Page 14 of Contingently Yours
“What a gentleman,” comes Mason’s British accent to my left as I heft one of the suitcases to the pavement. “Are you taking notes, Dario?” He smirks, glancing over his shoulder.
“Pack lighter and I’ll show you a gent,” his husband quips. “Wait’ll we get to my neck of the woods. Those hair products are getting tossed in the reef.”
Running his fingers through his well-styled blond locks, Mason answers cheekily, “You love my hair. You wouldn’t.”
Sighing, Keenan rounds Dario’s side and extends the handle on the suitcase, rolling it out of the way to make room for the others. “Don’t start you two, or this is going to be a long trip.”
Mason throws an arm around his neck, pulling him closer and planting a kiss on his close-shaved hair. “It was your idea, love. And it’s not my fault that my fans would riot if I buzzed my head like you do.”
Hoisting another suitcase from the back, I let out an awkward laugh, unsure how to act. I feel sheltered having never seen two men in a relationship interact, let alone three. Their ribbing and playful touches aren’t any different from the way my sisters are with their fiancés. Yet, the dynamic leaves me feeling even more out of my element than usual. I haven’t been in a relationship, a real relationship, in almost four years. I haven’t been on a date in a decade. Frankly, the sight of anyone in love still makes me uneasy after my disaster of an engagement. Sometimes, even seeing my sisters so over the moon is like a kick in the gut. I’ll never have that. I think I even knew I never would’ve had that with Shannon. It felt…good having a partner, but that was just it—good. Safe. Reliable. The comfort of not being alone. I’ve never had that drunk-in-love look that my sisters do. Maybe I’m defective.
I sling one of their backpacks over my shoulder and then grab a suitcase in each of my hands. Nodding toward the dock,when their laughing faces turn to me, I inform them, “The, um, seaplane’s ready to go, if you’d like to follow me.”
“Lucas, you don’t have to carry all of that,” Keenan admonishes.
“It’s fine. I’ve got it.”
A hand slaps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “He does it all the time,” Andrew assures them, kneading the muscle at the base of my neck. “Built like a pack mule, this one. Come on.” He motions with his head toward the plane and brushes past me. “I’ll get you boys settled.”
Gritting my teeth, I watch him saunter off empty-handed as the Hepperlys follow him. I thought maybe he was just trying to get my goat when he said I would be handling the luggage while he did all the ‘important’ work, but now I can see how this is going to go. Not that I mind being a gentleman. It’s called having manners, something Andrew Broadhouse clearly knows nothing about. I doubt he’s lifted a finger for manual labor a day in his life.
Hurrying after them, I have every intention of immersing myself in the conversation, so he knows he can’t set a precedent that he’s the one they’ll come to for property questions. However, as I stow their bags, he’s already mucking it up with them, rattling off details about the resort we’ll be showing them today with rapid-fire exuberance.
“Fire her up, sweetheart,” he calls out, sparing me nothing more than a glance. “Let’s hit it.”
Swallowing silent curses, I have no argument, since Iamthe one who has to fly the plane. That leaves him every opportunity to continue to run his mouth while I have to pay attention to the controls and our flight path. To my credit, I set us down gently at Moonbeam Cay and get a few claps from the Hepperlys for my flight skills.
Before I even have everything shut down, Andrew has already bailed out and is leading our clients down the dock to the resort. But not before he assured them I’d handle all their baggage. I’m going to murder him before the day is over.
After three long-ass treks to the resort’s empty reception area, my back is soaked in sweat, and my heart rate is primed for a cardio workout. I nod to one of the caretakers, who’s in charge of maintaining the place while it’s officially closed, that this is the last of our cargo. He lets me know the rest of my party is already out back viewing the pool area. Fucking Andrew. He’ll have made a sale before I even get peep in.
“Oh, this is great. Look at all the room for patio seating,” Mason declares as I come huffing through the doors.
“There he is,” Dario greets me, hands stuffed in his cargo shorts. His rugged physique, wavy black hair, and well-worn olive drab T-shirt make him look out of place even if the resort is currently devoid of its intended high-dollar guests.
“What took you so long?” Andrew asks, stretching out his arm like I’m supposed to come to him. Is he kidding me?
I’m not a demanding man, but if I did have an actual boyfriend, this would be grounds for dumping him. I can feel sweat trickling down my spine, and I’m sure I now smell like perspiration. Just the professional image I want to portray for a showing.
I stop between Dario and Andrew on purpose, ignoring whatever the hell his open arm is supposed to mean. I know I don’t know the first thing about having a boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure they don’t need to touch every second of the day or during a work setting.
“Your bags are all at reception,” I inform the guys, offering a smile and trying not to sound winded.
“That was so nice of you, Lucas,” Keenan says. “Thank you.”
I feel his presence before I see him—Andrew’s arm reaches around my back, squeezing my side. “Babe, you didn’t have to do all that. I would have helped.”
Turning my head, I hope he can see the concealed fury in my eyes. “Really? You could have fooled me.”
Gaze shifting, he tracks the Hepperlys as they meander around the pool, surveying it. “Ew, you’re all sweaty,” he grumbles, releasing his hold on me and shoving me away.
Before I can remind him how long the walk from the dock to the reception area is, he scurries off after our clients, spewing more of his zeal about all the other amenities the resort has to offer. I look like an idiot already. A useless, sweaty, pack-mule idiot—the exact image Andrew has of me. How did this happen?
Hurrying after them, I interject helpful facts whenever I can, but it proves difficult when Andrew barely shuts up and is constantly on the move, like this is a sprint. I’ve at least surmised that Dario couldn’t care less about the resort. Keenan interjects a few things about potential revenue, which makes sense since he works in finance, but it’s clear that Mason will be the deciding vote. They want to build a small stage for him and his band to host performances several times a year—an exclusive resort named after his band. The property will be an investment for the Hepperlys. While they clearly don’t seem to need the revenue at the moment, I have to say I appreciate their collective interest in securing a financial future for them as a throuple. It’s…sweet. The kind of thing people who intend to grow old together plan for.
Taking a seat at the bar in the lounge two hours later, I study them in silence. No thanks to Andrew’s yammering, I can get away with doing so. They act like three best friends, three sometimes physically affectionate best friends. I’ll admit I feel strangely warm each time I catch one of them giving the other a loving stroke to the arm or a side hug, but I’m in awe. I’ve neverfound one person to be so copacetic with. How lucky are they that each of them has found two?
My stool jostles, and a knee slams into the outside of my thigh. I know without even looking that it’s my very non-copacetic fake boyfriend.
