Page 37 of Contingently Yours
“Right on, mate,” Mason concurs, slinging an arm around Keenan and planting a kiss on his head.
“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” I whisper for Lucas’ ears only.
He mouth-breathes for a few seconds, that signature Lucas-arousal fog I’m starting to become acquainted with. IknewIwas right. Why did I doubt my suspicions? Someone was just trying to put on a good face the last two days because he was embarrassed that I called him out on his crush. Ha!
Sucking in a breath, his nostrils flare and then his expression closes off. What is that? That’s so unlike him. That’s not what he’s supposed to do. Usually, I say something flirty, and he gets all flustered or seems drugged, looking like he wants my mouth on his. Turning his gaze back to the gulf, he nods and squeezes my shoulder.
“Yeah, babe,” he says loud enough for our clients to hear. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
After that, my boyfriend turns into a robot for the rest of the day. Every minute that passes infuriates me even more. I want to reach into his back and rip out whatever circuit is giving him the audacity to pretend to override the giant hard-on I know he’s carrying for me. It’s one thing to lie to the Hepperlys, but isn’t there supposed to be honor amongst thieves? Or is it no honor?
I don’t know, but it’s pissing me off that he’s clearly straining his emotions and brain cells to hide the obvious. How do you get hard for a guy, admit you want him to jerk you off, stick up for him in front of your clients, and then pretend you’re unaffected when acting like you’re affected might actually help you sell some fucking real estate? I do not understand the hillbilly code of ethics.
And what in the hell was with that phone conversation yesterday with one of the babies? I didn’t catch everything, but Lucas must have been too close to a few too many bombs in the war because his volume was up enough that I caught the gist of what his baby sister had laid down.
His freaking ex will be at their wedding…with his ex-best friend? The wedding he’s paying for? And now he has to go to a bachelor party with the guy? Is he freaking paying for that, too?
Ugh. I can’t with him! Can’t he have some balls and less…heart?
‘It’s about you and Ty. No one’s going to ruin anything for you. If they do, I’ll break their legs.’
Staggering over a rock on the beach, I wipe the flop sweat out of my eyes and squint up ahead to where Lucas and Dario decided to stop and tinker with an old boat that comes with the property, while Mason, Keenan, and I trekked further down the beach toTimbuk-fucking-tu. He points to something on the motor, standing close to Dario. His drenched skin is shimmering under the sun, and try as I might to fabricate some nefarious assumption that he’s flirting with the man, I can’t. Somewhere deep down, I know he’s just being helpful. Just being Lucas. Because that’s who Lucas Everette is, isn’t he? A helpful guy who gives a hundred percent of whatever little knowledge or even finances that he has.
Except when it comes tome.
I only get a hundred percent of his bullshit. The bullshit that I, in some way, am responsible for by introducing us as partners. I get it—the furry Boy Scout doesn’t like being involved in our scheme, but how come the babies and the Hepperlys get the honest side of him, and all I get are sass and denials? It’s not like I’m a criminal. People have done worse things than fake date.
Yeah, the Hepperlys are nice, and I do feel bad about deceiving them. I did it to protect them and give them a pleasant buying experience, though. At least, that’s what I’ve told myself. Was I really so wrong?
Shit. Listen to me. The heat must be messing with my conscience.
We’ve nearly made it back to where Lucas and Dario are when they get up and head to the house before we reach them. Where the fuck are they going? Is he going to ignore me all night now, too? This is some bullshit.
By the time I reach the house with Mason and Keenan, Mason is as red as a turnip and sounds like he’s about to have an asthma attack. It helps my ego knowing I’m not the only one who’s suffering from our beach tour under the sweltering sun. As we chug water from the bottles I stocked in the refrigerator, I hear the screech of the patio door down the hallway. Through the kitchen window, I see Lucas stepping outside with a towel and a bottle of shampoo in his hand.
Why is he headed toward the outdoor showers? I know he saw me coming up the beach. Is he avoiding running into me in our room?
“Excuse me, guys. I’m going to go get cleaned up,” I inform them, starting toward the door to the hallway. When Dario walks into the room, I realize I’m still supposed to be playing host and not just disciplining Lucas for his shenanigans. “Uh, how about we cook up those steaks that I brought from town? Test out that grill on the patio?”
“Oh, that sounds good,” Keenan agrees. “I brought some wine from this shop in Boston that I like.”
“Yeah. I could use some cooling off first, too. Give us an hour or so?” Mason asks, still panting.
Dario slaps me on the shoulder as he saunters in. “Mighty nice of you, Drew. You handle the meat. We’ll see what else we can rustle up. How’s that grab ya?”
“Sounds good.”
As I rush to my room and snag a towel and change of clothes, I can feel a smile creep across my face. Dario’s advice sounds like just the remedy for Lucas’ attitude problem.
“Fucking ignore me,” I mutter, shoving through the patio door and rounding the side of the house.
No one’s in more need of some grabbing than Lucas. As soon as he sees me naked, I bet he’ll be the one wanting to handle meat.
I clear a turn in the path around an Umbrella Magnolia tree that Lucas had babbled on about to the Hepperlys earlier. It leads to the outdoor showers at the back of the house. Certainly not a necessity, but we used the fact that they overlook the beach and are next to a hot tub on the property as a selling point for their convenient, quick access to wash off chlorine or salt from the bay.Notfor boyfriends to hide from their man. Upon finding said boyfriend, I stop in my tracks.
That reallyisone big bubble butt. Damn. Meaty. Very meaty.
Swallowing, I canvas its circumference, noting the shadowed crease that ends at one tufty sac nestled snugly at the base of his cheeks. I always just shrug my shorts down my hips and kick them off. Not Lucas. He apparently has to bend over and delicately slip his feet from each leg hole, exposing his ass to the world. How in the hell did he disrobe like that in the Army and not come out with a boyfriend? The guy is like a walking invitation.
