Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) by Claudia Burgoa

storage unit. We’ll use those rooms to place my grandparents’ stuff when it arrives from Albany. Meanwhile, there's a big crew building a small bungalow next to my sister’s home. That's where Janine and James Colthurst will ultimately move. Another way to make sure they are comfortable. In a month, when their new place is ready, we have to rearrange everything—again. I swore I'd pay for the movers to do that shit, and avoid them for a couple of weeks. My grandma’s words ring in my ears.
    “Any girl—or boy—that might interest you, dear?” she asked. “You’re old enough to settle down.”
    Now they want me to get hitched. Fuck. The pressure is on and I don’t like pressure. Tomorrow is going to be another dose of the same. Do I really want them around? Heck, yeah. Who am I kidding? I’m happy having them around. Hopefully that question won’t come up again.
    As I arrive at my building, I exit the truck and hand over the keys to Joe, our doorman. Instead of taking the elevator, I head for the stairs. Climbing all nineteen floors, I reach my place and pray nothing will ruin my night. But I’m wrong. As I place my gym bag, and deposit my wallet and keys in the coat closet’s safe, I see him. Tristan sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. Fuck, is he drunk again? I snap my fingers and don't get any response. Yep, he's under the influence of something.
    “Time to take a cold shower,” I say, as the whiff of alcohol assaults my nostrils. “What happened, babe?”
    Several questions pile all at once: Where has he been? Has he been drunk since last Tuesday? Is he a drunk? How can I help? None of them make it out of my head. Instead I help him going up the stairs and into the shower. In other circumstances I'd be all over him “saving water,” but not today. This amount of drinking isn't healthy. I'm concerned about him, worried that maybe being with a man is what's making him drink more. Hell, some days I want to search for that liquid courage, too. Being in the closet to please him is taking a toll on me.
    When he sobers up we have to talk. My gut tells me that this shit I'm doing isn't settling well. I'm not the only one who has doubts and thinks I should find a way out. I do like Tristan, and have learned to care for him. But not to the point of losing perspective of who I am, and the values I've lived by since I discovered my sexuality.

    The room spins and my head is killing me. I can’t remember much of what happened. That’s going to bite me in the ass later. These past days have been a blur. Shaking the memories of my visit to my parents’ with alcohol had been a bad idea. My own fault. I let my parents wear me down to the ground until the most stupid comment made me storm out of their home. The call where my father threatened me was the last drop. I drank during the plane ride, went to a bar, and finished the arsenal of beers Matthew had in the house.
    My worst mistake was fucking the barfly. Sex and alcohol are a bad combination. Holy shit, does this mean I cheated on Decker? No. We aren't exclusive, are we? No, we agreed on that the last time I was . . . drunk. Shit, I need to pull myself together. The most I know about our relationship is that we keep it under wraps. I wish I could look deeper, find some meaning to what we have, but I don’t have the luxury to think beyond what we do now. Not if I want to remain sane. Shit, what am I doing? What am I doing to him and to myself? Matthew and I should stop fucking around, but my stomach drops with the thought of losing my friend if we stop our other activities.
    I shove the door of the bathroom open and head to my room. I have a light buzz going through my head but nothing major. Maybe I shouldn't think much about my future. After getting dressed, I make my way outside to look for Matthew.
    “You sober up?” I spin around to find him staring at me with arms crossed and a worried look. “What’s going on with you? You disappeared from the