Page 10 of Contingently Yours

Hoisting another suitcase from the back, I let out an awkward laugh, unsure how to act.

I feel sheltered having never seen two men in a relationship interact, let alone three.

Their ribbing and playful touches aren’t any different from the way my sisters are with their fiancés.

Yet, the dynamic leaves me feeling even more out of my element than usual.

I haven’t been in a relationship, a real relationship, in almost four years.

I haven’t been on a date in a decade. Frankly, the sight of anyone in love still makes me uneasy after my disaster of an engagement.

Sometimes, even seeing my sisters so over the moon is like a kick in the gut.

I’ll never have that. I think I even knew I never would’ve had that with Shannon.

It felt…good having a partner, but that was just it—good.

Safe. Reliable. The comfort of not being alone.

I’ve never had that drunk-in-love look that my sisters do. Maybe I’m defective.

I sling one of their backpacks over my shoulder and then grab a suitcase in each of my hands. Nodding toward the dock, when their laughing faces turn to me, I inform them, “The, um, seaplane’s ready to go, if you’d like to follow me.”

“Lucas, you don’t have to carry all of that,” Keenan admonishes.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

A hand slaps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “He does it all the time,” Andrew assures them, kneading the muscle at the base of my neck. “Built like a pack mule, this one. Come on.” He motions with his head toward the plane and brushes past me. “I’ll get you boys settled.”

Gritting my teeth, I watch him saunter off empty-handed as the Hepperlys follow him.

I thought maybe he was just trying to get my goat when he said I would be handling the luggage while he did all the ‘ important ’ work, but now I can see how this is going to go.

Not that I mind being a gentleman. It’s called having manners, something Andrew Broadhouse clearly knows nothing about.

I doubt he’s lifted a finger for manual labor a day in his life.

Hurrying after them, I have every intention of immersing myself in the conversation, so he knows he can’t set a precedent that he’s the one they’ll come to for property questions.

However, as I stow their bags, he’s already mucking it up with them, rattling off details about the resort we’ll be showing them today with rapid-fire exuberance.

“Fire her up, sweetheart,” he calls out, sparing me nothing more than a glance. “Let’s hit it.”

Swallowing silent curses, I have no argument, since I am the one who has to fly the plane.

That leaves him every opportunity to continue to run his mouth while I have to pay attention to the controls and our flight path.

To my credit, I set us down gently at Moonbeam Cay and get a few claps from the Hepperlys for my flight skills.

Before I even have everything shut down, Andrew has already bailed out and is leading our clients down the dock to the resort. But not before he assured them I’d handle all their baggage. I’m going to murder him before the day is over.

After three long-ass treks to the resort’s empty reception area, my back is soaked in sweat, and my heart rate is primed for a cardio workout.

I nod to one of the caretakers, who’s in charge of maintaining the place while it’s officially closed, that this is the last of our cargo.

He lets me know the rest of my party is already out back viewing the pool area.

Fucking Andrew. He’ll have made a sale before I even get peep in.

“Oh, this is great. Look at all the room for patio seating,” Mason declares as I come huffing through the doors.

“There he is,” Dario greets me, hands stuffed in his cargo shorts. His rugged physique, wavy black hair, and well-worn olive drab T-shirt make him look out of place even if the resort is currently devoid of its intended high-dollar guests.

“What took you so long?” Andrew asks, stretching out his arm like I’m supposed to come to him. Is he kidding me?

I’m not a demanding man, but if I did have an actual boyfriend, this would be grounds for dumping him. I can feel sweat trickling down my spine, and I’m sure I now smell like perspiration. Just the professional image I want to portray for a showing.

I stop between Dario and Andrew on purpose, ignoring whatever the hell his open arm is supposed to mean. I know I don’t know the first thing about having a boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure they don’t need to touch every second of the day or during a work setting.

“Your bags are all at reception,” I inform the guys, offering a smile and trying not to sound winded.

“That was so nice of you, Lucas,” Keenan says. “Thank you.”

I feel his presence before I see him—Andrew’s arm reaches around my back, squeezing my side. “Babe, you didn’t have to do all that. I would have helped.”

Turning my head, I hope he can see the concealed fury in my eyes. “Really? You could have fooled me.”

Gaze shifting, he tracks the Hepperlys as they meander around the pool, surveying it. “Ew, you’re all sweaty,” he grumbles, releasing his hold on me and shoving me away.

Before I can remind him how long the walk from the dock to the reception area is, he scurries off after our clients, spewing more of his zeal about all the other amenities the resort has to offer.

I look like an idiot already. A useless, sweaty, pack-mule idiot—the exact image Andrew has of me. How did this happen?

Hurrying after them, I interject helpful facts whenever I can, but it proves difficult when Andrew barely shuts up and is constantly on the move, like this is a sprint.

I’ve at least surmised that Dario couldn’t care less about the resort.

Keenan interjects a few things about potential revenue, which makes sense since he works in finance, but it’s clear that Mason will be the deciding vote.

They want to build a small stage for him and his band to host performances several times a year—an exclusive resort named after his band.

The property will be an investment for the Hepperlys.

While they clearly don’t seem to need the revenue at the moment, I have to say I appreciate their collective interest in securing a financial future for them as a throuple.

It’s…sweet. The kind of thing people who intend to grow old together plan for.

Taking a seat at the bar in the lounge two hours later, I study them in silence.

No thanks to Andrew’s yammering, I can get away with doing so.

They act like three best friends, three sometimes physically affectionate best friends.

I’ll admit I feel strangely warm each time I catch one of them giving the other a loving stroke to the arm or a side hug, but I’m in awe.

I’ve never found one person to be so copacetic with.

How lucky are they that each of them has found two?

My stool jostles, and a knee slams into the outside of my thigh. I know without even looking that it’s my very non-copacetic fake boyfriend.

Andrew’s barstool is scooted so close beside mine, he’s practically enveloped me with his open thighs from the way he’s sitting on his.

I stepped away from him and shrugged off each of his touches as soon as the Hepperlys weren’t looking while we walked around the resort today.

I thought he’d have gotten the hint, but apparently not.

His arm slinks over my shoulder from behind, effectively putting me on display now that I’m between him and the Hepperlys.

I know he’s doing it just to annoy me. We don’t need to touch each other to sell properties.

Steadying my breath, I try to ignore the sensation of his heavy arm over my shoulder and the way he’s fingering the pocket on my shirt.

I haven’t been touched in forever, but it’s not the touching that bothers me.

It’s the toucher who’s making it feel…weird.

I think sitting still while your archnemesis pets you might actually be more difficult than any of my army training.

“So, you two met at work?” Mason asks, sitting back in a chair at one of the round tables next to the bar that he and his husbands claimed. The caretaker brings over a tray of drinks and deposits them on their table, giving me a moment to prepare myself for our lie.

“Yeah,” I concur, trying to smile. I feel dirty already, dirtier than when Andrew’s filthy hands are on me.

“Sooo…tell us all the details,” Mason croons. “Was it an office flirtation? A secret rendezvous? How did it happen?”

Andrew laughs. Too loudly. Right in my fucking ear. There is no way my smile looks genuine right now.

“He followed me around with those big puppy dog eyes of his for weeks before he finally got the nerve to ask me out.”

My stomach roils and my face burns as the Hepperlys coo and chuckle. “I did not,” I grit.

“Oh! I always love this part,” Keenan laughs. “Two sides to every story. I can relate, Lucas. Go on. Tell us what really happened.”

Fuck. How did I go from not wanting to lie to them to being neck deep in it with all eyes on me?

My mind churns over every past interaction I’ve had with the jackass who’s now got my shoulder in a death grip, like he’s silently threatening me to make him look good.

A man can only be so dishonest. Andrew is not good.

Picking up the beer the caretaker set on the bar for me, I mutter as I bring it to my lips. “He stalked me like a menace until I gave in.”

Dario cracks up and shoots a look at Mason. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

As the Hepperlys laugh, I feel heat at the back of my ear. The death grip on my shoulder tightens. “What the fuck?” Andrew hisses.

As soon as I’m sure our clients aren’t looking, I smack his hand off my shoulder.

He lets out a gasp like it hurt. The baby.

I sit up straighter, pretending to adjust my shirt, but it’s just an excuse to put more space between us.

I don’t want the first time I’ve been touched in four years to be by someone I can’t stand. It’s a deception my body doesn’t need.

I try to listen to Mason defend his reasons for repeatedly booking Dario’s survivalist package and coincidentally ending up at the same off-the-beaten-path pub Dario was at, but I can feel the hostility behind me like an invisible barrage of daggers.

Good. I hope Andrew enjoyed getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Lucas,” Dario calls, raising his glass with a smile, “you have my sympathies, mate.”

“Thank you.” I nod, raising my glass in return, enjoying the ounce of vindication it brings me.

I can feel Andrew bound off his stool. His hand clamps down on my shoulder again, making me tense. “Fellas, can you give us a minute to go over some of the arrangements for tomorrow? We’ll be right back. The staff’s getting some lunch prepped for you now, though, so hang tight.”

“Sure. Bit a grub sounds good by me,” Dario assures us.

“Take your time,” Keenan adds, looking over the property plans with Mason like their digs to each other are already forgotten.

I give Andrew a side eye and am met with a sour expression.

His stupid, wavy, sandy hair is starting to curl more in the humidity, making him look deranged.

If he thinks he’s supposed to be intimidating, he needs to work on it.

Gripping the back of my neck, he practically steers me to the patio door.

He’s got another thing coming if he expects me to ask how high each time he says jump.

I hope my sisters have at least an inkling of how much I love them and cherish their happiness.

I cannot wait to break up with this asshole.