plans regarding Sam. To jump his bones or not to jump him, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler to take the bodyguard to pound town rather than to leave him pining for your hot self indefinitely.”
“I had no idea you read Shakespeare.”
“I’m cultured. I know shi…stuff,” said Mal. “Though we had all agreed after the whole you and Davie hitting the wall thing a decade ago that no one in the family should ever bump uglies again. So you’ll be breaking all the rules, you little rebel.”
No way was I responding. In fact, every muscle in my body wanted to grab Gibby and get the hell out of the room and away from this excruciating third degree into my history and, apparently, Sam’s. But for the life of me I couldn’t figure out any way of executing that plan without it looking for all the world like I was running away. Which was exactly what I wanted to do, of course.
I stood my ground and glared at everybody.
After a fair bit of head scratching, David turned his trademarked furrowed brow my way. So much brooding. “How long has that been going on exactly, you and Sam?”
“There’s no need to sound like the thought of someone actually being interested in me is so completely unbelievable, David.” My hackles were well and truly raised. Men. Such idiots. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Just a surprise. Isn’t he like ten years older than you?”
“He’s forty-two. Hardly over the hill.”
“Yeah, but…he’s a really good guy.”
“Whereas I’m actual worst of the female race that humanity has to offer?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said, getting all testy. “Don’t put words into my mouth. We just all have a lot of respect for the man. No one wants to see him get hurt.”
“You have become a bit of a love ’em and leave ’em, Marty.” Mal tutted. “Such a heartbreaker. Don’t break Sam’s heart, that’s all we’re saying. No one wants a moping bodyguard. That’d just be plain sad. And possibly dangerous.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “Can we talk about something else now?”
“Sam and Martha…huh,” said Jimmy, all oblivious like.
Beside me, Ben made a noise of agreement. “Liz told me he was hung up on her a while back.”
Apparently not a single one of them understood what something being none of their business meant. I ground my teeth together, trying not to scowl because my face had started to ache. Stupid black eye.
Without missing a beat, Mal flipped back his long blond hair. “You’re all incredibly freaking clueless. Sam’s around us like twenty-four seven and you don’t even notice when shit’s going down with him. Because I’m telling you, every time he looks at Marty since about forever, shit is definitely going down with that dude.”
“Really?” I asked, despite myself.
“Oh yeah. He gets all tense like his panties are in a wad or something. It’s actually quite entertaining.”
Fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, Adam changed the music into more of a driving rhythm. “He does watch you a lot.”
“See?” asked Mal. “Even young Aaron here has noticed.”
“My name’s Adam.”
“If you say so. Maybe. Though I think you’ll find Aaron’s an improvement. I’m good at fixing people’s names. Just ask Marty.”
If looks could kill, Mal would have died under my glare. Probably about fifteen years ago, come to think of it.
On Jimmy’s lap, Gibby’s eyes were closed, lulled to sleep by the familiar voices and soft strains of music, no doubt. Guess we should have realized Gib had fallen asleep when he failed to repeat Mal’s profanity slip. And I’d been trying to talk him into having a nap for hours. Jimmy could out-nanny me without even trying. I actually was the worst.
“I’ll carry him up to bed,” said Ben, lifting him carefully out of the singer’s arms.
Eager to finally escape, I followed, glad to be away from the confusing and complicated array of topics of conversation. Away from the band room, the house was quiet, peaceful. A balm for my frazzled nerves. “Do you really think I could be a manager?”
“I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” Ben answered in a similarly low volume. Sweet of him, really. I had no idea his confidence in me ran so high. His big-ass boots padded quietly along the beige carpet. “We’re not going to talk about Sam, are we?”
“No.”