Page 39 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

He took care of me. No one’s taken care of me since I was a little kid, and my mother was so beside herself with what to do over a fever that she practically needed to be sedated.

Clutching my new most-favorite possession in the world inside my pocket, I am counting the seconds until the driver drops us off at the hotel in Darwin.

“What is that?” I asked, waking up with my face plastered to Lucas’ chest late this morning. I thought maybe I was still hallucinating when I saw a miniature baby grand piano sitting on the table next to our cot.

“Uh…I carved it while you were out of it yesterday,” he said, reaching for the rustic little wooden figurine and presenting it to me.

There was a tiny hole in the open lid of the piano, and I knew in an instant it was meant to allow it to be used as an ornament. My parched mouth went drier staring at the detail. He even carved all the keys into it.

“It could use a little more work,” he said, fidgeting with it.

I snatched it out of his hand so fast I was worried I’d broken it. “No! It’s perfect! I mean…it’s fine. Just the way it is.”

And then the fucking door opened and the goddamn Hepperlys returned, unscathed by nature. Where is a crocodile when you need one? Worst clients ever. I don’t give a fuck that they announced they want to buy that stretch of no-man’s-land.

“How’s the foot, Drew?” Mason asks, pulling my attention from the back of Lucas’ head, which is way too far away up in the front seat of the van.

“Better.” Sore as shit, but better, I don’t say. “I had a good nurse,” I quip, selfishly hoping Lucas may hear my praise.

Turning around in his seat in front of us, Keenan smiles. “He’s a keeper. Have you two ever thought about tying the knot?”

Shit. Where did that come from?

“Uh, we don’t want to rush anything. We’re happy with the way things are.”

“Rush? Haven’t you been together for like four years?” Keenan laughs.

“More or less.” I squirm, acting like my seat belt needs adjusting. Was four years the lie that I spun? I honestly don’t even remember. “What about you guys?” I deflect. “Is the honeymoon over after this?”

Mason blows out a breath. “Afraid so. I kick off a PR campaign next week in the States, but I’ll get to see Keen for a few days. Dario starts shooting at the end of next week for a month and a half, though, so it’ll be a minute before we’re all together again.”

I realize now this really was their honeymoon.

Certainly not one I would have picked. I silently take back any complaints I made about their after-hours bedroom noises.

Being apart for so long has to be hell on a relationship.

At least, I assume so. I’ve never had the desire to be with one person for long enough to know.

“How do you do it?” I ask without thinking and realize I’m staring at Lucas again.

Soon, we’ll each be off showing properties on our own. Me, going home to my big empty house each night, and him, making that thirty-minute commute to his place in the sticks.

Keenan’s hand pats my arm. “The same way the two of you do.” Smiling, he motions his head toward Lucas and adds, “When every time you look at someone is like the first time you fell in love with them, it’s not as hard as it seems.”

I let out a breathless laugh at his romantic assumption, but then find myself choking on it.

My gaze returns to the beefcake, who’s curiously watching the passing countryside out the front passenger window, with a faint love bite on his neck, and I feel warm all over.

Is that how I look at him? That seems a bit far-fetched to me.

We’ve just graduated from fake to…something casual.

Recovering, I chuckle and nod in agreement to pacify Keenan’s whimsy. For the rest of the ride, however, I can’t help but feel that the fake part of my fake relationship doesn’t exactly feel fake anymore. And I kind of like that it doesn’t.

When we finally reach the hotel, Mason pulls me aside and shows me a screenshot of the purchase of two tickets. Two tickets to a monster truck rally up in Lancaster back home for Wednesday when we get back.

“Just a heads up, I’m going to send these to you. We felt bad about Lucas missing that show you said he wanted to see and wanted to make up for it, but maybe it’d be a nicer surprise if you spring it on him.”

I stare at the image dumbly, unable to move.

I can’t with these guys anymore. Yeah, I know they have enough money to buy twenty monster trucks, but something about them being supportive of my big fat lie from day one is like a sucker punch right now.

Or maybe it’s because they just did Lucas a solid, though not a solid he actually may enjoy—I was just fucking with him about the monster truck thing, after all.

Anyone who recognizes that Lucas deserves kindness, however, is golden in my book.

Reaching out, I shake his hand. “Thanks, Mason. I appreciate that.” And because I’m still me, I tell him one more lie. “He’ll love it.”

“No, thank you . I’ve been all over the world, but you guys gave us the trip of a lifetime and made us feel at home wherever we went. We were grateful to have two good blokes like you handling all of this for us. If you guys ever need anything, give us a ring.”

Two good blokes…

He got it half right. After I assure them Lou will send over the contracts soon, they pile into their vehicle and drive away, and my gaze connects with Lucas’.

I want Mason’s decree to be fully accurate.

I want to go to a monster truck rally with the guy in front of me and hold his sweaty-ass hand while I’m there.

I don’t care that he’s a guy or that it’d be a date, well past a twenty-something-night stand.

Because when I’m with him, I feel like maybe I am good or can be.

Nodding at me, he motions to my foot. “You doing okay?”

Does he know how cute he looks when he tries to act like he doesn’t want to braid my hair? Braid it all you want, I want to tell him.

“Yeah. Right as rain.” It’s not. It still fucking hurts, and I want to whine the whine of the whiniest little bitch in Whine Town, but not tonight. He snuggled me and whittled me a tiny piano ornament. Whatever this is, it isn’t fake. At least, not if I have anything to say about it.

“I’ll go get us checked in. How about you take a load off in the bar? I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”

Ever the Boy Scout, he tries to argue, offering to help with the bags, but I shut it down. “I’m gonna need you to find two of the biggest and best entrees on the menu. Can you do that?”

Chuckling, he nods. “Sure.”

I thank heaven for his compliance kink, and head to the reception desk.

Tossing down my platinum card, I book the nicest room available and arrange for our bags to be brought up for us.

Trying not to limp, I make my way into the lounge, anxiously rubbing the little wooden piano in my pocket.

Sidling up to the bar, I take advantage of his distracted state, where he’s studying a menu.

“You come here often, sweetheart?”

Head whipping toward me, he pauses and lets out a little snort. His hand moves, sliding a beer toward me—the brand I drink. Color me flattered. Familiarity is starting to look less suffocating and more like a soft, warm blanket.

“Ah…I see you’re expecting company.” Swiping it up, I take the stool next to him, angling my body toward his, and yet it doesn’t feel close enough. “Do you think he’ll mind if I drink his beer and keep you company for a while?”

A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a free country.” Frowning, he mumbles, “I think.”

Lucas… I want to put him in a preservation case and label it, ‘ protect at all costs .’

Slinking my arm across the back of his stool, I assure him, “It is. But even if it wasn’t, he’s going to have to fuck off because I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the evening.”

Staring at my mouth, he swallows, but then his gaze flicks to the bartender, who approaches at the most inopportune moment. Is he…ashamed to be seen with me in public?

“Did you decide?” the man asks.

“Uh, this looked good,” Lucas says, turning the menu toward me and pointing to a dish.

Every entrée has a niche name, a play on words after some Australian animal. The kind of marketing that makes you uncertain of what you’re actually getting. He’s clearly playing it safe with what looks like a hamburger.

“We’ll take two kangaroo skewers, two wallaby burgers with potato bites, two slices of devil’s cake, and two more beers each. Can you send all of that up to room five-oh-four?” I ask the server.

The man takes our order down and leaves to dispatch it to the kitchen. Lucas blinks over at me in surprise. “You want to eat in the room?”

“I thought you might be more comfortable up there.”

I retrieve my arm from his chair and turn my waist so I’m no longer caging him in.

This is going downhill. I never stopped to consider that he might be apprehensive about his newfound explorations or that we’re no longer in our party of five bubble.

I get it—he hasn’t spent endless hours with ‘ The Shaw and Terry Show ’ like I have.

This is new for both of us, but it’s probably more uncharted territory for him than for me.

We’re in a foreign country, though, so what does he care if anyone sees him? It’s not like he knows anyone here.

Picking at his beer label, he shrugs, his cheeks pink. “We were just seen outside with the most famous throuple in Australia. I don’t think we’d shock anybody.”

I think that might be his way of giving me a green light. Bravo Lucas. Grinning, I lean in and give him a peck on his lips.

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t want to steal their thunder,” I say huskily. “Why don’t we head up and relax? I’ll find us a flight for tomorrow while you get a shower. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t get you home for all the babies’ activities on time after you saved my favorite toe.”

Chuckling, he blushes again, but doesn’t survey to see if we have an audience. This man surprises me at every turn. I don’t see a gender in front of me I’ve never been interested in before. I just see the person I want. Seeing that he might see the same is a vibe that has me floating on air.

I suppress the urge to pin him against the wall of the elevator and settle for brushing his pinky finger with mine. He brushes mine back, mouth-breathing like nobody’s business. Validation has never come in such subdued actions.

I have a point to prove tonight. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but know it involves me and Lucas being as close as possible for as long as possible.

If I thought I was out of my element in the bush yesterday, I’m well out of the zone tonight.

Something profound needs to happen; that much seems evident.

Toe-saving, piano-whittling, soul-seeing…

a lush suite with room service doesn’t seem like it’s enough. What the hell do romantic people do?

He stops ahead of me inside the room and glances at the bed.

It’s a king-size with a plush white comforter and a view overlooking the city.

I can already picture him naked in it, underneath me, panting, calling my name, and writhing against me when I tag that place inside of him.

God, I wish I could fuck him. Typical greedy me.

Jerking and rubbing cocks together is enough, but I still want more.

Unassumingly, he tugs his shirt over his head and starts toward his suitcase, sitting by the closet where the staff left it.

I watch like a voyeur as he opens it and takes out a clean pair of his snug-fitting briefs.

And then I watch as he unbuttons his pants and bends over, his bubble butt straining against his drawers.

I don’t think the answer to a search for profound ideas is supposed to be sex, but that’s the lightbulb illuminating in my brain as I stare at his round ass.

Like a magnetic pull, I want to draw closer to it. I can fuck him.

Theoretically.

Physically.

Realistically…

And maybe even momentarily.

I can .

I mean, what’s the difference between two fingers and a dick, really?

“Everything all right?”

Shit. I feel like I should be wiping drool from my mouth, and yet, it’s so dry, I have to peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “Ye-yeah.” Hoisting my phone up, I scurry to the table by the window. “Just looking for an outlet to plug my phone in while I search for flights.”

When the bathroom door closes behind him, a voice whispers to me. Ironically, it sounds a lot like Terry’s, which is disturbing as shit. Since when has my conscience adopted his tone?

‘If you do this, you know there’s no coming back from it.’

‘ Well, no shit ,’ I tell fake Terry. But I pause as I bring up the airline website.

It’s a valid warning. This isn’t some one-night stand with a woman who has no intention of being called or calling me again.

This is Lucas. Lucas, whom I’ll see at the office whenever we run into each other there.

Lucas, whom I could see more frequently at the office if I actually made more of an effort to show up there. My smile turns into a laugh.

Clicking on a late afternoon flight that will give us plenty of time to sleep in tomorrow, but get us back to Wilmington by dinnertime the next day, a sense of rightness washes over me. A sense of rightness that makes me a little less sad about going back home.

“Maybe I don’t want to come back from it,” I murmur.