Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

But as much as I hated this, I loved it too much to give it up. And why would I ask him to stop when I had other ways of getting what I wanted? A bit dirty. Manipulative, maybe. But resourceful. I knew exactly what the words would do to him, and mumbled them into the pillow to my own advantage.

Eli stilled.

Leaned his forehead between my shoulder blades.

Asked, “What did you just say?”

This time I lifted my head. Enunciated clearly. “I love you.”

It changed everything. I felt him shudder inside me. Tighten his grip around my hip bone. Take a deep, broken breath. Excitement bubbled within him—twelve months in, and the words hadn’t worn down yet.

“Okay, you know what?”

I shook my head against the pillow, shivering.

“I think I’m done playing. I want to look at you. Let’s just . . .” He let go of my wrists. Turned me around. It was a little dizzying, how quickly everything changed.

His eyes were locked with mine.

His kisses were deep.

His arms closed around my waist to scoop me up.

He was inside me again in a matter of seconds, relentlessly deep, but it felt completely different from before. This time, neither of us had anywhere to hide. This way, this way I really could—

“Hi,” he told me with a smile that I couldn’t physically return.

Instead, I solemnly replied, “Hi,” and then he was moving inside me and whispering sweet things in my ear, about how perfect I was, how much he liked me, the sheer improbability of my beauty, and that he knew, he fucking knew what I’d done, but he was always going to let me get away with it, because he loved to hear it so much. And then his fingers found my clit, and it was all over. I was coming this time, and he was holding still and then groaning and falling apart with me. Again.

“What are you thinking?” he asked afterward, the sweat cooling on our skin, his heart a steady beat under my ear.

I felt my lips twist in a shadow of a smile. “That this was a really nice way to start our vacation.”

My life might have changed, but I hadn’t. Which wasn’t a problem, because Eli seemed to be okay with the way I was—and that was that.

Whenever I’d imagined myself in a relationship, I’d envisioned an exhausting series of social niceties, facades to meticulously keep up, chitchat that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to produce even under duress. Eli, unsurprisingly, required very little of that. He allowed my silences, and had long conversations with me when I wanted to. He gave me space, but pulled me into his life if I gravitated away. He made fun of me, especially when I made fun of him.

Being with him had meant other things, too, like an unconditional acceptance in his group of friends, a growing relationship with his sister, a dog. But I had thought people overwhelming before falling in love with one, and still found it hard to navigate many interpersonal situations. As Tisha had put it, You don’t have to enjoy all the social shit just because you enjoy being with Eli. He’s so into you, I doubt he cares. After that, it had all fallen into place.

(I had to admit, however, that Tiny had grown on me.)

(I was ready to die for that beast, and I was not prone to exaggeration.)

So, no, I hadn’t changed. But my life sparked a little brighter—and that was that.

“The deck needs some work done,” Eli told me on the porch of my cabin, while I leashed Tiny and let him lick my cheek like the pushover I’d become. The power of dogs was astounding. “I might be able to take care of it on my own.”

I’d not expected to feel a deep sense of immediate connection with my father’s cabin, and I’d been right. But I was a homeowner, and it felt nice, being in possession of something that someone had wanted me to have. I adored how secluded it felt here, the fresh air, the woodland scenery. Plus, I thought when the phone pinged with a text, we had cell reception.

“Tisha?” Eli asked. “More questions about your totally straightforward and reasonable forty-three-step instructions on how to take care of the children?”

My plants, he meant. “Nope.” I showed him the notification, and he snorted.

“Oh, come on.”

“What?”

“You need to uninstall that app.”

“It’s how we first met. It has a sentimental value.”

“And you are so sentimental.” He tugged me down the path that led to the hiking trails we’d planned to explore.

“Did you? Delete yours?”

“I deleted my profile after the first time you stayed over at my place.”

I glanced at him, feeling that cozy warmth that was always there when he was around. “It’s in bad taste and overdone.”

“What is?”

“Bragging about how you knew before me.”

He laughed and pulled me in for an embrace. “I don’t think it’s overdone. In fact, I’m not sure it’s done enough.”

Around us, everything was wild. The sun-dappled trees, the sound of little critters going about their lives, Tiny’s enthusiastic explorations. “If we come back this winter,” Eli told me an hour in, when we stopped for a break, “we might be able to skate on that pond.” He crouched down to retie his shoelaces, and I glanced at the water, a small smile curving my lips.

This winter.

“Are you picturing the myriad ways in which we could die?” he asked from behind me.