Page 63 of Contingently Yours
Oh, God. I do not want to do this again. They want to camp out for the night in the wilderness, probably so Dario can show off his caveman skills to his husbands. “No,” I protest. “Just…go on without us. You’re the wilderness guy anyway, right? We can’t show you anything you don’t already know.”
“No, mate. We don’t mind.”
Fuck. Why does he have to have that happy-go-lucky Aussie air about him? “The babies!” I blurt, feeling woozy.
“Come again?”
“Lucas’ babies are getting married next week. He needs to be back in time for it.”
“You have kids?” That was definitely Keenan.
“Um…two little sisters. It’s a double wedding. They’re both getting married on the same day.”
There’s talk, a swarm of murmured voices as I fumble with my sweaty sock and blink through a throbbing headache. Lucascan be mad that I threw him under the bus, and he missed out on roasting marshmallows with his idol. I’ll deal with his hostility when I’m well again. Right now, I am just a man on the verge of tears because I can barely don my own useless footwear.
Suddenly, there’s silence and big hands steadying me. Glancing up, there’s no sign of the Hepperlys, just inhospitable brush intended to kill me and besmirch my good name. My shoe is back on, and a solid arm slinks around my ribs, hoisting me to my feet.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
I lean into his softness with a sigh. Lucas Everette is no longer just the best person I know. He is, without a doubt, the best person on the planet.
CHAPTER 22
Lucas
I haven’t been this stressed out since the twins got food poisoning when they were nine. I know it was just a thorn and that the antibiotic shot I stuck in Andrew’s ass should be working its magic soon, but it’s troubling to see such a vivacious man brought so low. Low and delirious.
His demonic tone has me nearly jumping out of my skin as he rolls over on the cot and latches onto my wrist. “Snuggle me!”
“But you’re burning up.”
His fingertips dig deeper into my flesh, showing a surprising amount of strength for someone I practically had to drag all the way back to the bunkhouse. “Snuggle! Me!”
Jesus. Is his head going to spin around next?
“Fine, just…give me a second.”
Stripping down to my underwear, I watch him shiver, clutching the sheet around his body. First, he said he was hot. Now he says he’s freezing. I’m pretty sure his fever is coming to a head, but damn it, he’s going to give me a heart attack in the process. If I had a helicopter here, I’d fly his ass to a hospital like a protective mother hen. Watching someone you don’t hate being so miserable is hell on the nerves. What the heck does he do when he’s unwell at home, with no family or partner to take care of him?
My heart practically pulls me under the thin cover with him. Wrapping an arm around him is the only thing I can do to bring him comfort. I’ve never felt more helpless. Reaching around me, he latches onto me like a baby koala. He lets out a contented sigh through his shuddering, like just my touch brought him some peace.
It’s strange to feel needed. I don’t think Shannon relied on me emotionally for anything. Maybe that was part of the problem, or at least a red flag. I can’t begrudge her looking for what she needed elsewhere.
I’ve never felt like I was Andrew’s equal. Knowing I can provide him with something makes me feel like I have worth and a little less helpless to the addiction to him that’s taken hold of me.
His head burrows underneath my beard, and he murmurs, “Soft. Warm.”
Running my hand down his back, I try to soothe him. I want to give in to my instincts to place tender kisses on his sweaty brow, but I’m wary. Does he have it as bad as I feel like I do, or is it all just lust and the high of our success on this trip? Because right now, this feels like the kind of thing you do with someone you want to grow old with. Tending to them when they’re ill, even if all you can do is hold them. I really like holding Andrew when he’s not prickly. Just as much as I like the way he held me the last few nights when we fell asleep. God, I want to let go.
I want to laugh at his jokes without having to hold back the way I did the night we celebrated in Harlow’s Landing. Is there a chance of that ever being possible without ending up looking like the fool Shannon and Mark made of me?
How far does this go? What happens when he’s done exploring, like the way we experimented in pleasuring each other with our mouths last night?
I shudder now right along with him, remembering the feel of him in my mouth. The feel of me in his. His sultry, encouraging instructions removed any insecurity I might have had about being bad at it. He’s quickly become my shadow—an extension of myself that I look for each second of the day. But, like he said, I have the girls’ wedding next week. Our lives are back there waiting for us. What happens then?
Everyone back home thinks I’ve stayed single because I’ve been moping over Shannon for the last four years. It hurt. Don’t get me wrong, but I wasn’t moping. The thought of disconnecting myself from whatever this is with Andrew, however, feels like it would be an amputation of a vital organ. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t discovered he isn’t an asshole.
I laugh a bitter sound, shaking my head. It’s absurd, I know. We could barely tolerate each other a few weeks ago. And now I can’t imagine life without the guy.
