Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (4 page)

MJDecker: Do you have a way to fly me back home tonight?

Bradley: Maybe. For the right price.

MJDecker: Seriously, dude? You’re a shitty brother-in-law and even shittier best friend.

I rub my temple thinking about my next move. Owing Bradley is close to selling my soul to Satan’s mistress.

“Why do you have to be there?” I ask Tristan, preparing an email for my assistant with instructions for tomorrow. “Is it vital?”

“Yes, there are some issues with Thrice that I have to solve immediately,” he says. That’s fucking important indeed—if I knew what the issues were. Although, Thrice matters. Any delays will postpone the release of the family band. “I just received the message from the architect. We have to go through the blueprints again.”

“I might have something, but we’re going to have to split the cost. Are you in?”

“Yes.” His voice trails off, but he doesn’t say another word.

MJDecker: What do you want in exchange, Mason?

Bradley: I’ll send you the bill for the cost of the trip.

I frown at my phone; he’s making it too simple.

MJDecker: That’s all?

Bradley: No. You owe us a favor. Either your sister or I’ll cash it later, and you can’t refuse.

Fucking Mason Bradley. I hate when I end up owing something. My sister—the evil vixen—is the one who usually cashes in the favors.

MJDecker: Done.

Bradley: I’ll text you when the plane is ready. Give me a few minutes to send you the info. Your flight will be departing in a couple of hours.

I start shutting down my computer. “Pack,” I order Tristan. “I’ll text you when I know at what time we’re leaving. I have a few things to do before we take off.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

I can’t help but smile at the beauty of those words. A poetic sound to my empty body. It just might be worth it to owe the Bradleys a favor after all.

Tristan is quiet. Not a bad thing, but it wasn’t easy to fly with him for more than two hours. His defenses are up. He stayed quiet the entire trip, only offering a few clipped responses.
No, I don’t want a beer at the moment.

Thank you, but I had dinner before heading to the hangar.
I was looking forward to spending a few hours with him, except he closed himself off completely.

Maybe that’s his game; drawing me closer to his mystery and making me fall for him. Do I want to fall for him? I shift gears and enter the ramp to I-5 before glancing in his direction. He’s definitely hot, but I don’t see myself with someone that can’t express their emotions. There’s no way in hell I can live the rest of my life with a person that needs prompting to share the basic information about his day or himself.

“I should’ve taken a cab,” he says. He proves me wrong. Tristan does display emotions: Rage, anger, and displeasure. “You have to drop me at my hotel. I made the reservation already.”

I take a few sips of air to calm myself. “Cancel it. What is wrong with heading to my place?”

“Everything.” His voice echoes through the entire car. “I just don’t feel comfortable staying at your place, what with your . . .”

When I begged to get a damn reaction from him, I hoped for something pleasant. Not this.

“My . . . Finish the sentence, damn it.” I glance at him. He’s now looking outside the window. “My taste for fucking-handsome men like you?” I dare to finish his sentence. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to come rob you of your virtue while you’re asleep. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

He silently dismisses the conversation and continues looking out his passenger window. I press the gas pedal after turning on the police scanner. I make up my mind. When we arrive at the penthouse I’m heading to my sister’s house before he gets me worked up even more. Our eternal drive ends right in front of Third and Main. Joe, our concierge, opens the passenger door and heads to the trunk when I pop it open.

“Hey, Joe.” I step outside and take my shit from him. “This is Tristan Cooperson,” I say nodding in Tristan’s direction. “He’s Jacob’s business partner, and he’ll be staying with us while he’s in town.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Cooperson.” Joe shakes his hand. I hand him over a few bills and shake his hand too. “You’re too good to me, Mr. Decker. I shouldn’t be accepting this.”

“Take it as part of your Christmas bonus, Joe.” I make my way toward the lobby. Tristan follows me.

“That’s not for another six months, sir,” he calls after me. I wave at him and press the elevator button to go up.

“Are we supposed to tip him?” Tristan asks when we step inside.

“That’s up to you.” I press our floor and glance at him. My gaze lingers around his full lips a moment longer than it should. I can’t help myself. My eyes trail down his body and I immediately regret it. Tristan wearing a suit is fucking mind-blowing, but the low-cut jeans and tight shirt he’s wearing now are as tempting as the pinstripe suit he wore last Monday. I clear my throat to try to help reduce my lust-filled haze. “Joe’s the best, and he has a couple of teenaged kids. I like to compensate him for all he does.”

“Like you did with the airplane crew?” his smooth voice questions. I press my lips together and nod at his question. “You surprise me sometimes. Many times you come off as a person who doesn’t give a shit about your surroundings, or others, but you do, don’t you? Who are you?”

I look at the ceiling, looking for an answer. I have no fucking idea what it is that surprises him, but I wish I knew. Despite his detachment, I want to keep him interested. Then I move my attention to the control panel indicating we’re almost there. “Stick around to find out,” I say, and walk out of the elevator at the precise moment the doors open.

M
y meeting at Thrice went well. The architect’s questions regarding the removable walls and electronic switchboards were answered by another team. They didn’t need me here for the meeting but it was worth going into the venue and assessing the progress. It made me realize that I have to fly more often than only once every three months if I want to keep the targeted schedule and budget. The construction company we hired is having internal problems; the materials they ordered are in backorder. There’s a freaking mess I have to sort out before I can head back to California. For the next week I have to stay and then plan my life according to this project. Avoiding Matthew Decker has been near impossible, but I’m determined to stay strong.

I laugh as I glance to my left. After leaving Thrice, he convinced me to go for a hike with him. He said we would stay close by. We ended up driving more than an hour to a place called Dash Point in Tacoma. The place is mainly flat. Not the usual uphill trails I’m used to in California. The woodsy area is parallel to the beach. The unique mix of both environments and the sun setting on the west side make me take my phone out for a picture. It’s not every day I have the opportunity to witness the purple sky and the view of two different landscapes becoming one.

“Do you do this often?” I catch up with Matthew who continues his way through the trail.

“Yes. Anywhere I go I find a place where I can walk along with nature. It’s . . . calming.” He slows his pace and looks toward the horizon where the sun is covered by pink clouds as it hides behind the sea.

Without giving it a second thought, he grabs my wrist and guides me to the beach side of the park. My knee-jerk reaction is to release my hand from his grasp. Holding hands with another man can be interpreted as “a gay thing.” What if someone saw us? But after a few breaths, I realize the warmth of his hand has released the tension I’ve carried since we arrived at the park.

We come to a stop in the middle of the beach and he releases me. “Close your eyes,” he says with a raspy voice. “What do you feel?”

I tilt my head in his direction waiting for a punchline, but I realize his eyes are closed.

“The wind,” he responds. “Take a deep breath and close those eyes.”

I do, and momentarily my body is releasing everything I carry. It's a refreshing sensation. It's peace. Only the sound of the crashing waves.

“Look,” Matthew says, and I open my eyes to witness the last rays of sun.

“This is perfection.” He points at the sunset. “Watching the ocean swallow the burning sun and promising that tomorrow will be another day.”

“That’s different, I never took you for a poet.”

“I’m a little of everything,” he says, shrugging it off and turning around. “My father Chris used to take me out on hikes when I had a bad day.”

“You had a bad day?”

“Everyone has struggles, Tristan,” he says, spinning around and starting to walk back toward where we came. “I learned to live with them and not let them define who I am. It’s easier when you have family and friends to lean on. Maybe it’s time to let someone into your life. Let someone know why you struggle.”

W
hy I struggle?

Because I can’t be myself. Because being myself goes against my family and my own beliefs. I’ve lived with a continuous fight since my parents caught me kissing another boy.

What if someone saw me?

What if I’m condemning my soul?

Will I burn in hell?

According to my father, my sexual “depravation” would prevent me from being successful and happy. My therapist had insisted I’d only been acting up, rebelling. If I liked women, there wasn’t any possibility that I liked men too. They promised I’d grow out of it. However, nothing they said or anything I’ve tried has stopped me from lusting after men.