Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (9 page)

T
oday I released the anger brewing inside me by banging my drums for a few hours. For the past three nights I’ve asked Tristan to stay with me, but he has left. He never said no, but he didn’t stay. There have been no explanations, no apologies. He waits for me to fall asleep and then leaves my side. This is fucking unbelievable. I’m not asking him for much, only to stay next to me while he sleeps. Why can’t he do it? It’s not as if we’re announcing to everyone that we fucked and shared a bed.

Dripping in sweat, I decide to head downstairs to take a shower. In a couple of hours I have to head to my parents’ for Sunday dinner. The penthouse is silent. Tristan wasn’t around when I woke up at noon. We’re not a couple, but would it kill him to be more open to the possibilities of being together?

Tristan’s words from a couple months ago chase themselves around my mind as I enter my bedroom.
“You’re comfortable with your sexuality—whatever that might be. Good for you . . . I prefer to keep my business to myself . . .”

This situation is killing me. I can’t kiss him whenever I want. Not even a simple touch in front of others, as that makes him jump out of his skin. If only . . . if only he talked to me about what makes him think he has to stay behind closed doors. What is it that makes him do and behave the way he does? Is he ashamed, scared . . . what the fuck is it? Can I help him? It must be wearing to pretend he’s not attracted to me.

Stepping into the stream of water, I wash away the sweat, the questions, and the prickling feeling that this can’t continue. We have a great time together when he’s not concerned about what others think, when it’s only us. One thing I know is that hiding isn’t me, and pretending I don’t want him—that I don’t care—is going to break me. A man can only lie to himself for so long before the lies become truths.

Shutting the shower off, I then dry myself with my towel and head to my closet. Throw on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and my shoes. I run a hand through my hair and go downstairs. If I play the piano, my mood will calm. There’s no point heading to see the family with a wrecking mess eating me on the inside. I’d hate to behave like a prick in front of them, and they don’t deserve to deal with my problems. The feelings, doubts, and issues will remain, but at least they’ll be dormant for a few hours.

My feet come to a halt the moment my eyes lock with Tristan’s green stare.

“Did you find bedbugs in my bed again?”

“You were still sleeping when I left the bed. I never stay later than eight,” he lies to me. I cross my arms, hoping he’ll change his tune. “Sleeping with another man isn’t me.”

I release a loud laugh. “Priceless. What are you, Tristan?” I scratch the bridge of my nose waiting to hear some other childish response from this man. The thirty-year-old man that regresses at least ten years when it comes to his sexuality. “Maybe one day you’ll recognize who you are for yourself. That’s the first step.”

He walks closer to where I stand, his eyes a couple of slits. “I am aware that I like to be fucked by
men
, and love to fuck women.” He combs his hair with one hand letting a loud breath out. “That is different from sleeping in the same bed with a man—or a woman.” He raises his hand showing me two fingers. “Sleeping and fucking aren’t the same, they are two different things. Our physical relationship will continue as long as you understand that I have my limitations . . . my hard limits. Staying for the night is one of them. This isn’t me trying to be an asshole, but trying to keep things together.” He touches his temple. “Remaining sane. The question is, can you respect them?”

“I respect you, but I hope that someday something or someone snaps you from that narrowed mentality,” I say, brushing my lips against his. Tristan’s eyes close, his forehead rests on my shoulder. Man, what is it that keeps him from enjoying himself? Fuck, we both need to chill. Checking the time, I realize we have enough time to take a hike. “We’re cool, Trist, let’s change and head to the trails.”

“A miracle?” I cock an eyebrow at his question. “A miracle is what will snap me from the fucking shit ingrained inside my head.”

“Maybe love.” I shrug and we both head to our rooms to change.

Sunday dinner is at my sister’s this weekend. My parents are getting ready to leave for Albany this upcoming week. My grandparents are moving to Seattle. Gabe wants to make sure Grandma Janine goes to the best cardiologist. They’re trying to find the right doctor to treat her heart condition, and we promised to help them take care of her. If all goes according to plan, she might last another eighty-some years. At least, that’s what AJ wants.

“So, how are things with Tristan?” AJ asks, as we set the table. I rotate my neck only enough for her to think I’m paying attention, but I avoid her eyes. Her intuition is better than Sherlock Holmes’. Any misstep, and she’s going to know something is going on. “Is he still an asshat?”

“Asshat? Man, having a child really transformed you into a bizarre character, little sister,” I say, evading the Tristan subject. “This no-cussing thing is really taking a toll on you, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” she growls at me while flipping me the finger. Her brown curls bounce the moment she drags her feet through the floor to get in my face.

Great, I pissed her off.

Why is she mad at me? It’s not my fault her insults are comical. Ever since AJ had her baby, she’s been trying to talk like a decent human being. That’s an impossible task for the spawns of Chris Decker. Our father doesn’t understand what’s wrong with using the word fuck between each word he says—among other words.

“Where is Gracie?” Yep, I found the best way to divert her attention from the asshole I’m fucking at the moment—her beautiful daughter.

I shouldn’t be calling him names, but we had a fight before I left the house and I feel like calling him a fucking asshole. All started with my lack of restraint while in public. I kissed him while we were in the underground parking garage—the
empty
parking garage. He blew a gasket. We had just set one simple rule: I would respect his hard limits. Tristan wouldn’t shut up about my lack of restraint and respect toward him. The motherfucker threatened me with terminating our relationship. Through my constricted lungs, I also felt some kind of release. Eight weeks pretending we are a couple of friends sharing the same space was starting to tick me. I don’t want a title, but I do want to kiss him whenever it pleases me, wherever it pleases me. As of today, not even my family knows about my current situation. I can’t stand omitting that part of my life anymore, but I’ve been doing it for him.

“What’s wrong, babe?” AJ responds with a question. I try to relax, but the moment her green eyes get that red rim of doom around them, I know she caught me thinking about him. “What did he do to you?”

“Who?” I try my best to fake ignorance, but I know it’s futile to even try.
This is AJ.

“You’re sleeping with Tristan, aren’t you?” My chin hits my chest. There’s no way I can deny it. She reads me like an open book. “That’s what you’ve been hiding from me. I knew it, I flipping knew it. Why the hell are you hiding it?”

I remain silent because she’s not going to like the answer. AJ fought my parents for years because they hid their relationship. My sister can’t and won’t allow them to hide it ever again, and I know she’s going to have a hard time understanding why I can’t . . . Fuck, not even I understand why I’m doing this anymore. The thrill and novelty of doing him is gone. Yes, I like when we’re together. I enjoy him, but is it worth pushing myself to become someone I don’t like?

Maybe not, but I can’t analyze that shit right now.

“It’s complicated, AJ,” I respond with the weakest, most stupid words I can find.

AJ opens her arms, and of course I can’t help but step inside her protective hug and let her take some of the pain that’s building inside my chest.

“Get out of whatever you two are having before you fall for him, because he’s going to hurt you,” she says in a low voice. “I’m here for you, Mattie. We all are. You don’t need someone who doesn’t love who you are and can’t be honest with himself.”

My sister’s words pull the corners of my lips upward. She knows me too well, and she’s right. No one will put me in a situation I don’t feel comfortable. “Don’t worry, AJ. I don’t have feelings for him so it’ll be easy to terminate our rendezvous,” I tell her, all the while pretending my chest isn’t hurting. Maybe in the end that’s what will have to happen, but of course, I don’t want to lose my friend. If I do this the smart way, I should be able to keep him.

Right?

S
tepping inside the building where I took residence eight weeks ago, I give a short nod to the doorman who receives my car keys. Home. So much different from the house I own in Santa Monica. Or the house where I grew up where everything my mother owns belongs in a museum. This is a modern structure of glass and steel that at night makes you feel as if you’re part of the sky. As I enter the elevator, my phone vibrates.

“Father.” I pick up instead of sending him to voice mail like I would prefer. With him it’s useless. He’ll call again and again until he reaches me.

“Tristan. You didn’t call over the weekend. Your mother worries.”

Sure, she worries because she lost her grasp on me and my social life. I love the woman. She’s my mother. I just can’t handle talking to her too often. Listening to her rambling about what’s happening in her social circle, begging me to head back home and take over the company.
Or
marry Victoria Hudson, the heiress to Hudson Advertising Corporation. A company my father would love to acquire by marriage. I have no interest in either: Victoria or the company.

“Father, I’m busy. Can you get to the point?” I press my head against the cold glass and close my eyes.

“I want to confirm your attendance.” I open my eyes, staring at the murky evening, hoping that lightning will strike and I’d forget his fucking call. “We have a board meeting this Thursday and your brother is getting engaged over the weekend.”

Engaged? To whom? I have to talk to him. Sounds unbelievable that Mother let Lucas marry his high school sweetheart. She hates her because she doesn’t have any class. Unless he broke up with her in the past year and ended up dating some rich idiot. That’s my brother: the perfect puppet of Viviane and Charles Cooperson. I’m the black sheep. The one that can’t understand social cues and norms. If I had a dollar for each time my father has beaten the fuck out of me for not being perfect, I could retire.