Page 25 of Contingently Yours
“I’m fine,” I mumble, moving his hand away. Just as I do, Keenan’s gaze connects with mine. Shit.
Patting his knee, Andrew outstretches one of his arms and grins. “Come here and I’ll warm you up.”
Has he lost his fucking mind? I know his long, lanky legs look fit and all, but I’ve got like thirty pounds on him. There’s no way he could take my weight for as much as he whines. He just saidthat to fuck with me. I’m sure of it, but instantly, I glance back at Keenan.
He’s giving us a look that says he thinks we’re sweet. Great. Dario just saw and heard, too, judging by the smile on his face.
Hunkering forward further over my carving, I want to disappear. Specifically, I want the tingling in my extremities at the thought of sitting on Andrew’s lap to disappear. The only lap I’ve ever been excited to sit on was a mall Santa’s when I was a kid, and it should stay that way. “Nah, I’m good.”
“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” I wonder if I’m the only one who can tell there is nothing genuine about the concern in his voice.
“No.” I shake my head, trying to sound like a compassionate partner that doesn’t want to kick their loved one in the balls and focus my gaze on my whittling.
“He’s just shy, Andrew,” Keenan laments. “It’s okay, Lucas. We get it. We weren’t big on PDA either when we all got together, but you don’t have to worry about that around us.”
Fuck. I’m fucking this up. It’s only day four, and I’ve already brought notice to my display in this fake relationship. Why did Andrew have to say I was hispartner? He could have just said co-worker. The idiot.
“No, I’m just…just tired is all,” I babble, swiping up my empty beer bottle from the paver stones and rising.
The look in Andrew’s eyes couldn’t more clearly say, ‘Have you lost your mind?’
I know I have. I agreed to come on a trip with him.
“I think I’m going to turn in,” I tell the guys. “I’ll help you haul the bags down in the morning before we head to the airport.”
“All right.” Keenan nods, looking curious now, like even he and Dario wonder if something is up between Andrew and me.
Shit. Iamfucking this up.
Turning toward Andrew, I hold my breath and pray to a higher power that my actions look natural. Leaning down, I brace a hand on the armrest of his chair, trying to avoid the questions in his eyes.
“I’ll see you upstairs,” I murmur, hoping I’m loud enough that the Hepperlys can hear and think it’s some kind of affectionate goodnight.
It doesn’t feel like enough, though. A couple…arealcouple would probably kiss goodnight. A real boyfriend would probably press his lips to that bow-shaped mouth that’s infuriatingly perfect for the cut of his jaw.
I aimed for his cheek.
I know I did.
When my lips land on the corner of his, I can’t honestly say if I decided it at the last minute or if he moved, but I find mine covering his. For a mouth that can say the most foul of insults and lie with such ease, his lips are incredibly soft. They’re not pinched shut tight like last time, but rather parted in surprise.
Did he think I didn’t have the balls to fake it like he did? I only know one way to kiss, though, so the joke is on me. How do you fake something that’s so simplistic?
Brushing my bottom lip over his, I end up capturing the top one momentarily. I can feel his breath on my lips. Smell the beer on it, mingled with his clean, soapy Andrew scent that always makes me scoff, imagining how hygienic and fussy he is.
Right now, he just smells good. Right now, it just feels like a kiss. A verynotfake kiss, especially when I feel his hand on my cheek. God, it’s been a long time since I’ve kissed anyone. A very long time.
When I pull back and find him staring at me, looking just as confused as I feel right now, I know I’ve fucked up yet again. “Goodnight,” I blurt, straightening up and hurrying up the path to the resort.
I don’t know if the Hepperlys believed that or not, but that’s not the problem.Ibelieved it. That was a kiss, arealkiss. I only meant to play my part so Andrew wouldn’t say I’m slacking, but all I accomplished was the realization that I don’t know how to fake anything. And that is incredibly terrifying considering how many days I have left until we’re contingent.
A half an hour later, I hear the door to our newest shared room shut. The soft tread of footsteps stops at the end of the bed, and it’s silent for a moment. Why is the thought of him watching me making me feel lightheaded?
My heart is in overdrive. I don’t dare even exhale. Eyes pinched shut, I am more still than a sniper who has an eye on his mark.
There’s a rustle of clothing dropping to the floor that ratchets my pulse up a notch. It’s bizarre that I’m becoming accustomed to sleeping in the same bed as Andrew. I already know what it will feel like when the bed dips on his side, when his warmth permeates under the covers. I even know how his breathing sounds when he falls asleep.
My memories serve me well as each of those things happens in the next few minutes, except for his breathing going shallow. He rolls to his side, facing my back, and then it’s quiet again. I can feel his eyes on me. Does he know I’m playing possum?
