Page 11 of Contingently Yours
“I can be attentive.”
“Newsflash,” Terry pipes in, violently scrubbing a dish. “Attentive means thoughtful. Pulling out chairs, getting his favorite coffee, and rubbing his shoulders when he looks tense. Doing things without being asked.”
Shaw sidles up behind Terry just then and starts kneading the muscle at the side of his neck as he places a kiss on his cheek. Terry visibly relaxes, his mouth ticking up at the corner. That is so needy—gross.
“So, I’m supposed to be an emotional support dog for the most aggravating man on the planet?”
“You made the bed, bro,” Shaw laughs. “It’s your choice if you want to sleep in it.”
Terry chuckles silently along with him. One minute, he’s shrieking, the next he’s in stitches over my misery. Why did I come here?
“I’m glad this is so amusing to both of you. Is this any way to treat the best man at your wedding?”
“That was not by my choice,” Terry voices, not even trying to mumble under his breath.
Finishing my beer, I grab another from the fridge and slap the cap down on the counter as loudly as possible. Terry’s on it like a fly on shit, which brings me a small bit of joy after his hurtful remark.
“All right, fine. Be attentive. I’ll kiss Satan’s ass like no one has ever kissed ass before, but worst-case scenario here—he’s a full-on brute who didn’t receive his emotions chip at the hillbilly processing plant when he was created. He’s not going to be able to sell this like I am. What do I do if I think they’re on to us? I can’t come clean. I just can’t. I know it’s wrong in the grand scheme of things, but I don’t want them to have another shitty experience and the seed has already been sewn, so I need a back-up plan in case they suspect we’re a sham.”
They both turn to face me and go still. Is the answer obvious, or are they stumped?
“I could say Lucas had a head injury at a monster truck rally,” I suggest. “Something that makes him emotionally unavailable, moody, and grumpy as fuck. Will that work?”
They continue to stare like I’ve lost my marbles. Okay, I know that was a little far-fetched, but this is Lucas we’re talking about. Talk to him for ten minutes, and it sounds completely plausible.
“No, dude,” Shaw chuffs. “There’s only one way, but you’re not going to like it.”
“What?”
Why the fuck does Terry look so damn smug? Kicking his hip out, he rests his hand on it and smirks. “You’re going to have to love up your man in front of them.”
What…
The fuck I am. The thought of doing anything physically intimate with that sour-puss, stack of bricks has my dick vowing to play dead for the rest of the year.
“Well, that ain’t gonna happen.” I frown.
Shaw snorts. “Well, then you’re fucked. Kiss your commission goodbye.” Throwing an arm around Terry’s shoulder, he murmurs. “See? I told you he’s not into guys. I’ve known him my entire life. He’s not even capable of faking it.”
“I can do it,” I snap, hating how easily I’m being dismissed. I fake it all day, selling properties. How is this any different? Shaw’s amused expression pisses me off even more. “I could!” I reaffirm. “Just…with anyone but him.Literallyanyone.”
Smiling, Terry steps forward and pats me on the chest. “This is one instance that I actually have faith in you, Drew. I have no doubt you could make some unlucky man completely miserable and less-than-satisfied someday.”
As I watch his shapely lips dispense that insult, I see an opportunity to redeem myself. I also see a test, a means of practice, in the bleak event that Lucas fucks this all up and I have to rely on their horrendous backup plan.
Fuck it. I can do it. I can.
Grabbing the back of Terry’s neck, I hold him in place and slam my mouth against his. He lets out a garbled noise as his nose bashes into the side of mine. His mouth is clamped shut tight like a puckered asshole, which is fine by me. No one said anything about tongue being necessary.
“Drew!” Shaw gasps, letting me know I’ve pushed the cousin card far enough for one day.
Mission accomplished. Lips are lips. Big deal.
“There! See? I did it,” I boast, holding my hands up to indicate I’m no longer a threat to his precious husband, who shrieks and spins around.
Terry wrenches the bottle of OJ out of Shaw’s hand and chugs it until his cheeks are full. Then he bends over the sink and spews a stream of the orange liquid at the drain, sputtering like I just smeared battery acid on his lips. Dramatic. Totally dramatic. I still don’t understand what Shaw sees in him.
“Oh, my God,” Terry croaks into the sink. “Unclean…I’m unclean!”
