Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

Then, just as gently, a lot more slowly, he closed his fingers around mine.

There were two layers of gloves between our skin. I could barely feel his heat, but his grip was possessive, at once taking and making an offer. My heart beat in my throat, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

“Have you been thinking about this as much as I have?” Eli’s voice was low and husky, scratchy with something I didn’t dare to name, but could have easily picked out in a lineup.

“I don’t know. How much have you been thinking about this?”

He let out a soft laugh. “A lot.”

“Then, yes.” I licked my lips, then almost begged him not to look at my mouth that way. “I wish there was a way to stop it.”

“Rue.” His Adam’s apple moved. “I think there is.”

“What’s that?”

“You know.”

I did. It was unfinished between us. What we’d started the other night was there, suspended, oscillating wildly. I could feel it in my teeth. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Is it not?”

“You’re with Harkness. I’m with Kline.”

“Yeah, well.” He sounded self-deprecating, as though he wasn’t a fan of his own feelings. “Right now, I don’t give a fuck about Harkness. Or Kline. Or anything else except for . . .”

You. This. Us. My brain wanted him to say the words, and I hated that about myself. “I don’t think I like you as a person. I certainly don’t like what you’re doing, nor do I respect it.”

If he was hurt, he didn’t show it. “Thankfully, that’s not a condition for anything.”

He was right, and I closed my eyes. Imagined saying yes. Imagined the process of working this thing out of myself, the act of sweating him out. How good it would feel, and the peace and satisfaction I’d feel later. I imagined hearing his name, seeing his face, and not having an instant, uncontrollable, incendiary gut reaction.

I could do it. If I had him, I could stop wanting him. It’s what always happened. No repeats.

But. “Florence wouldn’t like it.”

For the first time, Eli seemed genuinely upset. “And that’s what matters most to you? Florence’s approval?”

“Not her approval. Her well-being.”

He inched back his head. “Okay.” This time he looked disappointed, maybe in me. But his tone was casual, the discrepancy jarring even as his fingers tightened lightly around mine one last time. “Then maybe you should know that—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Because the door opened without warning, and when we glanced up, Florence and Jay were staring down at us.





8





LIKE STARTING A NEW BOOK BEFORE FINISHING THE ONE ALREADY CHECKED OUT FROM THE LIBRARY





RUE

It wasn’t what you think,” I said later that night, spearing a green bean and dropping it onto the edge of the plate so abruptly, the clink echoed throughout the living room. My monthly dinners with Florence and Tisha were something I usually looked forward to, and fun, and pleasantly compatible with my onslaught of dysfunctions surrounding food and social situations.

Except that tonight I wasn’t having much fun.

“It wasn’t anything at all.” I made my tone even, to avoid sounding like a five-year-old who’d wet the mattress after assuring her mom that no, she did not need to go potty before bed.

“What I heard is”—Tisha wagged a crab rangoon at me—“that you and Eli Killgore were engaged in a passionate, child-making embrace on the floor of the humidity chamber lab.”

Jay. And his nosy, gossipy mouth. Even the guy who came to refill the vending machines once a week had undoubtedly been apprised of today’s events. The Kline WhatsApp group that I’d never bothered joining had probably already commissioned the fan art.

“There were no embraces.”

“Child-making without embraces.” Tisha stroked her chin. “The plot thickens.”

“No child-making, either. We were looking for a pipette tip.”

She deflated. “Sadly, the plot thins.”

“You’re a fully grown adult, Rue.” Florence’s voice was warm with understanding, but I could hear an edge of displeasure that she wasn’t quite able to hide. “You don’t have to justify yourself.”

“Aside from the fact it took place in a lab and therefore consisted of highly unprofessional behavior that would prompt HR to put you through years of additional sexual harassment training.” Tisha took a relishing bite, and I pointed my fork at her.

“Last year you dated that guy from legal, and had sex with him in at least three conference rooms.”

“Man, this is good,” she said around a mouthful of tofu.

“It would be best for me not to know about the abundance of fornication that goes on in my labs.” Florence sounded pained. “Really, Rue, I wouldn’t dream to tell you who to . . . You can do whatever you like.” It was still there, that tinge of hurt and worry in her tone. “But.”

“It could be your Mata Hari moment, Rue,” Tisha added.

“My what?”

“That hot spy in World War One? Or Two? Or the Sack of Rome—I don’t know history. What I mean is, you could sleep with Eli in exchange for information.”