Uncut (Unexpected Book 4)

by Burgoa, Claudia

  Of course, I have to pray someone will take me . . . with my background, which sucks. I pull my coat from the rack, fix my curly hair into a quick messy bun, and leave my apartment. As I’m locking the door, I read the reminder I posted last night.

  Thea:

  Don’t forget to mail the orders.

  You have to mail them today.

  T.

  P.S. Make it a great day!

  Shit. Well, at least I have time to go to the post office while running the other errands. I storm inside, pick it up from the dining table, and continue with what I was doing. One day at a time. That’s the only way to survive, the only way to continue. My luck is going to change. I’ll get a break. A big break that will guarantee some happiness and less loneliness. But for now I’m happy I found a way to escape.

  I hug the box. It has dreams, hopes, and love. A future that someday will grow. Yes, I’ll make it. At least I’ll make it till tonight and will hope that tomorrow is day 1849 of being sober. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I open the metal door and find Reed with a supplier. “Morning, Reed,” I say, kissing his cheek. “See you later tonight.”

  “Morning, T. If you can, come by earlier. We have to adjust this week’s schedule,” he says, waving at me.

  Adjust schedules. That doesn’t sound right.

  Yes, I said it earlier and I’ll repeat it again, what a shitty Monday. My counseling sessions were a fiasco. My supervisor threatened to pull his sponsorship if I didn’t change my methods. No idea what that means, but I have to talk to him tomorrow after he’s rested. This is the last stretch. Walking the few steps from my apartment door to the Silver Moon, I pull my parka closer to cover myself from the evening rain. Thankfully, today the back door is open and I step inside.

  “Hey, Reed,” I holler from the back entrance, looking at the pile of boxes. Weird. Usually Jax, the other bartender, is the one who moves the inventory around. Where is he? “Anyone home?”

  “T, bring one of the boxes that are by the entrance, please,” Reed calls back. I bend down to pick up two of the cardboard boxes and head to the front of the bar.

  “Where is Jax?” I place them on the floor, grab the X-ACTO knife and cut through the tape. “Is he sick?” I hope he has one of those twenty-four-hour flu things, and he is back tomorrow.

  “No, he married,” Reed responds nonchalantly. I tilt my head, waiting for more. “He called earlier, Ella and he eloped to Vegas. They’re on their honeymoon.”

  Ella is one of the waitresses. She and Jax have been dating for about a year. Never knew how serious they were, but they drip sweetness and hotness when they’re together. That’s cool that they married. Wait a minute, honeymoon. We’re losing two people for how long?

  “Are you sure about them being married?” I ask. “Because that’s . . . huge. Married. Wow. When are we expecting them back?”

  Reed stops stocking the shelves and looks at me. “They don’t know yet, T. He mentioned a long honeymoon and perhaps finding a new place to live.” Pointing at the papers on top of the bar, he continues, “We have to cover their shifts. For now I want to hold off on any hiring. What if I hire new people and they come back in a week?”

  I scratch behind my neck, thinking about the consequences of their absence. Without them, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays are going to be chaos. But if it’s only for a week, we can pull it off, can’t we? “That makes sense, Reed. How can I help you?”

  From now and until they’re back, I’m going to work every day at the bar. The promise of overtime is a bonus. Reed already talked to the other two waiters and they’re going to take some of Ella’s shifts. He adds that maybe some nights he’ll send me home right after closing, since I’d be the one opening the place. That adds a couple of hours I can use to work on my jewelry. This is good, the shitty Monday finally clears.

  I wipe the counter for the twentieth time. No one mentioned that Tuesdays were so slow. Eleven, and I’ve served only a handful of patrons. If only I had someone to chat with, but no one is drinking by the bar. Though, suddenly my heart skips a couple of beats. My eyes turn to the door and in walks a handsome man. His eyes land on me, he flashes me his hundred-watt grin. Matt. His hypnotizing gaze doesn’t allow me to move.

  “Hello, Butterfly,” he says, cocking his head to the side as he watches me.

  The warm and fuzzy feelings that he’s inducing inside my body remind me that I have to compose, and force myself to stop staring. “Hi, Matt,” I finally say, “same as usual, or should I add a shot of tequila?”

  “Just the beer, thank you.” His voice trails off as his eyes scan the bar. “Slow night?”

  “Yep. Slow, boring . . . take your pick,” I respond, placing the Corona in front of him. I look at the equally empty tip jar, then frown because Matt doesn’t come this often. “Not that I mind seeing you today, but . . . you never come twice in the same week—or month.”

  He leans forward and crosses his arms. “My schedule has changed. I’ve decided to travel less and spend more time with my favorite bartender.”

  The tips of my lips stretch farther and farther away from each other jetting toward the ceiling. It’s the sexy crinkle in his eyes and that grin. God, the dimpled grin melts me every time he serves me with it. This is me behaving like a teenager in lust. I shake my head and move my gaze from the irresistible, beautiful man in front of me. Unfortunately there’s not much to do as the beer glasses are stocked, same with the wine glasses.

  “We should find you a few more customers tonight.” Matt drags my attention away with his husky voice. He’s tapping on his phone and grinning. “There, you’ll have a few locals within the next half hour.”

  I look at the clock. “It’s eleven P.M., Matt. I doubt many will stop doing whatever it is that they do on a Tuesday night to swing by the bar.” He sips his beer, shrugging.

  “We can bet.” He places the empty bottle on the counter. “If you’re right, I’ll take you out to dinner—anywhere you want. If not, you’ll take me out to dinner—anywhere I want.”

  I take an exaggerated look around the bar, then stare at the door. Sounds like an easy bet, but the stakes are the same: going out with Matt. Twisting my mouth, I shake my head. As lovely as it is to swoon for him, I know better. Neither one of us is interested in dating. We both have different reasons to keep ourselves from the courtship game.

  “Another beer?” I offer, pulling a Corona.

  He nods. “Of course you’re deflecting the conversation, afraid I’m going to win.” He winks at me. “Did you get my message about the gig?”

  “Yeah, not sure if I want to add more to my plate.” I rest my arms on top of the counter. “But tell me about it.”

  “It’s simple, I swear. You’ll be typing and editing books,” he explains while I sanitize my area. “Have you heard of the Nix series?”

  My body stops moving, my eyes meet his. My interest perks up. “Do I know about it?” I give him an annoyed glare. “I’m secretly dating Tucker Ackerman.”

  That’s one of the main characters and who I like to call my boyfriend. The author describes him as a strong, tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed man with striking facial features that make anyone’s heart beat hard. A gaze that if directed at you would make your limbs weak.

  “Secretly dating him?” He smirks and shakes his head.

  “We’re talking about the Sci-Fi books, right?” He nods, rolling his eyes at me. “The ones by J.M. Hurst. I love them.” I couldn’t help but give a shriek because maybe, maybe I might get to meet the author. “Do you know the author? Can you get me a signed copy?” Then I freeze.

  My mind comes down from the fangirl moment and realizes I don’t have the time to add yet another activity to my already busy calendar. Dropping my gaze, I have to decline the amazing offer to be a part of something like The Nix series. “I wish I could, but I really can’t.”

  “What else do you do, Butterfly?”

  I tell him about my three gigs. Explain to him that I
need my counseling license and what I want to accomplish within the next year—obtain my license and start counseling.

  “So . . . you create all those dangling things you wear?” He grabs my arm and checks the bracelets I wear today. The touch of his fingers on my skin sends sparks throughout all the limbs of my body. “Cute. Give me the website so I can send the link of your page to my sister. She likes this stuff.” I release my breath as he says those last words. Our eyes meet and I’ve come to realize I’m going to have to work twice as hard to fight the attraction.

  Shit, I’m in trouble.

  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.” />
  The 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.”