. My clever, chatty  girl. She's turned me on my head, made me a better man, made me live  for the moment.

I glance around. The guys are giving me my privacy by watching the TV.  But they are here. For me. They'll never leave me behind. My mates. My  family.

"I love you too," I blurt out.

And instantly regret it. My face burns as they all turn my way with varying degrees of shock in their expressions.

Rye gurgles on a laugh.

"Fuck," I mutter. "That's not …  You know what I mean. You're my mates."

"‘In Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day,'" Killian drawls.

They all laugh.

"Sod off," I growl, fighting a smile. But I won't retreat anymore.  Sophie was right; it hurts both me and them when I do that. I look each  of them in the eye. "I mean it."

Whip tosses himself on me, which bloody hurts, and musses my hair. "We love you too, Scottie boy."

I shove him to the floor. "Animals, the lot of you." But I feel better. Except I don't. Not at all. "I am fucked, aren't I?"

"Pretty much," Killian says with a nod.

"I'm not falling in love," Jax declares. "I have enough fucked emotions to work through."

"Famous last words, dude," Whips says from the floor.

"So, did you apologize to Sophie?" Jax asks.

"Of course. But I cocked it up, and she asked for space."

"You didn't give her space, did you?" Killian sounds horrified.

It gives me pause, and I peer up at him. "Wasn't I supposed to?"

"No, you don't give them space," he wails. "That's only some shit they say to see if you'll fight for them."

Outrage punches through me. "Why the bloody hell would they do that to us?"

"To see if we're paying attention?" Jax offers.

"To torture us?" Rye counters.

"It's simply biology," Whip says as if he's suddenly an expert. "Men are  wired to love the hunt, and women are wired to love being hunted."

"That sounds like something women would call sexist," I counter.

"They might protest," Whip agrees. "But deep down they know it's true."

"Women should come with instructions." Rye takes a sip of his beer and stares down at the bottle. "Or a warning label."

Killian laughs. "They do, man. You just have to learn how to read them.  Problem is, most of us don't learn how until a woman has knocked us on  our asses. Trial by fire, my friends. And you will burn."

"Killian James, prophet of doom," I say, knowing he's right. And hating it.

"Look," he kicks my foot. "You fucked up. Now you gotta go make a  gesture that shows her she's the most important person in your life."