Page 22 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

What kind of boyfriend doesn’t look at you once the entire day? Can you say insensitive?

I don’t know what’s up with him, but he’s been laughing it up and smiling ever since we left the bakery for Clark’s Island yesterday. He didn’t even scowl or act weird when we dropped our bags in our room at the property we’re staying at.

It’s a double—two beds. When I tossed my suitcase on one of them, he did the same, like he didn’t intend to try to sleep separately from me.

Maybe he noticed that there’s no lock on the door and knew not to try that shit since the Hepperlys were just down the hall in the primary suite.

Since when has Lucas become compliant without having to be bossed around, though? Something is up.

This morning, I woke up as usual. Well, as per my new usual—with my hand on his dick again. I should start tying my wrist to my thigh or something at night. As for him being hard as iron again, it shouldn’t make me feel so damn proud. Smug…maybe I’m just smug.

I knew he had a crush on me. At least, I think he does. He acted so unaffected yesterday, all through the showing, though, that I’m no longer entirely sure. So, I let him go as soon as I realized where my hand was, and neither of us has said a peep about it.

Right now, however, I’m even more confused.

It’s day two of our showings on Clark’s Island, and he reached for my hand when we left the house to take the guys down the path to the beach.

He reached. No tugging away. No grumpy face.

Nothing typical Lucas-ish. But he’s still not even looking at me.

What the hell is up in Tuft Town? Am I just an asshole with a dick grabbing problem?

“Hey, Drew,” Keenan calls, bringing up the rear where he was checking out some photos on his phone from their mini-break at his mother’s house. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. There’s a Broadhouse Publishing office in Boston. Any relation to you, by chance?”

Fuck.

“Uh, yeah. It’s my grandparents’ company. My parents run it now. They have five offices in the States. One in the UK, too, actually.”

“You’re kidding me!” Mason exclaims. “You and Lucas should pop over and see us at our apartment there if you ever come over.”

Double fuck.

“Thanks, but I don’t work in the business. Not anymore anyway.” That sounds ominous, so I add, “I used to.” Great. That sounds even worse.

“Really?” Keenan exclaims. “Oh, my word. You could be approving a Pulitzer-winning work or discovering the next epic fiction series. How come?”

Perfect. One of our clients just has to be a lover of literature.

Something heavy rests on my shoulder. My hand is suddenly empty, making me realize it’s Lucas’ giving me a squeeze and tugging me closer to him.

“Andrew left publishing to help his aunt and uncle. They own VeraLou. So, technically, he’s still helping his family. He’s the best agent they have, so I doubt they’d be willing to let him go back.”

What the actual fuck? Did Lucas just…champion me?

And hello—someone knows things about me. I have to say, his version of my life course sounds much better than how I saw it play out. The way he tells it, I feel less like a failure or a disappointing son. I wonder if he’d be saying that if he knew my own father fired me.

“Well, Drew, I’d say you picked the better calling,” Dario remarks, stopping when we reach the sand of the beach and staring out at the gulf.

A flock of birds swoop low in the sky and caw as the waves undulate far in front of us. It’s hot as hell out here in the late morning sun, but it is a damn fine view. Far better than any I had in a Broadhouse office.

“Yeah. I think so,” I concur absently, enjoying the smooth feel of the curve of Lucas’ hip as I stroke my thumb over it.

Wait. When did I put my hand around his waist?

Glancing over, I see parted lips. Gaze fixed on the view, he looks like a man enjoying the scenery, except I realize I do know Lucas better than the average bear.

He swallows like it took him some effort.

I watch his throat undulate and his chest rise unsteadily.

And then I smile the first genuine smile I’ve smiled all day.

Leaning in closer until our sides are flush against each other, I slide my hand a little lower down his hip and squeeze. “Who wants to be stuck in an office when you can stand on the beach with the man of your dreams?”

“Right on, mate,” Mason concurs, slinging an arm around Keenan and planting a kiss on his head.

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” I whisper for Lucas’ ears only.

He mouth-breathes for a few seconds, that signature Lucas-arousal fog I’m starting to become acquainted with. I knew I was right. Why did I doubt my suspicions? Someone was just trying to put on a good face the last two days because he was embarrassed that I called him out on his crush. Ha!

Sucking in a breath, his nostrils flare and then his expression closes off.

What is that? That’s so unlike him. That’s not what he’s supposed to do.

Usually, I say something flirty, and he gets all flustered or seems drugged, looking like he wants my mouth on his.

Turning his gaze back to the gulf, he nods and squeezes my shoulder.

“Yeah, babe,” he says loud enough for our clients to hear. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

After that, my boyfriend turns into a robot for the rest of the day.

Every minute that passes infuriates me even more.

I want to reach into his back and rip out whatever circuit is giving him the audacity to pretend to override the giant hard-on I know he’s carrying for me.

It’s one thing to lie to the Hepperlys, but isn’t there supposed to be honor amongst thieves? Or is it no honor?

I don’t know, but it’s pissing me off that he’s clearly straining his emotions and brain cells to hide the obvious.

How do you get hard for a guy, admit you want him to jerk you off, stick up for him in front of your clients, and then pretend you’re unaffected when acting like you’re affected might actually help you sell some fucking real estate?

I do not understand the hillbilly code of ethics.

And what in the hell was with that phone conversation yesterday with one of the babies? I didn’t catch everything, but Lucas must have been too close to a few too many bombs in the war because his volume was up enough that I caught the gist of what his baby sister had laid down.

His freaking ex will be at their wedding…with his ex-best friend? The wedding he’s paying for? And now he has to go to a bachelor party with the guy? Is he freaking paying for that, too?

Ugh. I can’t with him! Can’t he have some balls and less…heart?

‘It’s about you and Ty. No one’s going to ruin anything for you. If they do, I’ll break their legs.’

Staggering over a rock on the beach, I wipe the flop sweat out of my eyes and squint up ahead to where Lucas and Dario decided to stop and tinker with an old boat that comes with the property, while Mason, Keenan, and I trekked further down the beach to Timbuk-fucking-tu .

He points to something on the motor, standing close to Dario.

His drenched skin is shimmering under the sun, and try as I might to fabricate some nefarious assumption that he’s flirting with the man, I can’t.

Somewhere deep down, I know he’s just being helpful.

Just being Lucas. Because that’s who Lucas Everette is, isn’t he?

A helpful guy who gives a hundred percent of whatever little knowledge or even finances that he has. Except when it comes to me .

I only get a hundred percent of his bullshit.

The bullshit that I, in some way, am responsible for by introducing us as partners.

I get it—the furry Boy Scout doesn’t like being involved in our scheme, but how come the babies and the Hepperlys get the honest side of him, and all I get are sass and denials?

It’s not like I’m a criminal. People have done worse things than fake date.

Yeah, the Hepperlys are nice, and I do feel bad about deceiving them. I did it to protect them and give them a pleasant buying experience, though. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself. Was I really so wrong?

Shit. Listen to me. The heat must be messing with my conscience.

We’ve nearly made it back to where Lucas and Dario are when they get up and head to the house before we reach them. Where the fuck are they going? Is he going to ignore me all night now, too? This is some bullshit.

By the time I reach the house with Mason and Keenan, Mason is as red as a turnip and sounds like he’s about to have an asthma attack.

It helps my ego knowing I’m not the only one who’s suffering from our beach tour under the sweltering sun.

As we chug water from the bottles I stocked in the refrigerator, I hear the screech of the patio door down the hallway.

Through the kitchen window, I see Lucas stepping outside with a towel and a bottle of shampoo in his hand.

Why is he headed toward the outdoor showers? I know he saw me coming up the beach. Is he avoiding running into me in our room?

“Excuse me, guys. I’m going to go get cleaned up,” I inform them, starting toward the door to the hallway.

When Dario walks into the room, I realize I’m still supposed to be playing host and not just disciplining Lucas for his shenanigans.

“Uh, how about we cook up those steaks that I brought from town? Test out that grill on the patio?”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Keenan agrees. “I brought some wine from this shop in Boston that I like.”

“Yeah. I could use some cooling off first, too. Give us an hour or so?” Mason asks, still panting.

Dario slaps me on the shoulder as he saunters in. “Mighty nice of you, Drew. You handle the meat. We’ll see what else we can rustle up. How’s that grab ya?”

“Sounds good.”