Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (15 page)

I'
m usually a morning person, but shit, today I can't. This is already a shitty Monday. I immediately pull my bracelet to shut myself up. Bad energies are what make my day shitty. That and the big headache I have today. Going to bed at three in the morning wasn’t a great idea. Stupid Matthew Decker and his oh-so-awesome conversational skills. I let the shit go and take a breather.

Good Karma, positive thoughts. I clear my head from negative shit and decide to continue with my routine. I start by counting yesterday’s tips. My lips pull when I find four hundred-dollar bills, and a napkin.

Butterfly, email me. I’d rather have you working for me than at the bar. M.

At the bottom is his email address.

I place one of the hundred-dollar bills inside the savings jar, then reach into my purse and place the rest in my wallet. Seventy dollars, plus his four hundred in tips isn’t bad for a slow night. Maybe I’ll email Matt later and find out what he’s offering. I’m attracted to him; I’m a woman that hasn’t had sex in eons, but for me sex is a three-letter word that implies much more than the act of copulating. I rather not risk a five-minute orgasm for . . . Yeah, I shouldn’t go there.

For now it doesn't matter, I have shit to do. Like heading to the bank to deposit my check and tips. Then head down to St. Peter & Paul, a small catholic church where I volunteer my time to counsel foster children. It’s a program run by the deacon’s wife where we help the children adapt into their new or temporary homes. The hours help me with the counseling license I’m working toward. Only seventy-five more hours of supervised experience, my test, and I can get the state certification. Then I can search for a real job as a therapist.

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
.