Page 30 of Contingently Yours

His hands move again, but what I hear next isn’t a sarcastic choice, at least not to my ears. Elton John’s ‘ Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word ’ flows out of the piano like a wave of regret.

“Put it this way. We didn’t braid each other’s hair in the Broadhouse family. And no one consults me on my opinions about weddings, other family functions, or anything, for that matter.”

He remembered I used to braid the girls’ hair? Shit. I need to stop taking phone calls in front of him.

“Because you slept with all their interns on purpose?” I ask, genuinely curious if I’ve hit the mark.

A derisive laugh cuts the song short. “Jealous?”

The jerk. He’s so conceited. Correct, but conceited.

“No. I’m just trying to understand why you could fuck up so badly at publishing and then become the best agent Lou has.” If he overheard my phone conversations, I no longer care if he knows I overheard his, too.

“Because I’m good at what I do, sweetheart. I hope you’ve been taking notes.”

I stare at him, equal parts frustrated and baffled. “Why do you do that?”

“What?”

“Avoid saying what you really mean.”

His cackle barks across the distance between us. “Uh, I really am good at selling properties. Scout’s honor.” Holding up his index and middle finger, he feigns a solemn expression, but then frowns. “Or have you been in a coma for the last four years?”

As I watch his brow wrinkle in laughter, it’s like seeing numbers appear in one of those color blindness tests.

It’s clear he thinks he’s a comedian, but his method is all sarcasm.

He can’t even answer a simple question. It’s not like I’m being antagonistic.

I know we started off on two wrong feet, but he should know me well enough by now to know that I don’t kick people when they’re down.

“You’re such a coward.” I shake my head, saying it mostly for my own ears.

“What?” He laughs. “Oh, please. Do tell.”

When we first started this trip, my annoyance kept me from speaking to him. Then, when things happened, it was my nerves. I’m annoyed with him right now, but for new reasons, and while some stupid part of me still wants him, I’m grateful my nerves have taken a back seat.

“Anytime someone wants to talk about anything remotely serious or uncomfortable for you, you make jokes or get insulting.”

“Yeeeah. It is extremely uncomfortable for me to talk about how amazing I am at being a real estate agent,” he drawls.

“And playing the piano. And talking about how your family is disappointed in you,” I add, because he needs to look in a damn mirror if no one’s ever held one up for him.

“Wow,” he deadpans with a slow clap of his hands. “Well done. You got me.”

He’s so fucking stubborn. All he’s doing is proving my point, so I hold out my hand and gesture to him. “Exactly.”

“Okay, what else?” He chuckles, waggling his fingers in the air for me to lay it on him.

I’ve only got one other major example. It’s as difficult for me to fathom voicing as I assume it will be for him to admit, but I’m sick of not seeing who the real Andrew Broadhouse is.

“And…trying to pretend you’re not attracted to me.”

The amused sound he lets out seems overdramatized. It means I’m right, but the sound still hurts.

“Ah, there it is! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a request!”

It takes me a second to make out the melody he plays next. When I do, I want to march over there and slam the lid down on his fingers.

When ‘ I Touch Myself’ by the Divines stops, he meets my glare with a thoughtful look. “I can try a country version of it if you prefer.”

“You’re fucking hilarious.”

Glancing up in thought, he sighs. “I like to think so, yes.”

I don’t even care anymore if I won’t make a dent. He can hide behind whatever ten-foot-thick wall of fears he has. I want this off my chest.

“At least I’m honest.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I know I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I turn you on too! So, quit acting like I’m the only one, like it’s something I should be ashamed about. At least I can fucking own it.”

Shaking his head, an amused puff of air leaves his lips as he glances down at the piano. It’s like he can’t even look the truth in the face.

The opening notes of ‘ I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You ’ filter out of the instrument.

I’m certain they’re meant to mock me, but it’s such an obvious picture of denial.

All I see is a dark cloud of conflict circling around him, and it stirs a longing deep in my chest that I know I shouldn’t have right now.

“We jerked off because we’ve been playing boyfriend for too long,” he says matter-of-factly, but I don’t miss the humbled tone he can’t seem to conceal.

“All guys have like one percent of their brain that thinks about peen on peen. That’s all.

Don’t write it in your diary or act like you know me.

I fuck interns, remember? I’m not real boyfriend material.

My interest doesn’t hold for that long.”

“You’re scared.” The realization tumbles from my lips as I stare at him like an unraveling riddle.

“Of what?” he scoffs, but his cheeks go pink. “That I want a season pass to Tuft Town? I told you, the boyfriend Kool-Aid just got to us. Besides, even if I wanted to try more Kool-Aid, we don’t even get along.”

Turning toward the window, I fold my arms and shake my head at his newest insult.

They aggravate me for different reasons now.

I’ve realized each of his digs is actually something he likes about me.

Like my…tuft. God, I hate that word, but he certainly enjoys running his fingers through it as much as I like him doing it.

“Because you’re antagonistic on purpose,” I counter, so he knows he’s the one who needs to take the blame for us being at each other’s throats.

“Because you bring out the worst in me.”

“No, because I’ve seen the worst in you and know it’s all bullshit.”

“Aw, what’s the matter, sweetheart? You can’t even look at me during your heart-to-heart?”

A somber repetition of notes plays. He doesn’t even have to get to the beginning of the verse for me to recognize it as Bonnie Tyler’s ‘ Total Eclipse Of The Heart .’ I love that song. Now he’s going to ruin it for me by using it as a weapon—the jerk.

I will not fucking turn around now, especially not after he adds, “Is this the part of the Hallmark film where you tell the bad man you experimented with, after your fiancée ran off, all his redeeming qualities, and then he throws you over his shoulder and makes sweet love to you?”

Closing my eyes, I let out a humorless laugh. I don’t know what happened in his life to send him down a path where he has zero faith in anyone, but without a doubt, his well-practiced defense has most certainly been what’s prevented him from being able to alter his course.

“No.” I shake my head. “Because you don’t deserve to hear them.”