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“Babe,” he whispers, holding me tighter.
When I open my eyes, I see him. His big blue eyes stare at me. “Not all of us are as fucking lucky as you are. Some of us have nothing—no one supporting who we are or our choices. That doesn’t give you the fucking right to judge me.”
“Let me help you,” he offers.
“You’ve done enough,” I snap and push myself off of the couch.
Unsurprisingly, I fail and land on the floor. This is just great. Sometimes, I wonder why I’m still around. It’d be simpler if I just end myself and the pain I live in.
Waking up is almost as painful as the memories of last night. Once I’m showered and dressed, I head downstairs. When I step inside the kitchen, Matthew is drinking his coffee. His light-brown strands frame his chiseled face. His broad shoulders are covered with a leather jacket.
He looks dangerous.
Edible.
Tempting.
But forbidden.
I like him better when he’s wearing only a smile and I can see his rippled muscles. Fuck, are we over? No. We’re friends that share some benefits. We can’t be over.
“Sorry about last night,” I start the apology. “Alcohol makes me a son of a bitch.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Matthew?”
“Why did you contact my brother while he’s on his honeymoon, when you knew you could’ve come to me?” I take a step backward, trying to figure out the reason for his rough tone. “Jacob left me in charge. You come to me. You don’t call him with your shit.”
Okay, so he’s not upset about last night, but Thrice? This guy is weird and hard to understand.
He pushes himself away from the counter, facing me with a cold stare I never thought he’d be capable of. His entire body straightens. Matthew fills the entire room with his presence.
I narrow my stare, trying to defy the commanding stance he’s taken. But it is hard for me to challenge him when I like to submit to him. The submissive in me needs to be taken care of, and in some primal way, I know he takes care of me, when and if I let him.
I inhale before giving my explanation. “Jacob chose certain fixtures and speakers for the new club. I thought it’d be best to discuss a potential replacement with him.”
I take a few steps backward leaning against the wall. “Clearly, I have no idea what the two of you discuss and how things are handled.”
He combs his hair with both hands, places them on the side of his hips, and gives me a serious look. “I’m the behind-the-scenes person. I research and make some decisions that would normally go to Jacob. He’s the voice of the three of us. Sometimes Ainsley takes the lead. That’s how we work.”
His threatening look makes me want to apologize. Still not sure about what exactly. Pissing him off, insulting him last night, contacting Jacob instead of communicating with him…
He leans closer, leveling his gaze with mine. “The speakers are on order and should be delivered next week.” And with that, Matthew leaves.
I clamp down the urge to grab him. To demand that we finish this conversation, to clear the air.
“Matthew,” I call after him. “It was never my intention to hurt you.”
“It’s cool.” He pivots around to face me and then shrugs. “I hate drama. Hate it. I get it. You had a shitty day. I’m not gonna lie, though. You pissed me off.”
The air has changed. It’s as if whatever pull we had has completely disappeared. My lungs are having a hard time functioning. His spine straightens, his arms cross, and he gives me a look that says,I’m done.I’m done…with you.
Fuck.
ChapterSeventeen
Tristan
