Page 24 of Contingently Yours
Chad always said I could never let anything go. This took things a little too far, even for me. I blame Lucas. He just pushes all my damn buttons.
Digging our room key out of my pocket, I toss it on the ground near Lucas’ sandals and start toward the water. When I don’t hear the sound of heavy, pouty footsteps following me, I glance back.
He’s still standing in the exact same spot. His shoulders rise on an intake of breath that he lets out slowly. When he turns, his hand is covering his blue bulge, except…it’s not able to cover all of it. It’s not able to cover all of it because…there’s more of it.
Holy shit. He’s hard.
Whipping my gaze to the water, I move without thinking. It seems like the right thing to do. If I got caught getting hard over Lucas, I sure as shit wouldn’t want him to see.
Except, I didn’t.Hedid. And I did see.
A breathless laugh leaves my lips as my feet connect with the cool water. I didn’t even do anything to make him hard! I wasn’t even trying. All I did was give him a tip of foreplay and boss him around. How can…
Oh, man. No way.
I’ve had enough bed partners to know a kink when I see one. I can’t hold back a chuckle. I am going to have so much fun with this.
CHAPTER 8
Lucas
Usually, I find serenity in bonfires. Try as I might, however, I can’t seem to get lost in the flickering golden flames in the fire pit on the patio. Not even the soft strumming of Mason’s guitar and low humming along with the melody can distract me from the intrusive thoughts.
It’s evening number two at the second resort we’ve shown them, and I think they’ve settled on it. The terrain is more conducive to building the stage Mason wants, so I think this one’s a done deal. I should be happy. I should be checking to make sure all the arrangements are in place for the properties we’re going to show them in Massachusetts. I could text my sisters back about my opinions on a few seating arrangement changes that came up, but I can’t bring myself to do any of those things without a clear head.
There’s a hand on my knee.
Its fingers are softly kneading the meat on the inside of my leg, stirring butterflies in my belly with each brush of skin when they slip past the length of my shorts. It was bad enough that I woke up to another dick hug this morning, but now this?
I made it out of bed unscathed the last two nights. I woke up when I felt a hand on my hip and slipped away as quickly as possible. This morning, however, Andrew’s hand woke up before I did.
‘If you don’t like it, put a pillow between us,’ was all he said when I clamped my hand over his.
He should really go see someone about that. Is it like a sleepwalking thing? Sleep jerking?
As I try to sit still and appear relaxed in this patio chair, I know I’m the one who needs the most help. How could I get hard the other day when he was saying all that stuff about my tuft and stroking my nipple? What is going on with me?
I don’t even like him.Hedoesn’t like me.
It’s getting difficult to believe both facts, though, the more he touches me, and my body reacts to those touches. And I swear he’s amped up his touching game the last couple of days. We’re always touching now in one form or another. If he’s not holding my hand, he has his arm around me. He’s even stroked my hair a few times. How is having my hair stroked a turn-on? And by Andrew, of all people?
Because that’s what it is…a turn on. I thought maybe I was sick at first, dizzy. Short of breath. But I took enough First-Aid classes in the military to know my symptoms have nothing to do with heat exposure or food poisoning. My belly gets warm, and it spreads to my chest every time he pretends to say something nice about or to me. The most fucked up thing is that it’s even worse when he gets bossy and commanding when we’re alone. That’s the part I really don’t understand.
When we boarded the seaplane at Moonbeam Cay the other day to fly here, he slapped me on the ass as I was getting in and said, “Get that sexy ass moving, handsome.”
It was like fireworks erupted across my cheek where his hand lit. I felt them all the way to my dick.
If I like guys, I can accept that. It’s always been way easier for me to talk to and relate to men. I never thought I checked one out, but if I’m being honest with myself, I did admire the men in my unit. We worked out and would comment on each other’sphysiques all the time. I thought it was just part of our friendly motivation to stay in shape. Maybe it was…forthem. But maybe for me it was more. When I got out of the service, I felt lost, like I didn’t fit in anywhere. They say that’s normal, but I’ve always suspected it was more than that. Something was missing. I’m starting to think it was that comfortable feeling of being around men who were close with each other.
I don’t know, but Ican’tlike Andrew. He’s…annoying.
His hand leaves my leg, finally. Focusing on the knife in my hands, I continue carving the little piece of driftwood I picked up earlier, grateful to be able to function again. Just when I think I can let my guard down, though, his hand rests at the base of my neck. His thumb strokes my hairline, sending a shiver down my spine.
Ugh. Why? I really hate my body right now.
This is ridiculous. The Hepperlys aren’t even looking at us. Dario and Keenan are murmuring softly on the other side of the fire pit, immersed in conversation. Mason is bent over his guitar in the zone. I’m pretty sure they all think we’re a couple by now. None of them has said a thing to make me believe otherwise. I doubt they expect us to be on each other 24/7, anyway. We’re supposed to be professionals. I’ve never seen Dario be intimate with anyone on his show, and I doubt Keenan makes out with either of his husbands when he’s in his work office.
“Cold?” Andrew asks, but there’s a coy hint in his tone like he knows I just shuddered.
