Page 50 of Contingently Yours
Glancing up in thought, he sighs. “I like to think so, yes.”
I don’t even care anymore if I won’t make a dent. He can hide behind whatever ten-foot-thick wall of fears he has. I want this off my chest.
“At least I’m honest.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I know I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I turn you on too! So, quit acting like I’m the only one, like it’ssomething I should be ashamed about. At least I can fucking own it.”
Shaking his head, an amused puff of air leaves his lips as he glances down at the piano. It’s like he can’t even look the truth in the face.
The opening notes of ‘I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You’ filter out of the instrument. I’m certain they’re meant to mock me, but it’s such an obvious picture of denial. All I see is a dark cloud of conflict circling around him, and it stirs a longing deep in my chest that I know I shouldn’t have right now.
“We jerked off because we’ve been playing boyfriend for too long,” he says matter-of-factly, but I don’t miss the humbled tone he can’t seem to conceal. “All guys have like one percent of their brain that thinks about peen on peen. That’s all. Don’t write it in your diary or act like you know me. I fuck interns, remember? I’m not real boyfriend material. My interest doesn’t hold for that long.”
“You’re scared.” The realization tumbles from my lips as I stare at him like an unraveling riddle.
“Of what?” he scoffs, but his cheeks go pink. “That I want a season pass to Tuft Town? I told you, the boyfriend Kool-Aid just got to us. Besides, even if I wanted to try more Kool-Aid, we don’t even get along.”
Turning toward the window, I fold my arms and shake my head at his newest insult. They aggravate me for different reasons now. I’ve realized each of his digs is actually something he likes about me. Like my…tuft. God, I hate that word, but he certainly enjoys running his fingers through it as much as I like him doing it.
“Because you’re antagonistic on purpose,” I counter, so he knows he’s the one who needs to take the blame for us being at each other’s throats.
“Because you bring out the worst in me.”
“No, because I’ve seen the worst in you and know it’s all bullshit.”
“Aw, what’s the matter, sweetheart? You can’t even look at me during your heart-to-heart?”
A somber repetition of notes plays. He doesn’t even have to get to the beginning of the verse for me to recognize it as Bonnie Tyler’s ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart.’ I love that song. Now he’s going to ruin it for me by using it as a weapon—the jerk.
I will not fucking turn around now, especially not after he adds, “Is this the part of the Hallmark film where you tell the bad man you experimented with, after your fiancée ran off, all his redeeming qualities, and then he throws you over his shoulder and makes sweet love to you?”
Closing my eyes, I let out a humorless laugh. I don’t know what happened in his life to send him down a path where he has zero faith in anyone, but without a doubt, his well-practiced defense has most certainly been what’s prevented him from being able to alter his course.
“No.” I shake my head. “Because you don’t deserve to hear them.”
CHAPTER 17
Andrew
What the hell is that supposed to mean? And what redeeming qualities?
“I told you I heard music,” Mason declares, stepping through the door with his husbands.
Flashing them my practiced smile, I put more zeal into my playing as Mason starts singing the words. Heisa musician, after all, and I’m supposed to be here to impress him. Plus, there is the added benefit of my song choice pissing Lucas off. That’s what he deserves after all that personal shit he brought up.
Sulking over, he takes a seat on the piano bench next to me. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. What’s the point in moving closer to me when he looks that agitated right now? We’re not going to fool anyone.
Dario and Keenan seem to be distracted by the performance, enjoying it, so I chime in with backup vocals to accompany Mason. Flashing Lucas a cheery smile, I can’t help but gloat that the song is basically his anthem. Crushed dreams later in life—it is the perfect saga for a thirty-seven-year-old man with a misplaced crush. He must know it, too, because his nostrils flare.
“Lucas, let’s hear what you’ve got,” Mason encourages.
I cackle at the request as Lucas looks up at him, wide-eyed. The piano keys are sticky under my fingers from the humidity in the unpowered room as I approach the next verse.The discomfort, however, is worth the payback value for Lucas’ tantrum earlier.
“No. He can’t carry a tune,” I assure Mason sadly.
A belted, growly timbre startles the shit out of me, making me miss a note. I whip my gaze at Lucas. Those chocolate eyes of his have murder in them with my name on it, but that’s not the cause of my surprise.
