Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) (44 page)

“Are you okay, babe?” Gabe hugs me from the back, his hands resting on my chest. “I should have kept all the electronics away. At least for today.”

“My band is dead,” I blurt, wanting to laugh and cry. We were four friends with nothing. Stupid kids who gambled with our music and hit the jackpot. In only months, we climbed the billboard charts. Our first single was on top for weeks and we became famous. Things ended on a shitty note between us, but we shared a lot for several years. It makes me sad and makes me think about my own mortality. How much time do I have left? “Literally. I’m the last man standing.”

“Because you were the only one who grew up, babe,” he says, kissing my neck. “You found a different passion and you’ve always said it: you’re a Decker. Deckers can take almost anything.

“You became my passion.” I turn around to kiss him.

“AJ called, she wants some help with the grandkids.”

I laugh. “We both know why they want me over. I’m going to walk into the house and everyone is going to scream ‘surprise’ give me some credit, college boy.”

His smile stretches, shaking his head. “Can you pretend to be surprised?” He kisses my forehead and I can’t believe we remain together after all these years. He might have a few wrinkles, but he’s still the same pretty, college boy I fell in love with. “They’re trying to make your birthday special.”

“Yes, I can act surprised,” I agree, walking to the backyard through my office’s back door. “Though, since they came into our life, they’ve been making it special every day. Is it only the kids, or did they invite friends?”

“Only my parents, our four children, and their families. Yesterday was the big bash with friends and family.”

Last night the boys organized a concert at Thrice. Decker’s band played a few songs. Porter joined us for the first time on stage. A few of my musician friends played some of my old songs to pay tribute to me and celebrate my big day. It was a cool night. A nice birthday present from my family. The only downside is that none of my little ones could be there. My grandchildren had to stay behind. The oldest is ten and the youngest is only three weeks old. I guess today is when I get to enjoy them.

“Surprise!” everyone shouts when I slide the patio door open. As they sing happy birthday, AJ, Jacob, and Matt stand in front of everyone, holding a cake that says Happy Birthday Papa Chris.

My arm goes around Gabe’s waist; my head rests on his shoulder. He gave me this, my own family—our family. Which grows every year. There’s always a new addition to the Decker clan.

AJ and Mason have three adorable children. Gracie, Seth and the little surprise baby, Nathan who was only born a few weeks ago. The pregnancy wasn’t planned and the weeks that followed after we learned that AJ was pregnant were fucking scary. They barely made it, but both fought hard and they’re on their way to recovery.

Jacob and Pria have three adorable boys. Jude and Gabe are the terrible twins, but there’s never a dull moment with them. Sterling is only one, but he will soon follow their steps.

Matt, Thea, and Tristan have their precious baby girl, Piper; Grayson is a year old and there’s a new baby on the way.

Porter and Mac have four little ones. My oldest granddaughter, Harper is the leader of the next generation. Finn, her brother is her second in command. Little Emmerson is adorable, just like her mom. And Oliver is only three weeks old and as precious as every other member of this family.

“Thank you, college boy,” I whisper when they finish singing. “Without you, I wouldn’t have my family. I love you.”

“Happy Birthday, rock star.” He kisses my cheek. “Thank you for sticking by my side through the good times and the bad times. For your patience, for accepting me. Most of all, thank you for loving me after all these years.”

“We worked hard to transcend, babe.”

“I love you, babe,” he murmurs, hugging me tight. “Stick around, there’s so much more to come.”

The End

Read on for an excerpt of Unlike Any Other

Unlike Any Other

One

AJ

2015

I
step out of Eleanor—my lime green VW Beetle—press the alarm key and take a glance at the neighborhood. The row-house architecture emulates the brownstone structures found in almost every city in the East Coast, but with a Texan twist. It’s a warm combination of stucco and stone on the exterior with heavy timber balconies and iron accents.

I climb the steps to ring the bell but get sidetracked by the mums on each side of the door. It reminds me of how much I miss living in a house where I can plant flowers galore. Not that my studio isn’t pretty or the two plants I own aren’t appreciated. It’s just . . .
don’t go there, Ainsley, stay in the present
.

Right, the present
. I have a mission to accomplish—Operation Gobble-Gobble. As usual, the door is unlocked and opens when I wiggle the handle.

“Honey, I’m home,” I holler as I step onto the rubber mat, wiping my feet and turning on the light in the small foyer.

The heavy steps on the wood floor drag my attention for a few seconds from scanning the place.

“We don’t have all night, AJ,” Ryker Finn scolds as he ushers me inside the condo.

The plaid cherry color couch adorned with big orange pillows never ceases to make me cringe every time I enter his home. Must be the pattern. After grabbing my phone, I place my messenger bag and my light jacket on top of it and give a quick scan of the living room. Mustard color walls, black and white pictures of the Eiffel Tower, a ballerina, and the sky and mountains.

I can’t marry these decorations with the tall, blonde, husky football coach.

Why am I here?

My original plan for tonight included writing some music and watching a marathon of 80’s romcoms to kick-off my Thanksgiving week. It seemed like a good idea at the time and sounded better than visiting Ryker. Except, as I watched
You’ve Got Mail
and Meg Ryan celebrated Thanksgiving with her boyfriend and friends, it hit me; I wanted to spend the holidays with someone.

The best solution, I could manage, was calling my . . . boyfriend. I phoned him and the call didn’t go as planned.

“AJ, glad you’re calling,” he answered. No greetings or introductions to his newfound happiness. “Sweetheart, why don’t you swing by. I have a game tomorrow and I want you, babe.”

Yes, I’m responding to a booty call. My fault. My call didn’t include the booty part; he came up with the idea all by himself. Obviously, I said yes—a girl has her needs.

Ryker raises a blonde eyebrow, tilts his head toward the hallway and crosses his muscular arms waiting for me to follow. He doesn’t like me to linger around the living room area. Our routine is to step into the house, to make out while heading to the bedroom, and to finish with sex.

“Sorry, the couch . . .” I scrunch my nose. “You really can’t buy a new one?”

There are pretty inexpensive ones at the second-hand furniture store on Main St. I know because I worked there two years ago during the holiday season. But, of course, I don’t mention it, as my mission is to score an invite, not to piss him off.

“No AJ, my roommate bought it.”

Right, the mysterious ‘roommate’ who is never around. Six months and I’ve yet to meet him. The couch isn’t the point of my visit; for Ryker, it’s having sex and for me . . . changing my annual holiday trend. For the first time in three years, I plan to celebrate them. At least Thanksgiving, which is next Thursday.

Minus six days and counting.

Ryker and I have been seeing each other for about six months. Surely, it’s enough time to invite the familyless girl to join him for a dinner, right?

He hadn’t mentioned a thing and I could wait, but . . . I’m cutting it too close already.

Earlier, I talked myself into asking. My parents always said:
“What’s the worst thing that can happen? If they say no, you’re back to where you began.”

“Thanksgiving is almost here,” I state the obvious.

Ryker grumbles something and directs me to his room. Like usual, the comforter is gone and there’s only the sheets and blanket on top.

“As I was saying,” I speak, but Ryker doesn’t take notice. He kisses my neck and pulls off my dress.

“Fuck, I swear you have the best lingerie in this world,” he grunts and kisses my shoulder blades. “Take off pump, AJ.”

A strange statement coming from him; he’s an older man—late thirties. It’s easy to assume that being a football coach and having previous sexual experiences would’ve led him to women who wore better underwear than a twenty-four-year-old.

Ryker taps my pump lightly; I remove his hand and shake my head.

“No, the pump stays. After six months, you should know better.”

Ryker has a problem with my insulin pump. Every guy I sleep with, has a problem with it. Sorry, but I don’t have a pancreas that works well enough to produce insulin on demand.

“Talking about six months.”
Do it, AJ. You set yourself up to succeed in this mission; take the chance.
“You know that I don’t have a family to spend the holidays with . . . why don’t you invite me to enjoy it with you?”

“Uh, you celebrate the holidays?” his question follows with two wide eyes and a confused
hmm
that doesn’t sit well in the pit of my stomach.

“Yes, I do celebrate holidays,” I answer, controlling my tone so I don’t sound like an annoying girl. “And it’ll be nice if you invited me to spend it with your family.”

“You’re shitting me, right?” his southern accent deepens. “Why would I want to bring you home when you’re only a romp between the sheets?”

Ouch, that hurts somewhere. In fact, his question hits me right through the heart. Why not call me a cold bitch? Not that my heart hurts. My pride, maybe? My back tenses and I’m shrinking in size. Yes, it’s definitely my pride he wounded.

“I’m more than that.” My protest isn’t acknowledged as he unhooks my bra slipping the straps down my arms.

Really, after calling me his . . . fuck-girl, he thinks I’ll continue this? Fuck that, I’m leaving.

The feathery kisses he places along my back are making me doubt myself, though. Okay, one more time and then I’ll head home and move on . . . yes?

“Not once have I ever seen you leave,” he comments as a matter―of―fact.

“That’s because after you dispose of the condom, you doze off,” I complain of his poor performance. There are times I don’t orgasm at all and he doesn’t care.

“If you stayed . . . nevermind. You’re unattainable, AJ.”

Unattainable? I’ll tell you what I am: a lonely person with no holiday plans. The girl who is back to square one. I have no one to spend my holidays with. What is wrong with him? I want to shake him until he understands my point of view. It’s just dinner, I don’t expect him to drop on one knee and propose. Or to score another invitation. For Christmas, I’ll make other plans.

Oh well, another year going to the deli section of Whole Foods to buy a couple of slices of turkey, some mashed potatoes, green beans, and a smidge of pie.

“Come on, babe, don’t be difficult.” He takes off my boots and socks then slips down my panties. “Tomorrow I have a big game, the faster we finish this, the earlier I can go to sleep.”

Yes, let’s get done with the task of fucking AJ and then head to bed
. Ryker tears the foil square . . . the man is already slipping on the condom.

Great, no foreplay.

Today I don’t care, I’ll brush my clit while he’s plunging himself inside me. I don’t give a shit if he complains about me emasculating him.

It’s just sex, nothing special . . .

Special disappeared years ago.

UNEXPECTED SERIES

Unlike Any Other

Unsurprisingly Complicated

Uncharted

Uncut

Undefeated

LIFE SERIES

Where Life Takes You

Next To You

B
orn on the mystical day of October 30th in the not so mystical lands of Mexico City, Claudia grew up with a childhood that resembled a caffeine-injected soap opera. Seventeen years ago she ventured to the lands of her techie husband—a.k.a. the U.S.—with their offspring to start a new adventure
.