Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (31 page)

Tristan snaps his fingers. “What’s with you today? I’ve been calling you since I entered, but you’ve ignored me. Just now you got lost inside that labyrinth I love.” He kisses my temple, then takes me into his arms. “Missed you all day,” he says, placing his lips behind my ear.

“He’s coming back tonight, Coop.” I lean my face on top of his shoulder. My lips press against the hollow of his neck. “A part of me is jittery, wanting to hold him, and the other is confused as to how far I’m going to run because I can’t choose between either one of you.”

“I love when you call me, Coop.” I came up with that name last Friday, as he argued with Matt that Trist sounded ridiculous. He runs a hand over my back. “Two weeks ago I wouldn’t hesitate on telling you to pick him. Today . . . I don’t want to lose either one of you. Let’s play this weekend by ear. I have to go to California next Monday. We might have an answer or two by then.”

The tug of war my heartstrings fight is not one man against the other. It’s more like how will this work?
If
it works. Fuck it. I can’t believe I’m considering the possibility of a relationship with two men.
Is this what I want?
The answer isn’t clear. What is clear, is the idea of not having one of them with me, or either one. And that thought makes me lose my ability to breathe. They are my air.

“You’re thinking too much about it, aren’t you?” I nod. “Put it in the back of your mind or you’ll end up having an anxiety attack.” I nod again.

“How was your day?” I ask, disentangling myself from the safety of his arms.

“My fifth appointment with the therapist you recommended went well.” After we agreed to take the jump—give ourselves a chance to think—he asked me to help him find a therapist. “It’s a work in progress. Thirty years of knowing one way is hard to erase.”

But he’s working on it, and I can’t help but feel proud of that step. Fall for him a little deeper. I lift my head and take his lips without thinking about anyone or anything else, only him. This feels so right, it can’t be wrong.
Is it wrong?

Order after order comes to the bar from the sitting area. No matter how fast I serve, there’s no end to them. Tristan and Chase, the new bartender, are the ones taking orders and handling the bar. They’re keeping up with the clientele but after they serve one, two more approach the bar. Reed mentioned earlier that the place would be busy. It’s Friday night. There’re rumors that MJ or JC Decker might make an appearance. Not true. Matt just arrived from Vancouver and I doubt he’s going to step in the bar.

To verify the information, I checked their twitter accounts earlier to confirm said rumor. Neither one has posted in the past couple of days. Matt’s last post was
#MJDecker making movie magic
and a picture of the set. His brother on the other hand posted a cryptic message saying,
#JCDecker goes solo, the tour is about to start.
Their hashtags are trending tonight, along with
#FarewellSilverMoon
. The bar is closing in a couple weeks. Reed finally made a decision about his future. He’s retiring to Belize. In the meantime, the contractors are prepping the nearby buildings. It’s only a matter of time before Tristan Cooperson makes a statement and changes the landscape.

As for me, I have an appointment with a realtor next Monday who’s helping me find an affordable apartment close to my new job. Christian opens his practice early next month. Everything is happening too fast. Adapting isn’t easy, but I have to make it happen if I don’t want to lose myself into this new stage, or lose anyone who matters.

Concentrating on getting the orders right, while thinking of the two men that keep my head pretty busy, makes it hard to pay attention to the rest of the bar. It’s not until I hear screeches that I move my attention from the counter and look at my surroundings.

Two bodyguards stand in front of the main door. The bar is at full capacity and the improvised stage for open mic night is set. JC Decker holds a black Fender. His sun-kissed hair is shorter than usual and he’s wearing a black T-shirt that reads “Decker’s Band.” He takes center stage, Chris is on his right holding another guitar, and his sister stands to the left with a fiddle in one hand. The other hand types on the laptop next to a big keyboard. Matt’s behind the drums, and even with all the people between us, his eyes find mine and his smirk weakens my knees as usual. We hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds before his move behind me. As I look back, I watch him and Coop exchange something between the two of them.

The sound of the cymbals echoes through the speakers, and everyone goes silent. JC scratches a string, and his sister presses a key to match it.

“Marry me, JC Decker,” interrupts some crazy fan.

I shake my head and look around the bar, spotting Gabe Decker entering from the back room. “Hey, sweetheart.” Gabe walks to me, giving me a hug. We exchange the typical greetings that we do almost every day when I go into his husband’s offices for either a consult, or training. “Do you need any help back here?”

“I want to have your babies, MJ.” I hear the scream all the way from the bar and it makes me scrunch my nose. Getting used to his “adoring fans” is going to take longer than I thought.

“I meant to invite you earlier today to Sunday family dinner at our house. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

Dinner with the Deckers? I feel myself tense up at the thought. But before I can think about it further, the music starts to play and I turn my attention to the stage. I’m saved for now.

T
he orders slow down as the band plays. Chase and I are able to restock the bar with the help of Gabe Decker and Reed. This is the end of the Silver Moon as they knew it. They both seem . . . sad. The idea is to close the bar down after this weekend. During yesterday’s inspection, they found too many problems. Neither Reed nor I want to remain open and face an issue down the road. That’s why last night the Deckers came up with the idea of having one last concert.

I was against it until Matt told me it was his father’s idea. Chris Decker loves the place. He wanted to perform one last time in the place where he began both his solo career and his career as producer. Jacob interrupted his honeymoon and flew back the moment he learned this was our last weekend. Both brothers had spent years in the establishment scouting talent. Once I had the story, I helped organize the
last call
concert.

“We’re set.” I clasp Reed’s shoulder. “Enjoy the show.”

He nods and walks toward the stage where the Deckers are playing their father’s old stuff. The place is overflowing with fans, and I fear that maybe we let too many patrons inside. I don’t think we kept a head count as they started to arrive. I give a signal to the security guard at the door to make sure no one else comes inside, then check we have enough security inside. Mason Bradley is coordinating that part of the concert. He assured us that we had enough manpower for a regular concert at a medium stadium. According to Gabe, the man has rescued presidents, defused bombs, and even stopped big drug organizations. With that kind of recommendation, I decide to let my guard down and enjoy this night.

My eyes land on my girl, Thea, who leans against the counter, watching them play. I approach her, placing myself right behind her sweet, round ass. “You’re tempting me, Butterfly.”

She pushes herself lightly, as her upper body tries to straighten up. My dick hardens with the contact. “I’m not there yet, Coop.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “You know, I can’t remember having sex without alcohol, or having sex with someone I care about,” Thea whispers. “My therapist and I concluded that maybe I have to look at it from a different angle. A loving angle. The next time, I should take it as my real first time. Which makes what we’re doing a mistake, the wrong thing for my mental sanity.”

“It sounds like we’re discussing that you need a loving relationship with someone who will care for you and make love to you. Butterfly, there's love, lots of that included in what we offer.” I kiss her neck. “And we’ll discuss that part when it’s time. Let's start our future slowly. I'm sure Matt will be on board.” I can’t believe I just said that. That I’m open to discuss the possibilities. Her scent soothes me and I understand why. I love her. We can find a solution later, but tonight I’ll enjoy her body against mine. I hold her by the waist and sway with her as the music takes us over.

“I swear, there’s no pressure,” I repeat, as she trembles in my grip. Her breath quickens. If this were any other girl, I’d think she’s turned on, but something is wrong. I turn her around to see her face and she’s pale. “What’s going on?”

“Too many people, the music . . . the music,” she whispers. A throaty sob pinches my heart. “I hate that music.”

“You hate Dreadful Souls?” She nods, so I press her body against mine. She leans her head on top of my chest and I hold her tight. “Think that’s Matt playing for you, loving you. Not music from some old band. I have you, Thea. No one can touch you.”

Her body snuggles closer to me, and her breathing evens out as the music switches to Eleanor Rigby. Instead of pushing her away from my hold, I savor the feel of her body against mine and listen to our man play. She sways in front of me, her breasts brushing against me. As innocent as those movements are, my thoughts are anything but. Fuck, two weeks and I believe that we have to make this work. Maybe we
do
belong together.