Page 44 of Contingently Yours

Andrew

A knock at my door disrupts Elvis Presley as he croons out ‘ Blue Christmas ’ through my stereo system. That I streamed… easily . I release the throw pillow that I’ve been clutching to my chest like I’d been electrocuted and scramble to the door. Lucas… Is it Lucas?

Please let it be Lucas.

Wrenching open the barrier, the fading afternoon light is still brighter than my darkened living room, causing me to shield my eyes. When I drop my hand, it’s not the face I hoped to see.

“Surprise!” Veronica cheers, holding a gallon of Rocky Road in one hand and flashing open her jacket with the other, revealing a silky lavender chemise. “I got back early, and thought I’d surprise you,” she adds, sauntering inside.

“Oh…it’s you,” I mumble, feeling like karma just played a terrible joke on me.

“Don’t sound too excited,” she laughs, shrugging off her jacket. “I’m surprised you’re up, actually. I figured you were napping, and I’d have to call your phone until you came stomping to the door.” Eyeing my miserable state up and down, she smirks. “Or am I not far off?”

Moving forward, I give her a peck on the cheek before rounding the couch again. “I’m kind of busy actually, but…thanks for stopping by. Welcome back.”

Reclaiming my warm spot on the couch, I hug the throw pillow again and pull a blanket over me.

“Busy, huh?”

Peering up at her, she looks equal parts bemused and puzzled. Averting my gaze, I shrug and stare at the flickering flames of the fireplace scene broadcasting on my television.

“Jet-lagged,” I offer, hoping she’ll get the hint.

The couch cushion by my feet sinks down. Actually, she half-sits on them, forcing me to move them out of the way. I feel a hand on my hip, and fingertips playfully walking up it.

“Too jet-lagged for a quick reunion?”

“Not in the mood,” I mumble, remembering the text Lucas sent to me last night. He was trying to brush me off even then.

Her hand freezes and then moves away. “Wow. That’s a first.”

It’s quiet. Peering covertly from under my blanket, I hope she doesn’t suddenly get all clingy on me.

She’s never asked for more, but she’s also never shown up unannounced.

Glancing around, she frowns at the array of storage boxes I dragged out that hold my ornaments. “What’s with the Christmas tree?”

“I was feeling festive.”

Rising, her heels clip against the hardwood floor as she walks over to it. “You must have run out of festivity if there’s only one ornament on it,” she says with a laugh.

My breath catches in my throat seeing her fingers clasp the little piano. It sways under her touch, and I can just picture the hook I placed on it sliding off the branch, sending it sailing to the floor. I whip the blanket off and pop up. “Don’t touch that! You’ll break it.”

Flinching, she releases it. My heart is in my throat watching it sway momentarily, but then I realize it’s safe. With open, raised palms presented in front of her, the universal sign for not posing a threat, she looks at me strangely.

“Are you sick?”

“No.” I feel sick. Sick to my stomach. Sick over how something I thought was the beginning of the best semblance of a relationship I’ve ever had turning so quickly into a big fuck off. Why was he so angry?

A soft gasp has my gaze snapping back to Veronica. “You met someone…”

It’s not a question. It’s more of a discovery.

Fine. Ten points to her.

Whatever. It’s better this way if she’s shown up like this. It’ll make things easier.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “You’re off the hook. Free to go find all your Mr. Wrongs and Mr. Rights.”

“Wow!” I don’t know why she’s giggling. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” I don’t know what I’m thanking her for. A few days ago, I was thankful. Today, I just feel like I got hit in the balls with a listing sign.

“So…why the long face then? You don’t have to put on an act to get rid of me, you know. I get it.”

“I’m not.” I sigh, sitting up. Great. Now I have guilt to add to my kicked balls.

“I know you’re cool.” Fingering the edge of my pillow, I try to find some vague explanation that won’t invoke too many questions as I stare at the moisture forming on the outside of the ice cream container.

“We had a disagreement, is all. Thanks…for the Rocky Road, by the way.”

I realize it’s gone quiet again and find her smiling thoughtfully at me. “She’s good for you,” she says like it’s another discovery, but the words sting.

I watch her move to the back of the couch and don her jacket, a sign that she’s leaving. Thank goodness for small mercies. I don’t feel like wallowing with company around. I rise out of respect for our friendship and help her.

Turning, she gives me a pitying look, but with a hint of an amused smile, like my misery is somehow adorable. “Andrew, I don’t know what happened, but if you want her badly enough, just do what you do best instead of burrowing into your couch.”

If she has any kind of answer that will fix this, I’m all ears.

“And what’s that?”

She lets out an amused puff of breath, like it should be obvious. “Be a complete pain in the ass until you get what you want. Move hell or high water.”

I’m not even offended. Just more depressed. That was the old me. The me I was before I became Lucas’ fake boyfriend for a few weeks. I used to get what I wanted, but now the one thing I really want doesn’t want me back.

“What if…he doesn’t like when I’m a pain in the ass.”

She gapes at me, and I can’t understand why, until I realize what I said. He …as in a he , not a she . Yeah, that probably caught her off guard, considering how much she knows I like women.

Her brows quirk, however, and her amused smile returns. “He must have liked something about you to get his hooks in you this deep.” Her hand cups my cheek, and this time I do see genuine empathy in her face as she adds gently, “Figure out what that is and use it.”

How does she know so much about relationships when she’s spent the better part of a year just knocking boots with me in her free time? Tugging on the lapel of her jacket, I offer her a half-hearted smile.

“Did you find Mr. Right in Brussells?”

Shrugging, she chuckles. “No. A Mr. Maybe and one Mr. Not A Chance In Hell.”

Ew. Ouch. I grimace on her behalf. “Well, happy hunting. And thanks again for the ice cream and…the advice.”

Fat lot of good it will do me, but again, I’m not in the mood to be the old asshole me. Canting her head, she studies me again. What is up with that?

“You know…if it doesn’t work out with your Mr. Right…you should give me a call about that offer you made me before I left.”

Oh, God. Does she think she sees something in pitiful-depressed me that’s a game changer?

“Um, why don’t you leave before I have to block your number?” I joke.

Laughing, she moves to the door. “Relax. I’m pretty sure you’re off the market, and I won’t lose any sleep over it. I promise. Goodbye.”

Strange woman. One of a kind for sure. I hope she finds her Mr. Right sooner rather than later.

Carting my melting ice cream to the kitchen, I mull over her advice.

Lucas did like things about me. I know he did.

He said so himself. Aside from my cock, kisses, and my looks, he also liked not having to be responsible all the time, the way he’s having to be right now.

Him and this freaking wedding. It’s ruining him.

Who in their right mind thinks they can find a decent band in forty-eight hours? The only band I know is…

The ice cream falls from my hands and splatters all over the floor. Leaping over it, I barrel into the living room to fetch my phone and shut Elvis up.

“Drew! How’s it going?” Mason answers on the first ring, the way normal, not pissed-off-at-me people do.

“Mason! Good. Great.” What the fuck am I saying? “Actually, no… No, it’s not. I’ve got a problem. Are you back in the States yet?”

“Yeah. Why?”

I proceed to tell him about Lucas’ band cancellation debacle and that the clock is ticking.

I realize, as I ask him if there’s any chance he could make an appearance, that it’s a ballsy request. Platinum-record-selling bands don’t exactly double as wedding singers.

This very well might cost me a big chunk of my commission, but I don’t care. It’s worth the ask.

“Ah, that’s awful. I really wish I could help, but I’m sorry. We’ve got a big network interview tomorrow. It’s in our contract, so we can’t miss it.”

Fuck. What was I expecting? Freaking Veronica.

Does anyone give good advice these days?

Now, I’m embarrassed that I asked a former client, who just spent a giant chunk of change on three properties, for a favor of epic proportions.

I lied to him and his husbands, and now I’m calling in a favor I don’t deserve. Ugh. No wonder Lucas doesn’t want me.

“No. I get it. I’m sorry to have even asked.

I know when you said if we needed anything, you probably didn’t mean something equivalent to donating a kidney, but it’s just that Lucas is…

He… Well, he’s a fucking perfectionist who only thinks about everyone but himself.

He promised his little sisters that he’d find them a band for their wedding, and he’s the kind of guy who follows through when he makes a promise, even if it’s an unattainable one.

I know he’s making himself sick over this, and it’s driving me mental.

He’s just so…so…fucking frustrating, it… ”

“Hey, Drew.” He laughs. Why the heck is he laughing? “It’s all right. I get it.”

Sighing, I loosen my grip on the phone and stop pacing. I forgot. He spent three weeks with Lucas. He probably picked up on his quirks, too. “You do?” I chuckle, rubbing my eyes.

“Yeah. You love him. We’d do anything for the people we love,” he says simply.

“Look at me. You think I like wilderness explorations?” he cackles.

“I got acute dehydration and ended up with an IV bag from going on an expedition just to impress Dario when we first got together. And Keenan? I took him horseback riding. I’m fuckin’ allergic to horses.

I was so doped up on Benadryl, I could barely stay in the saddle.

Love makes us daft and mental. I’m sorry, Drew. I’d be there in a jiffy if I could.”

“No. No, it’s okay. Uh…again, sorry I asked.”

“It’s all right. I told you. I get it. Best of luck. Okay?”

“Y-yeah. Thanks.”

Love?

The accusation tumbles around in my head as I stare at my phone after we hang up. I know it’s the lie I wanted him and his husbands to believe, but I understand the reason he’s so convinced now. Because it’s true.

Oh, God. I got it all wrong.

‘What are we doing?’

For some reason, the replay of Lucas asking me that question makes me realize it was vulnerability in his eyes when he asked. I was so worried about coming across as too sappy that I didn’t see it.

‘Getting along.’

Ugh . I cannot believe I said that. And then…

Fuck. I basically asked him for a booty call with my slew of messages and voicemails. I probably sounded like the incomparable slut he thinks I am.

I drop onto the couch, feeling heavy and weak. All that crap I said to him about how we just jerked off from playing boyfriends and that I’m not real boyfriend material.

Shit. I fucked up.

I never imagined I’d ever fall in love. Finding out that I did just makes this fuck-up hurt even more. It turns out ignorance really is bliss.