Page 37 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

A man can be supportive of another when he sells a house.

He can give him a hand job in the dark under the privacy of a blanket on a first-class flight to Australia.

He can book a suite for an overnight stay and work on blowjob techniques to pass the time the night before a property showing.

He can do all of that , but apparently, paying top dollar for designer outdoor wear is where he goes wrong.

I am out of my element, and Dario can suck a big fat one for dragging us to this god-forsaken place.

Survivalist expeditions—who the fuck considers buying four hundred acres with coastal access in the Northern Territory for survivalist expeditions?

I literally know people who can’t fend for themselves in civilization without their assistants.

And furthermore, do we really need to canvass every damn inch of this place on foot?

That seems to make it lose its wonder, if you ask me.

“Fuck! Fucking bugs!”

“You all right?” Lucas glances back at me from further up ahead in the brush.

I am the weak link on this adventure, and I hate it. My foot is killing me. I’ve been bitten by probably twenty different species of insects, and I’m fairly certain at least three of us will be eaten by a wild animal before this bullshit is over.

“Yeah, I just…need to sit down for a second. Go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Hobbling over to a rock, I ease my ass onto it and hike my foot up onto my knee. The spot of blood on my worthless ‘trail shoes’ hasn’t gotten any bigger. That’s a good sign, but my toe is screaming at me.

“You don’t look so good.” Lucas’ voice sounds close and yet far away at the same time.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I refuse to admit how lightheaded I feel.

“I’m fine. I just want to get a look at my foot. I think that thorn is still in there.”

“A thorn? When did that happen?”

“Like three hours ago,” I grump, no longer able to maintain my Don Juan attitude of the last few days.

Romancing Tufty has had to take a backseat for survival and dignity preservation.

Tugging at my shoe, it’s aggravating how weak I feel.

I don’t work out on a schedule, but I’m in decent shape.

I shouldn’t be this sapped. Hell, I haven’t heard Mason complain once.

I can’t even keep up with a pampered pop star.

When I fumble with my shoe a second time, Lucas takes over, gingerly prying it off. I wince at the stab of pain that shoots through my foot. I cannot be taken down by a damn toe.

“Have you been hydrating?” he asks.

“If I drink anything else, I’ll be pissing more than Uncle Lou.”

“You’re bleeding,” he remarks.

Ten points to Captain Obvious. He is now five percent less sexy than I thought he was.

Why couldn’t we just rent a drone and camp out at the bunkhouse where we parked our safari-looking wagon?

We could be viewing this roughage from a laptop screen and the luxury of the sparsely converted shipping container that someone with more sense than Dario had placed at the entry point of the property.

Lucas peels my sock over my foot, making me wince when the fabric brushes my injury. “Shit,” I hear him whisper.

“It’s purple! Why is it purple?” I demand, looking at my toe that’s now two sizes larger than it should be.

“The thornhead must still be in there.”

“Ah, bugger, mate. That’s a nasty one,” comes Dario’s obnoxious commentary.

I possessed a natural-looking toe before we got here. I am not nasty. I’m just pissed off.

“What kind of thorn was it?” Lucas asks, rotating my foot to inspect the damage.

“I don’t know! I wasn’t cataloguing flora and fauna.”

“Steel-toe boots, mate. Always steel-toe,” Dario adds.

If I punch him in the throat, he might not buy this place. Besides, I think there are two of him as I blink through the sweat dripping into my eyes. Why am I sweating? It’s the cold season in Australia.

“I think it’s infected already,” Lucas remarks. At least someone sounds concerned.

“Yeah. We need to get that thornhead out of there,” Dario suggests.

If he pulls out a Crocodile Dundee knife, I will miraculously reacquire my ability to run. Lucas drops to a knee and rests my foot on top of his thigh. The next thing I know, pain blooms through my toe. I yelp.

His mouth is covering it. He’s…sucking on my toe.

I shut my yap when I realize that’s better than a knife.

He surfaces with a bitter expression. Reaching in between his pursed lips, he pulls something out.

Placing it on his fingertip, he shows it to me—a tiny curved thornhead that makes me feel like less of a man for how much pain I’m in, given its size.

“Got it.”

“Burn in hell,” I tell it. “Thanks.”

Sighing, I sit back on the rock and close my eyes. The stabbing sensation has at least subsided, but the thought of opening my eyes again feels like it would take too much effort.

“Let me get this jacket off, and I’ll be good to go,” I tell my audience.

“I don’t think he should go on,” Lucas says. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can postpone for a day or two?”

“What?” I chirp. I am not doing a repeat of this. “No. We’re going. It’s just hot as hell. Get this thing off me.” I start undoing my backpack to rid myself of my jacket, but I feel hands steadying me.

“Whoa, Drew. Easy. I think Lucas is right. You look like you should head back to the bunkhouse,” this from Keenan, I think.

“There’s a med kit there. A shot of antibiotics should get you right in no time,” Dario enthuses. “We can circle back as long as you guys have time. Our schedules still have room. Don’t want a man down.”

Oh, God. I do not want to do this again. They want to camp out for the night in the wilderness, probably so Dario can show off his caveman skills to his husbands. “No,” I protest. “Just…go on without us. You’re the wilderness guy anyway, right? We can’t show you anything you don’t already know.”

“No, mate. We don’t mind.”

Fuck. Why does he have to have that happy-go-lucky Aussie air about him? “The babies!” I blurt, feeling woozy.

“Come again?”

“Lucas’ babies are getting married next week. He needs to be back in time for it.”

“You have kids?” That was definitely Keenan.

“Um…two little sisters. It’s a double wedding. They’re both getting married on the same day.”

There’s talk, a swarm of murmured voices as I fumble with my sweaty sock and blink through a throbbing headache.

Lucas can be mad that I threw him under the bus, and he missed out on roasting marshmallows with his idol.

I’ll deal with his hostility when I’m well again.

Right now, I am just a man on the verge of tears because I can barely don my own useless footwear.

Suddenly, there’s silence and big hands steadying me. Glancing up, there’s no sign of the Hepperlys, just inhospitable brush intended to kill me and besmirch my good name. My shoe is back on, and a solid arm slinks around my ribs, hoisting me to my feet.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

I lean into his softness with a sigh. Lucas Everette is no longer just the best person I know. He is, without a doubt, the best person on the planet.