Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (16 page)

I
’m staring at Thea, watching as her eyes flare and her breathing hitches. It seems that the contact of our skin affected us both. My pulse quickened the moment I touched her, as if affected by some kind of energy that sent a crazy surge toward my heart. There’s a primal urge to wrap her into my arms. Her soft skin makes me want to touch more, and I do. Lifting my hand, I trace my fingers over her delicate face. Pushing myself out of my seat, I kiss her cheek.

“So, are you going to work for me?” I whisper close to her ear before sitting back. Her body shivers and I can’t help but grin with satisfaction. She’s
just
as affected as I am.

“Work for you?” She bites her lip and squints leaning closer to me. “How do you know J. M. Hurst?”

I grin and shrug. “He’s a devilishly handsome guy.” I wink at her. “If you’re good, I’ll have him sign a book for you:
From Tucker, to his secret girlfriend.
” She growls, and I take her hand. “It’s a pen name. My pen name.”

Her eyes flash, those plump lips gifting me a huge smile. Fuck, I love when she smiles and her eyes brighten.

“You’re him? He is you?” She squeezes my hand. “If I could, I’d hug you and kiss you. Maybe keep you in my house forever—make you write for me every night.”

I rise from my seat and hug her, giving her a lingering kiss on her cheek. “So, are you going to work for me?” I whisper. “Keep me forever?”

“Look, it’s MJ Decker.” The loud screech breaks the moment Thea and I had going on . . . or were about to have.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, releasing her body. Her eyes find mine and they look confused, yet excited. “Think about it, Butterfly. It’s show time.”

Making my way to Reed, I ask for a guitar. As promised on Twitter, I’d perform a few old songs of Without A Compass and pack the place. Give a little boost to this joint. He glares at me, not the appreciative look I expected when I tweeted about my presence at the Silver Moon. Nope, his gaze is eerily similar to the one he gave me when I got stuck in one of his toilets while fucking a girl. God, I was a stupid kid back then.

“I don’t have enough waiters to work at full capacity, Decker.” Reed stretches his head looking behind me. “We have to close the place. No one else enters. Next time, give me a heads-up, please?” I give him a sharp nod. “Let me get it from my office and talk to T. Meet me by the bar.”

I delete the tweet, and send another one saying I’m at the Black Out in Malibu. That should keep Tristan occupied for the night. I grin knowing he’s going to be happy, yet he will give me shit about it. My eyes shift from my phone toward the bar and it's twice as crowded as only minutes ago. I make my way there, entering through the side door.

I approach Thea, who is pouring a pitcher of beer, and ask what I could do for her. She shakes her head.

“Decker, stay away from T,” Reed orders, handing me a guitar case. “This is your dad’s old guitar. He kept it here in case he was in the mood to play.”

Thea hands over the pitcher and turns to look at me with a frown. “You’re playing?”

“Yes, any special request from my lady?”

Thea shakes her head, tilting it she says, “Something soft. I don’t know, surprise me?”

I place my lips close to her ear. “I don’t do soft, but for you I will.” She releases a hitched breath and I leave for the small stage.

For the next couple hours, I play several covers, a few tunes from my old band, and then finally I play Parachute’s “What I Know.” Nothing soft or romantic came to me while I played. The view of the bar was blocked by a wall of customers so my muse was hidden. Reed approaches me when I finish my last song and announces the last call.

“Decker, do you have time to help us close?” I nod. “Thank you, son, for helping, and for bringing in this crowd. It’s been a while since I’ve had a full house.”

“Next time,” I say, walking toward the exit. Thea turns around, squinting her eyes—that little frown between her eyebrows I’m starting to dig that shows she is requesting further explanation. “You asked for a soft song, but nothing inspired me. I couldn’t see you from where I sat.”

“Inspired?” Her eyebrow cocks high.

“If I’d seen you, I could’ve come up with a soft song something special for you.” I can’t help but give her that grin I know makes her smile. “You do know I’m a musician. I compose music and all that shit.”

“Yes, it appears you’re a man of multiple talents.” She opens the door, one of the bouncers follows behind her, and I do the same. “Maybe your next talent will be bartending, sir, because I don’t think I can handle a bigger crowd than the one we had tonight. My bank account appreciates you, though.” Thea pulls her keys out of her pocket, turns around, and thanks Jared for walking her home. Stepping forward a couple of feet, she tilts her head and kisses my cheek. “Thank you. Reed loved having a full house. It was a good day and you’re a great musician. I think I like your voice. It’s . . . I like it.” She shrugs, pivots, and steps into her apartment.

“Good night?” I want her to invite me to join her, continue our conversation, or start a new one. Anything to remain close, listen to her silky voice all night, or just enjoy her company. “See you soon.”

“Good night, Matt. It was nice to see you again,” she responds, closing the door.

Jared and I shake hands and I walk to my old Jeep. My phone buzzes and I pull it out hoping it’s Thea asking me to come upstairs.

Tristan:
You think you’re funny, don’t you?

Matt:
What happened?

Tristan:
I had to drive to the Black Out because you tweeted that you’d be there tonight. Why would you do that?

I chuckle, picturing his gaze darkening while trying to give me shit for what I did. Fuck, I miss him. Instead of responding to his text, I press the phone icon. It’d be fucking awesome to hear his voice.

“Hey.” He answers his phone after the first ring.

“Was it bad?”

“Not really, but a heads-up would’ve been nice. Want to tell me why you did it?”

I explain to him what I did with the Silver Moon, that in less than an hour the place was at full capacity. I also add that one of the bartenders and a waitress are on vacation. “I’d really like you to think about a joint venture with this, man.”

“I’ve been there, to the Silver Moon,” he says after I finish talking. “Needs a lot of work.”

“It does. It’s the bar I mentioned the other day. Think about it. I think it would be a good investment. Maybe during your next trip to Seattle you can take a second look at it.” I arrive home, climb out of the car, and hand over the keys to Joe. “For the next few days I’m helping Reed with the bar, using what you taught me. How are your places doing?”

“Everything is working well, except the Black Out.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re pissed at me. Confess.”

“No, I’m not anymore. After the crowd realized you weren’t coming, they stayed to dance and drink—that’s good for business.” I hear rustling on the other side of the line, and the latching of a door. “You’re crazy, Decker, and some nights I miss your madness.”

“Miss you too, dude.” I open the door to my apartment. “Tonight was busy, but I’m heading to play the drums before going to bed. See you soon?”

“Not this weekend.” He pauses. “Good night, Matt.”

“Good night, Trist.”

T
he bar is jammed, buzzing with energy and customers that are hoping to get a glance of MJ Decker. That’s good for business, but still I complain to Reed. “You should pay me double. At least give me a raise, or a break.”

“You’re getting all the tips. Stop whining, T, or you’ll wait the tables.”

“Order up.” I bang the counter after I’m done, turning to the right and getting back to the customers at the bar.

They better fill the jar as being the only bartender on a Wednesday night sucks. It’s been a week since Reed shared the news that Jax and Ella eloped. Their happiness equals more work to us. Reed doesn’t know if he wants to replace them or not; therefore, we’re doing our best to cover their shifts. I have more hours for at least the next two weeks, but according to the master schedule, I won’t have any time off. Today is crazy at the Silver Moon. Open mic Wednesday, and Reed added a one-dollar draft promotion. To make up for the slow customer service.

“What can I get you?” I wait on the guy who squeezed himself between the crowding bodies. His penetrating gaze meets mine. Mr. Whiskey Sour. Good tipper, bad temper. Usually I don’t remember a two-time customer, but something about him just stuck with me. Tonight he’s wearing a strikingly sharp and intimidating dark suit. Fuck. I like it. “Your usual?” I swallow, composing myself.

He leans closer to the counter. “You know what my usual is?” I give him a sharp nod and prepare his drink, then hand it over. He takes a few gulps and smiles at me. “I could use someone like you.”

“Thank you for the offer,” I say, with my sweetest voice as I grab his hundred-dollar bill, “but I’m happy where I am.” I show him his money. “Planning on keeping them coming?”

“Nah, maybe I'll order a second one, and whatever's left you can keep as a tip.” He looks around the bar, reaches again for his wallet, and hands me his business card. “I’ll be opening a place next year, and I’d be happy to employ you.”