Page 36 of Contingently Yours
The longer I stare, something in his eyes changes. Something that looks a lot like that strange, heated look I still haven’t quite figured out. The kind that means he’s planning something or thinking something that will make me look like an ass. Or worse yet…needy.
I tear my gaze away and stand to face the Hepperlys. I will not be needy today.
Or awkward. Or made to look like an ass.
I won’t. I can be a believable boyfriend without doing any of those things.
CHAPTER 13
Andrew
What kind of boyfriend doesn’t look at you once the entire day? Can you say insensitive?
I don’t know what’s up with him, but he’s been laughing it up and smiling ever since we left the bakery for Clark’s Island yesterday. He didn’t even scowl or act weird when we dropped our bags in our room at the property we’re staying at.
It’s a double—two beds. When I tossed my suitcase on one of them, he did the same, like he didn’t intend to try to sleep separately from me. Maybe he noticed that there’s no lock on the door and knew not to try that shit since the Hepperlys were just down the hall in the primary suite. Since when has Lucas become compliant without having to be bossed around, though? Something is up.
This morning, I woke up as usual. Well, as per my new usual—with my hand on his dick again. I should start tying my wrist to my thigh or something at night. As for him being hard as iron again, it shouldn’t make me feel so damn proud. Smug…maybe I’m just smug.
Iknewhe had a crush on me. At least, I think he does. He acted so unaffected yesterday, all through the showing, though, that I’m no longer entirely sure. So, I let him go as soon as I realized where my hand was, and neither of us has said a peep about it.
Right now, however, I’m even more confused. It’s day two of our showings on Clark’s Island, and he reached for my hand when we left the house to take the guys down the path to the beach.Hereached. No tugging away. No grumpy face. Nothing typical Lucas-ish. But he’s still not even looking at me. What the hell is up in Tuft Town? Am I just an asshole with a dick grabbing problem?
“Hey, Drew,” Keenan calls, bringing up the rear where he was checking out some photos on his phone from their mini-break at his mother’s house. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. There’s a Broadhouse Publishing office in Boston. Any relation to you, by chance?”
Fuck.
“Uh, yeah. It’s my grandparents’ company. My parents run it now. They have five offices in the States. One in the UK, too, actually.”
“You’re kidding me!” Mason exclaims. “You and Lucas should pop over and see us at our apartment there if you ever come over.”
Double fuck.
“Thanks, but I don’t work in the business. Not anymore anyway.” That sounds ominous, so I add, “I used to.” Great. That sounds even worse.
“Really?” Keenan exclaims. “Oh, my word. You could be approving a Pulitzer-winning work or discovering the next epic fiction series. How come?”
Perfect. One of our clients just has to be a lover of literature.
Something heavy rests on my shoulder. My hand is suddenly empty, making me realize it’s Lucas’ giving me a squeeze and tugging me closer to him.
“Andrew left publishing to help his aunt and uncle. They own VeraLou. So, technically, he’s still helping his family. He’s thebest agent they have, so I doubt they’d be willing to let him go back.”
What the actual fuck? Did Lucas just…champion me?
And hello—someone knows things about me. I have to say, his version of my life course sounds much better than how I saw it play out. The way he tells it, I feel less like a failure or a disappointing son. I wonder if he’d be saying that if he knew my own father fired me.
“Well, Drew, I’d say you picked the better calling,” Dario remarks, stopping when we reach the sand of the beach and staring out at the gulf.
A flock of birds swoop low in the sky and caw as the waves undulate far in front of us. It’s hot as hell out here in the late morning sun, but it is a damn fine view. Far better than any I had in a Broadhouse office.
“Yeah. I think so,” I concur absently, enjoying the smooth feel of the curve of Lucas’ hip as I stroke my thumb over it.
Wait. When did I put my hand around his waist?
Glancing over, I see parted lips. Gaze fixed on the view, he looks like a man enjoying the scenery, except I realize I do know Lucas better than the average bear. He swallows like it took him some effort. I watch his throat undulate and his chest rise unsteadily. And then I smile the first genuine smile I’ve smiled all day.
Leaning in closer until our sides are flush against each other, I slide my hand a little lower down his hip and squeeze. “Who wants to be stuck in an office when you can stand on the beach with the man of your dreams?”
