Page 41 of Uncharted Desires
Sawyer’s eyebrows shoot up. “You didwhat?”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
Jesus. It’s been such a lovely day, and now I have to havethisconversation.
“I have an older brother. Marcus. When I was finishing high school, he came out to my parents during family dinner. My father went into a fury before my brother even finished talking and disowned him on the spot. He kicked him out of the house that night, too.” I take a shaky breath, the memory of that night still vivid in my brain. “I packed up my things and walked out with Marcus. That was the last time I saw my parents.” Sawyer opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “That’s why Ineedthe scholarship. Ineedthe grades to keep it. Call me uptight all you want, but I’m starting from scratch, just like you. So no.” I wipe my face with my palm, my emotions settling now that I’ve spilled my guts. “No Daddy’s boy on this side of the table.”
Silence falls between us. Sawyer stares at me the whole time, unblinking, and even though my rage evaporates with each breath I take, I’m still able to hold his stare.
Finally, he says. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He rubs his hands over his face and hooks them behind his neck. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Now I feel like an asshole.”
An involuntary chuckle shoots out of me. “Feellike? Youarean asshole.”
He tilts his head to the side and gives me puppy eyes. “But you like me, anyway?”
I lean back, fold my arms over my chest, and look at the ceiling. “Actually, I haven’t decided yet.”
Sawyer sends a smile my way. I smile back. Somehow, against the odds, we’re okay again. “It’s gonna be a long week.”
He winks. “It’ll fly by.”
A particularly loud feedback comes from the speakers by the stage, and we both snap our heads toward the disturbance.
The band is jamming away, utterly oblivious to how imperfect they are. Either that or they just don’t care. And I can’t shake the feeling that, in some way, Sawyer belongs here. Unapologetically imperfect.
And he’s right, too. That’s the way I like him.
I look back at Sawyer and motion my head toward the stage. “Go. Play me something.”
He catches his lower lip between his teeth. “You don’t want to hear that.”
“I think I do. Besides, you’re better than all of them from the little I’ve heard.”
He regards me for a moment before he rolls his eyes, rising to his feet. “Fine. It’s your funeral, though.”
I sit back and relax as Sawyer walks up to the stage, produces an ancient-looking guitar from somewhere behind the drum set, and without asking permission, jumps up on the stage and starts strumming.
I can’t even hear him amidst the noise, sounds mingling together into one out-of-tune mess of a song, giving me a private rock show.
I grin the whole time they play.
Chapter Seven
Sawyer
Mr. Uptight:2 hours!!!
I snort at my phone when a message bubble pops up before promptly stuffing it in my back pocket.
Because Blake’s right—I still have two hours left of my shift, and starting tomorrow, we’ll engage in what I can only hope will be a weekend-long fuckfest after a whole week of starvation.
But for now—work!
The club is buzzing with its typical Friday night shenanigans, and I’m sprinting from one end of the bar to the other, serving drinks and exchanging smiles for tips.
I’m in the middle of mixing up a dry martini when my phone buzzes again.
Mr. Uptight:One hour, thirty minutes!!!
