Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

Looking.

“It’s unsettling when you do that,” I said softly.

He turned away, chest heaving. “I’m sorry.” His Adam’s apple moved. “I forget to look at other things, when you’re around.”

“I’m sure I do the same.” I feel it, too.

He huffed out a silent laugh. “Has this happened to you before?”

I shook my head in a first, instinctive reply, then forced myself to slow down and think about it. I’d been attracted to men before, but attraction had seemed like a conscious choice on my part, a feeling to chase and feed. Generic. The product of focus and cultivation, more than this current that seemed to rejoice in sweeping me under. “Not like this. You?”

“Me, neither.” His long fingers drummed on the metal rail, the rhythm almost meditative. “You know what’s funny? A while ago, I almost got married.”

“Oh.” I pictured the kind of woman someone like Eli might fall for, but my mind could only conjure vaguely alluring traits. Smart. Socially adept. A nice wholesome girl, willing to tame that hungry undercurrent of impatience in him. Proud builder of a solid investment portfolio, able to gently but firmly call him out on his passion for brain-injury-inducing sports at dinner parties. “I’m sorry,” I said, and when he laughed softly, I added, “No—I wasn’t trying to be a smart-ass. But ‘almost got married’ implies that something went wrong.”

“It definitely didn’t work out, but it was for the best. I think she’d agree, too. But since I met you, I’ve been thinking . . .” The sentence fizzled out. Eli glanced toward the city lights. The occasional skyscraper.

“What?”

“I tried to imagine a reality in which she and I had gone through with it. I’m still with her, I love her, we’re a family, and . . . and then I meet you by chance. And this thing between you and me, it’s there.” His eyes roamed the landscape, then landed on me. Contemplative. “I keep thinking about how fucking tragic it would be. For me. For her. I’ve never even been tempted to cheat on a partner, but this pull, it would still be in my head. You would still be in my head. Do you have to go through with it, for it to be cheating? How would I deal with . . . what would I do with all of this?”

He pointed at himself when he said this, but I knew he was referring to the gravitational energy between us. We were both caught in it.

“I think, the same way we’re dealing with it right now,” I said, trying to sound dismissive. Falling short. “Nothing is going to happen between us, even if you’re not married. You’re trying to take over my friend’s company. That’s not something I’ll ever be able to overlook.”

“Yeah.”

But what if this chemistry between us was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? What happened when the person who tore you apart was not the person you’d chosen to cherish? My concept of love was far from idealized, but this still seemed crucifying.

It’s all in your head, I told myself, but it was a lie. It was, at the very least, in both our heads. And now would have been a really good time for some elderly lady wearing an opal brooch to come out and interrupt this conversation, because Eli and I were starting to be absorbed in each other, and a reckless idea was germinating inside me, growing stronger by the second.

“Can I try something?” I asked, barely audible. He heard, though.

“Try what?”

“I’m not sure yet. Can I?”

That half smile again. “Knock yourself out.”

I took a step forward, until the toes of our shoes nearly touched. I remembered the powerful shiver that had raked through me the other night, when I’d pushed up and kissed his cheek. The memory had to be magnifying the real thing, and a do-over would prove it and break the spell.

If I lifted my hand to his face, like this.

And traced the high line of his cheekbone with my thumb.

And cupped his freshly shaven cheek in my palm.

If I touched him for seconds, or maybe minutes, and despite his heat, his darkening eyes, the wild, blistering feeling that pumped into me . . . if despite all of it we managed to still walk away from each other, then—

With a guttural sound, he pushed my back into the wall of the balcony, so fast that I found myself instantly dizzy, held upright by two things: the stone and Eli’s strong body.

He didn’t kiss me. Instead his hand wrapped around my jaw, and his thumb pressed into my lower lip, slow, inexorable. I had all the time in the world to push him away, but found myself urging him on.

Eli.

Anyone could find us.

But whatever you are about to do, do it anyway.

“Your damn mouth,” he murmured, “is the most obscenely lovely thing I’ve ever had the burden of seeing.”

The kiss that came after was open mouthed and unbound. We exhaled against each other’s lips, and when my hands closed around his nape, Eli groaned low in his throat. I moaned when he broke from me, but he simply found the hollow of my neck, the valley behind my ear. “I just want to make you come. Maybe come in the process, too. It’s all I fucking think about,” he said roughly. He nipped at my clavicle through the thin fabric of my dress. “But we’re on different sides of a fucking takeover, and apparently that’s too much to ask.”

I lost myself in the weight of his body against mine, his grip on my hips. It was a new, different kind of pleasure, at once drugging and screaming. He licked into my mouth, and I did the same to him, trying to remember if anything had ever felt like this.