Page 21 of Contingently Yours
It’s quiet. Way too quiet for what just went down. Andrew never shuts up, and I can tell from the tension I feel behind me that he’s not fallen back asleep. He needs to explain. How are we supposed to work together today after…whatever the hell that was?
“What the hell was that?” I call over my shoulder.
“I am not responsible for what I do in my sleep,” he drawls. “And why are you so sweaty?Ishould haveknown. Ugh.”
The mattress jostles, telling me he’s wiping his hand on the sheets. He’s the one who crossed the red line and is acting like I just infected him with cooties.
“Because you were holding my dick,” I counter, sitting up and throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. I adjust my junk, but it does little to remove the feel of his hand around it.
“What?” he squawks. “Like my hand was a dick sweater? It was probably all your tuft.”
“My what?”
Glancing back, I can’t even see him. He’s got the comforter pulled all the way over his head, which would explain why he sounds so muffled.
“Tuft,” repeats the lump in the bed belligerently. “Do you have a freaking sheep down there?”
The cover flies off, revealing his mussed hair and his narrowed green eyes. He bolts out of bed, hustling toward the bathroom. “Gross. Now I need to wash your dick sweat off my hands.”
The door slams before I can act as childish as him in return. I’m left sitting here with the ghost sensation of his hand on my cock, feral moans from last night in my brain, the peculiar feeling of his mouth smashed against mine, and the sight of our messy bed. I feel…strange.
I’m hurt when I shouldn’t be. Warm over not waking up alone for the first time in years. And there’s a foreign sense of longing in my chest at the memory of cries of bliss I know damn well and good I’ve never made before in my life. This is way too much to process. I…need a granola bar. Maybe my blood sugar is low or something.
Instinct has me wanting to make the bed, but then I remember how Mason dropped in unexpectedly last night, so I leave it and move to my suitcase. I can barely focus on what I’m doing. Am I dizzy? All I know is that we’re supposed to take the boat out today, meaning we’ll be on the water. I rummage around for my swimsuit and shorts because cooling off sounds like a good way to cleanse my body of Andrew and the peculiar hot flashes assaulting me. Is this what happens when you’ve been alone for too long—you react to the touch of anyone, even a guy you can’t stomach?
The door to the bathroom flies open, and he scowls at me. I’ve never thought I was near his level of immaturity, but I don’t know what else to do, so I scowl back. He’s looking at me likeIput his hand on my dick. He’s such a child.
Maybe I am, too, because I’m not about to change into my suit in front of him. I’ve changed and showered plenty of times in front of the guys in my unit, but none of them ever made crude comments about my body hair or…kissed me. Also, for some reason, my cock is tingling again now that the hand that grabbed it is back in the room. My cock clearly needs a serious dick slap, which I’ll gladly give it in the privacy of the bathroom.
Tromping around the end of the bed, I refuse to make eye contact with the perverted menace. Can’t he just man up and admit that he accidentally cuddled me in his sleep? He didn’t have to be rude about it and insult me. Civilian men have no feelings, not the other way around, like people assume.
Whipping a shirt out of his backpack, he flaps it in the air with acracklike he’s getting the wrinkles out. Can you say passive-aggressive? Ten bucks says he’s going to keep acting like ‘the incident’ was my fault.
Reaching the bathroom doorway, I can’t bite my tongue any longer. Apparently, spending this much time with Andrew makes me as petty as he is because I get one last dig in before I slam the door. “My dick isnotsweaty.”
CHAPTER 7
Andrew
I’d kiss Lucas for docking the boat just now after being on the water for the last five hours, but one—it’s Lucas. And two—well, I fucking kissed him already and once was enough. He’d better not cross over to my side of the bed again tonight. It’s not my fault that he got in the way of my morning ritual. I guess Veronica was right—I am a morning cock handler.
“How did I end up with two husbands who love the sun?” Mason groans, wiping the sweat from his brow with his bandana.
Fortunately, I’ve already gotten enough of a tan this year that I won’t burn, but he’s right. It’s hot as shit out here.
“We’re buying tropical properties,Mace,” Keenan points out, gathering up his discarded shirt from the bench where he and Dario had lounged for our tour of the area. “If you don’t like the heat, now is not the time to bring it up. How do you plan to perform a show in it?”
“I like the heat, just not five hours of direct sun and soaking in my own sweat. I do enough of that on stage. I don’t want to do it on my honeymoon, and at least I have misting machines and fans at my concerts.”
At the mention of sweat, I swear Lucas’ gaze flicks to mine. I can’t be sure due to those dorky sunglasses of his, but my money is on someone knowing they’re guilty of being aSweatyMcSweaterson. One more reason to get off this boat and wash away the day. He’d better go hose down before he starts smelling offensive.
“Did you happen to see that little shaded cove just off the west side of the resort on your run this morning?” Lucas ventures. “It’d be a nice spot for a dip, if you want to cool off. I was going to go take a swim there before dinner myself.”
“Hell yes,” Mason groans, climbing out from under the canopy, panting like a dog in the Sahara. “Let me go use the loo and I’ll meet you down there.”
“Oh my God,” Keenan sighs, shaking his head. “There’s got to be a diva in every crowd. Sorry, but Mason is ours,” he apologizes.
“Nah, it’s fine,” I assure him. “I’m cooked, too, but I doubt you guys will be spending this much time on the water at whichever resort you settle on. At least you got the full lay of the land, though.”
