Page 14 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

I’d kiss Lucas for docking the boat just now after being on the water for the last five hours, but one—it’s Lucas.

And two—well, I fucking kissed him already and once was enough.

He’d better not cross over to my side of the bed again tonight.

It’s not my fault that he got in the way of my morning ritual.

I guess Veronica was right—I am a morning cock handler.

“How did I end up with two husbands who love the sun?” Mason groans, wiping the sweat from his brow with his bandana.

Fortunately, I’ve already gotten enough of a tan this year that I won’t burn, but he’s right. It’s hot as shit out here.

“We’re buying tropical properties, Mace ,” Keenan points out, gathering up his discarded shirt from the bench where he and Dario had lounged for our tour of the area. “If you don’t like the heat, now is not the time to bring it up. How do you plan to perform a show in it?”

“I like the heat, just not five hours of direct sun and soaking in my own sweat. I do enough of that on stage. I don’t want to do it on my honeymoon, and at least I have misting machines and fans at my concerts.”

At the mention of sweat, I swear Lucas’ gaze flicks to mine.

I can’t be sure due to those dorky sunglasses of his, but my money is on someone knowing they’re guilty of being a Sweaty McSweaterson .

One more reason to get off this boat and wash away the day.

He’d better go hose down before he starts smelling offensive.

“Did you happen to see that little shaded cove just off the west side of the resort on your run this morning?” Lucas ventures. “It’d be a nice spot for a dip, if you want to cool off. I was going to go take a swim there before dinner myself.”

“Hell yes,” Mason groans, climbing out from under the canopy, panting like a dog in the Sahara. “Let me go use the loo and I’ll meet you down there.”

“Oh my God,” Keenan sighs, shaking his head. “There’s got to be a diva in every crowd. Sorry, but Mason is ours,” he apologizes.

“Nah, it’s fine,” I assure him. “I’m cooked, too, but I doubt you guys will be spending this much time on the water at whichever resort you settle on. At least you got the full lay of the land, though.”

I am not going to admit I’m grateful that Lucas salvaged a moment of unpleasantness for our guests with his swimming idea.

Stepping off the boat, I reaffirm some of the features of the resort we’re heading out to tomorrow, several miles to the south.

We were actually able to get a glimpse of it today from the boat.

I nearly missed it, too distracted by the sight of Lucas’ bare back when he stripped out of his tank top.

Did he do it to show off to Mason, who stuck by his side the entire trip under the comfort of the shade of the canopy? How inappropriate. The guy is married and his husbands were sitting right there on the boat. Doesn’t he know how that makes me look?

When the world’s worst and sweaty boyfriend finally meets us on the dock, he keeps up with the Boy Scout attitude he’s had all day, waving us on toward this swimming hole to top all swimming holes.

There’s a fine sheen of sweat across his furry chest, but he’s the only one not panting from the heat.

I didn’t think I could hate him anymore. Is he superhuman?

By the time we’re clearing the west side of the resort, Lucas is forty feet ahead of me. It’s too far and I’m too hot to yell that we lost Dario and Keenan, who decided to pop into the resort for more bottles of water while they wait for Mason.

Tripping over a rock, I wince when my flip-flop bends underneath my toes momentarily. “This is why I don’t fucking date,” I mutter under my breath, shaking the sand from my sandal. “They’re either inconsiderate or high-maintenance as shit. Who fucking needs it?”

If I’d at least had the chance to fuck with him today, maybe I’d feel better.

He was too busy acting like the best skipper to have ever skippered, steering the boat and pointing out every natural formation and species of freaking birds.

Did he watch a National Geographic marathon before we left?

No one cares about that shit. Sure, people put it on brochures to boast whatever they can about their properties, but how many tourists come to the Bahamas to fucking bird-watch?

All right…Dario looked interested, if I’m being honest. But he’s a wildlife guy, so he’s the exception.

He even hopped out of his seat and stood next to Lucas, watching him point out a group of sandpipers or coots or whatever the fuck it was they were looking at.

I don’t know. I wasn’t listening. All I do know is that it was really odd how Lucas seemed to have no problem being shirtless and shoulder to shoulder with his male idol, and yet, holding my hand is somehow repulsive.

Maybe he’s not as opposed to male attraction as he lets on and reserves his distaste only for me.

Huh…

I promised myself I was done thinking about it, but now I’m curious to know just how long he let me sleep stroke him this morning before he decided to say something.

He did act kind of strange after that not-a-kiss yesterday.

I fully expected him to throat punch me, but he just stood there, gaping, almost like he was drugged.

“What the ever-loving hell…”

As I round a grove of small palms where the cay descends to the shoreline, my feet stop so abruptly that the rest of my body lurches forward. I’ve found Lucas’s swimming hole. The problem is that I’ve found much more than that.

Damn…my eyes. That is one big bubble butt.

Once Lucas kicks his cargo shorts and flip-flops off, he straightens to his full height. I now have a clear and unwanted image of the shape of his entire body from head to toe.

Turning around like he senses my presence, his brows quirk together over his sunglasses. “What?” he huffs indignantly.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

His lower lip bulges as he glances down at himself. Holding his hands out to his sides, his actual response is, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Am I suffering from sunstroke? How is he oblivious to the many levels of wrong he represents right now?

My brain says, ‘Mommy, make the bad man go away,’ but my eyes don’t listen, taking in the sight before me one more time.

He’s wearing a twin to his tighty-blackies, but in bright blue.

A much smaller, much tighter, much more spandex-y version of his tighty-blackies.

How is he still looking at me like his question merits an explanation?

“You can see your tuft.”

Frowning, he glances down again, as though he doesn’t see what the rest of the world would see. Leveling his gaze back at me, his nostrils flare, and his fingers form fists at his sides. “I don’t have… tuft .”

I’m fucking staring right at it. Literally, staring right at the floofy groin hair that’s framing his bright-blue-clad junk and blends into thinner hairs that cover his thighs all the way down his legs.

And…he’s still staring at me, looking completely clueless.

Unbelievable. Does he just enjoy arguing?

Fuck this. I’m hot. It’s not my fault he doesn’t know how to manscape or dress himself when there’s clients around.

Kicking off my flip-flops, I toss my shirt on a rock next to the path to the water and then gesture to the source of his delusion. “Are you kidding me? It’s like you’ve got a full-grown Chia Pet suffocating in there and it’s popping out to breathe.”

He appears to process that as I start down the path. His face goes red, and his hands move to cover the Chia Pet. “Quit looking at my dick.”

I can’t with him anymore. Spinning on my heel when I’m in line with him, I march over until we’re practically nose to nose.

“How can I look at your dick when I don’t have a machete to hack through the tuft jungle in front of it?”

Voices float over the slope that rises to the resort. Lucas’s gaze flicks in that direction, and he takes a step away from me, mumbling, “Knock it off. They’re coming.”

Someone please tell me why he’s dropping his hands now? What a slut!

It’s okay for the guys to see his Chia Pet, but not me, his own fake boyfriend? That’s some bullshit.

Taking a step closer, I rest my arm across the back of his shoulders. I haven’t touched him all day. I’d better not have to have a repeat conversation with him about who he fake-belongs to. “What’s the matter, snookums? Afraid the guys will notice you’re having an intimate moment with your man?”

He’s tense under my touch, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks go crimson. Does the guy do it with the lights off? For Pete’s sake, he acts like he’s never heard of an R-rated movie.

“It’s not intimate,” he mutters, pretending there’s something incredibly interesting on the ground at his feet. “You’re just being an asshole because you’re embarrassed you grabbed my dick.”

Oh-ho-ho. So, that’s how it is?

Slipping behind him, I sidle up close until my chest is flush with his back. I have a brother, a gay cousin, played soccer in college, and am very secure with my body and sexuality. Lucas Everette apparently needs a lesson in just how nonexistent my embarrassment meter is around other men.

Sliding my hand down the front of his chest, I bring my mouth close to his ear just as the Hepperlys crest the hill. “I’m not embarrassed,” I challenge in a low tone meant only for his ears. “I stroke my dick every morning. Yours just got in the way.”

I swear his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest underneath my palm. He’s as rigid as a post, but has enough sense not to move as our clients approach.

“Then why are you being an ass with all the body comments?”

Aw… Big man’s embarrassed.

The thing about being embarrassed, though, is that it means you have to care about what the other person thinks.

Why would Lucas care about what I think of his body?

This isn’t the first time his lips have parted like he’s gasping for air when I’m touching him.

Pretty sure he was doing it this morning, the way he just lay there, frozen and panting. I wonder…

Is the Chia wrangler in denial?

“What’s wrong?” I purr, dragging my fingertips lightly across his chest. “Can’t a man admire the way his lover’s big, bushy tuft is packed into a child’s size snack baggie?”

His throat undulates so hard I hear a gulp sound, and…he’s fucking trembling.

“Stop it.” I think he meant that to sound threatening, but it came out as a rasp.

Oh. My. God.

I think Lucas wants to climb underneath a coffee table. Is that why he looks all disgruntled every time I touch him?

His freak-out is not my problem. I didn’t force him to come on this trip.

My fingertip touches something hard and puckered.

Shit. Pretty sure that’s a nipple.

And…he just shuddered.

Yup. Definitely a nipple.

Screw it. He wants this commission as badly as I do.

Circling it with my fingertip, I leave him with one last parting order before the Hepperlys are upon us, remembering the way he complied the other day when I went off on him. “Why don’t you just shut up and smile like a good boyfriend when I compliment you and your tuft?”

Smiling, I wave my other hand at the Hepperlys, who are busy cooing over the light breeze wafting in from the cay and the sunset that we’re apparently missing. I’ve seen dozens of tropical sunsets. I can miss one to analyze this evolution of the world’s angriest ranger.

Lucas sucks in a sharp intake of breath and his hand clenches over mine. I thread my fingers through his, but not to be cruel. Dario and Keenan are filing past us toward the water. Tufty needs to hold out for a few seconds longer, or this scene was all for naught.

Slinking my other hand around his waist, I hold him in place in case he gets any ideas about moving. I stroked a dick that wasn’t mine this morning. My pride can’t handle being publicly rejected by my fake boyfriend right now, so he can stand strong for two more freaking seconds.

“Ahh, yes,” Mason hisses, bringing up the rear. “Water. Water that I can get in without being eaten by a shark.” Just as he passes us, he calls out, “You blokes coming?”

“Be there in a minute,” I assure him cheerfully.

There is no earthly reason why I haven’t let Lucas go yet.

There’s no earthly reason why he couldn’t have burst free from my arms now that all three men have likely reached the water.

I think I’m just too enthralled over his ragged breathing and what it could mean.

The guy’s practically hyperventilating in my arms.

Sweat, I remind myself, when I catch a whiff of his potent, musky scent. Releasing him, I step back, all too aware of how our skin sticks to each other’s for a second.

What the hell am I doing?

Chad always said I could never let anything go. This took things a little too far, even for me. I blame Lucas. He just pushes all my damn buttons.

Digging our room key out of my pocket, I toss it on the ground near Lucas’ sandals and start toward the water. When I don’t hear the sound of heavy, pouty footsteps following me, I glance back.

He’s still standing in the exact same spot. His shoulders rise on an intake of breath that he lets out slowly. When he turns, his hand is covering his blue bulge, except…it’s not able to cover all of it. It’s not able to cover all of it because…there’s more of it.

Holy shit. He’s hard.

Whipping my gaze to the water, I move without thinking. It seems like the right thing to do. If I got caught getting hard over Lucas, I sure as shit wouldn’t want him to see.

Except, I didn’t. He did. And I did see.

A breathless laugh leaves my lips as my feet connect with the cool water. I didn’t even do anything to make him hard! I wasn’t even trying. All I did was give him a tip of foreplay and boss him around. How can…

Oh, man. No way.

I’ve had enough bed partners to know a kink when I see one. I can’t hold back a chuckle. I am going to have so much fun with this.