Stuck with You (The STEMinist Novellas #2) by Ali Hazelwood

            “Guinea pig.”

            “Pretty sure they’re the same thing.”

            I laugh again, exhausted and drowsy and over the moon, and I cannot help but wonder how different this morning would be if Erik hadn’t been the one to buy Faye’s croissant.

            I cannot help but wonder if this is the first day of the rest of my life.





Chapter 9


            Present

            “I don’t . . . It’s not that . . . It isn’t even . . . If you . . .” I’m sputtering like an idiot, which . . . great. Fantastic. Empowering. I’m a role model for all jilted women in the world.

            Erik is still crouching in front of me, like he’s fully planning to see this conversation through. I sit up, straightening against the wall of the elevator, and take a deep breath. Collect myself.

            I’m going to speak my mind. I’m going to tell him exactly how much of a dickhead he is. I’m going to unleash three weeks’ worth of shower-crying on him. I’m going to chew him out for ruining pistachio ice cream and orange cats for me. I’m going to annihilate him.

            But apparently, only after I ask him the stupidest question in the history of stupid questions. “Did you really think the sex wasn’t good?”

            Wow, Sadie. Way to let the point of this entire chat fly over your head.

            He snorts. “I obviously didn’t.”

            “Then why would you say that—”

            “Sadie.” He studies me for a moment. “Are you for real?”

            I blush. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

            “Seriously? You know what—okay. Right. Well.” His throat works. He looks . . . not quite upset, but definitely the most upset I’ve ever seen him. Danish-upset, maybe. “About three weeks ago I’m having my usual, fairly disgusting breakfast, and I meet this really beautiful, amazing woman. I blow off my morning meetings and ignore my phone—my team is this close to sending out a search party—because all I can think of is how fun it would be to sit with her on a park bench covered in bird shit and talk about . . . I don’t even know. It doesn’t even matter. That’s how good it is with her. And because it’s apparently my lucky day, I manage to convince her to come out to dinner with me, and she’s not only lovely and smart and funny, it also feels like the two of us have more things in common than I thought possible, and . . . well, it’s a first for me. I’m no relationship expert, but I recognize how rare this is. How utterly one of a kind. I want to take it slow because the idea of screwing this up terrifies me, but she asks to come over.” He exhales a single, bitter laugh.

            “I should put on the brakes, but I have zero self-control when it comes to her, so I say yes. We spend a night together, and we fuck, a lot, and yes, Sadie, it’s really fucking phenomenal in a life-altering way I never thought I’d need to elaborate on. It’s obvious that she doesn’t do this often, there’s some hiccups, but . . . yeah. You were there. You know.” He presses his lips together and looks away. “She falls asleep and I watch her and think, This is like nothing else. Scary, almost.

            “But then it’s morning and she’s still there. And when I say good-bye to her she actually runs after me and we’re at work, there’s people around, we can’t really kiss or do anything like that, but she reaches out and takes my hand and squeezes it hard. And I think that maybe I don’t need to be scared. It’s going to be all right. She’s not going anywhere.” He turns back to me. His eyes are cold now, dark in the yellow lights. “And then night comes. The following day. The one after. And I don’t hear from her. Never again.”

            I stare at Erik for long moments, absorbing every single word, every little pause, every unspoken meaning. Then I lean forward, and through gritted teeth I say:

            “I despise you.”

            “Why?” He is icily, quietly furious, but I’m not afraid of him. I just want him to hurt. To hurt as much as he hurt me.

            “Because you are a liar.”

            “Am I?”

            “Of the worst kind.”

            “Right. Of course.” Our faces are about an inch apart. I can smell his scent, and I hate him even more. “And what did I lie about?”