Page 11 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

Is he trying to blow this? God, what was I thinking? There is no reasoning with a six-foot-one slab of backwoods meat with the social skills of a porcupine. I am giving this my all, and he’s trying to ruin it at every turn.

I pat him on the shoulder, and he shrugs it off.

I lean in, and he shifts in the other direction.

Does he think that was easy for me? The man is a walking, talking repellent.

Still, I even tried to hold his hand earlier when we were showing the Hepperlys the convention room, but he jerked his away.

I swear Keenan noticed and gave us a peculiar look.

Even now, when all I want to do is throttle him, I’ve got my hand on the back of his neck like we’re life mates.

Speaking of which, why is he so fucking sweaty? Yuck!

Shoving him away from me as soon as we’re outside and out of view of the Hepperlys, I wipe my palm on my shorts. Mental note to burn them later.

Folding my arms, I face off with the brute. Glaring at me, his lower lip pouts, causing his cheeks to puff out. It makes him look like a depressed chipmunk. Dario’s sympathy should be for me . If I were really gay, I could do so much better.

“Are you trying to blow this for us?”

“What?” he huffs, adjusting his shirt collar like I roughed him up. If only.

“You might as well just deck me with how prickly you come across.”

Smoothing down the front of his thin short-sleeve button-up, he mutters, “Tempting.”

The freaking coward. He can’t even look at me when he mouths off. Some badass ranger he is. “Hey, whether you like it or not, we’re in this thing together.”

“No thanks to you.” Folding his beefy arms, he glares out over the tennis courts like a giant bearded baby.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are you going to stand there and pretend you don’t want the money? Don’t think I haven’t heard you on the phone nickel and diming your sisters over every wedding decision.”

That must have hit a nerve. His eyes flick to mine, and his arms drop to his sides like tree branches. “That’s none of your concern. And I’m not nickel and diming. I’m…being sensible. I didn’t think they were going to have 300 guests. I only had a hundred at mine and that was only because—”

“Whoa…hold up. You’re married?”

“No,” he blusters, shoving his hands in his shorts’ pockets and averting his gaze.

“You just said your wedding. Ah, let me guess; you’re divorced.”

“You have to be married to get divorced.” That thick lower lip of his disappears as he purses his lips. Is he…blushing?

“Oh, shit.” I find myself snorting even though I know it’s not appropriate. “What then? Did she leave you at the altar?”

“No,” he sulks. His nostrils flare on an expansion of his chest, and he’s quiet for a moment.

I honestly don’t give a damn to know anything about Lucas Everette, but this is too intriguing, so I wait.

“She…left me at the Piggly Wiggly ,” he mutters, kicking the heel of his sneaker against the concrete.

Excuse me? He got jilted?

I mean, it doesn’t exactly surprise me. I think I’m more shocked that someone actually wanted to marry him. Well, okay. I guess, technically , she didn’t.

“Two weeks before the wedding,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck like it still bothers him. “In the middle of the frozen food section.”

Fuck…

No wonder he’s playing wedding planner for his sisters. Someone fucked him up.

I should say something. Even though I can’t stand him, logic and decency tell me I should say something. I need his head in the game, after all.

“Damn. That’s…cold.”

I don’t understand why he’s glaring at me until I remember where he said she broke the news to him. Ah, shit. I’m a smartass even when I don’t mean to be.

I try not to crack up over the thought of him getting dumped, surrounded by frozen peas.

A wave of frost settling on him as sad music plays from an overhead speaker in the middle of a grocery store.

I’m sure my face gives me away, but then his mouth ticks up at the corner, cracking a smile, and I lose it.

Thank God. Even Mr. Personality appreciated my unintended joke.

“I had to put half the shit back,” he scoffs with a hint of mirth, but then sighs. “I wish it had been that easy with all the wedding bills and the house.”

“Wait. You got stuck paying for a wedding you didn’t even have?”

Grimacing, he shrugs. “Shannon’s parents didn’t have much, and I’d have never asked them to help.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “They’re good people. It’s fine. I’m about done paying off the loan, then I’ll just have the house and my truck to worry about.”

Not that I’ll ever have to worry about footing a wedding bill or not being able to afford one, but that’s messed up.

Did he freaking buy a house for two that’s now a bachelor pad?

And if she’s the one who called off the wedding, she should be helping him out with the wedding expenses, at least. What is he, a sap? Or just…

No.

I refuse to even silently think that Lucas is a good person. I don’t care if there is evidence. We’re getting off track here anyway.

“Well, I’m not Shannon. I’m going to see this thing through to the end, so can you start trying to act like you give a damn about me?”

I don’t know how I’m supposed to take the look he gives me.

On the one hand, it’s shocking. How can such a big, angry dude look so vulnerable, almost like he has trust issues?

I will not feel sorry for him just because someone broke his stupid heart.

On the other hand, I’m offended. His face says that trying to fake liking me is the most repulsive thing someone has ever asked him to do.

I am not repulsive. Yeah, clearly he’s not down with dick either, but I’m still a catch.

“No more insults about how we met. No more flinching when I touch you or pulling away,” I elaborate, so he knows I’m not asking for his heart and soul.

“They laughed when I said the stalker thing. All couples bicker and tease,” he says lamely.

“Yeah, but they also get along, laugh, and smile each other. Did you not see the way they all dote on each other? If you keep up the way you were today, they’ll be onto us in no time, and you can kiss our commission goodbye.”

His gaze rakes over me covertly before looking away. Huffing, he stares out at the tennis courts again. “Why is it so important to you? You’ve got plenty of money.”

If that’s his shit way of saying I’m good at this job, he’s getting an F in the compliment department. One more thing we’ll have to work on in front of the Hepperlys.

“Because…”

Ugh. Isn’t there some unspoken rule that you never divulge your weaknesses to the enemy? He just flayed himself about his failed hillbilly wedding that never happened, though, so I guess I can throw him a bone if it helps get him with the program.

“Because my dad and brother think I’m not responsible enough to have a successful career.

Never mind that to them, successful means only if the career is at Broadhouse Publishing.

So, I’ve been working my ass off for my Uncle Lou to show them I can do just fine on my own, whether they like it or not. ”

I wait for derision or insults, but they don’t come.

There’s something in his eyes that looks like respect.

Fuck him and the surprise that’s there too, but the respect part has my face heating.

I honestly can’t remember the last time anyone looked at me with respect.

Maybe it’s just weird seeing him not hate me for five seconds.

“Fine,” he finally says.

Really? He’s giving in that easily? No headlocks or insults?

“ Fine? ” I parrot.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Huh. Strange. Sass him around with logic and he complies. Noted. Maybe he has something ingrained in him from the military to take orders.

Shrugging, I nod. “Okay then.”

An awkward beat passes between us as we both glance toward the resort. If he wants to shake hands or thinks we’re friends now, this is going to get even more awkward. It’s just business.

“So…what do you suggest we do?”

It shouldn’t fluff my feathers so much that he’s actually looking to me to take the lead.

I tried to tell him to do that from the beginning, but I guess some people are slow learners.

He’s a few years older than I am. You’d think that would give him more life experience, but ruck marching in the military clearly doesn’t prepare people for the dirty real world. Alpha boyfriend, it is.

Sucking in a breath, I hold out my hand, hoping he gets the message. “Be as absolutely disgusting as we can.”

Glancing down at my hand, his face blanches and his lip curls down at the corner. Such a jerk. I don’t have time for his freak outs. Grabbing his big meat hook, I start for the door.

“I said disgusting as in candy-sweet disgusting, not disgusted . Lose the grimace.”

His arm hair feels like a sherpa blanket underneath my forearm. Why did he go into island real estate? The man’s body was not built for warm weather.

“Why are you so hairy? Can’t you wax that shit or something?”

“No one waxes their arms,” he huffs, reaching for the door at the same time as I do, but then gives up. He jerks his hand away when he passes through, though not as violently as earlier, I’ll give him that much, but I can tell we’ve still got a long way to go.

“And if insulting me is what you meant by disgusting, I doubt that’s going to convince them,” he grumbles, but waits for me.

Snagging his hand again out of spite, I ignore how meaty it feels in my grip. His palm is surprisingly soft, not covered in calluses like I imagined it to be. Maybe he wears gloves when he chops wood back in the swamp or wherever he comes from.

“Sorry, lover,” I snark, squeezing his hand tighter when I notice how limp his grip is, like he can’t wait for the second I let go.