Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

And Florence, who’d snapped a progress picture of a shawl she’d been knitting for me in beautiful shades of red—my favorite color.

“Everything okay?” Eli asked from behind me, and my first instinct was to hide my phone—which made me hate myself. Kline, my friends, my work—they were the part of my life I was proud of.

It was what I was doing with Eli that needed to be concealed.

“I have a story,” I said, still facing away from him. I felt pressure against my eyes, but I wasn’t worried. I’d stopped crying when I was a child.

“Go ahead.”

“I owe everything to Florence. My job. My scientific freedom. My financial stability. The fucking shawl that she’s knitting. And in return I’m here, in the bedroom of someone who’s been making her life impossible, having meals with him, because . . .”

Silence. “Why? Why are you here, Rue?”

My chest felt heavy. I turned around. “Because I’m selfish, and careless. Because I want to be.”

He nodded. Seemed to look around for a tale that could match mine. “I last spoke to my mother a few weeks before she died. My final words to her were that I hoped she wouldn’t be as shitty a mother to my sister as she’d been to me.”

We stood there, sodden with the weird catharsis that came from acknowledging the kinds of flaws and regrets and mistakes that lived in our bones.

He never ran, no matter how shameful. Neither did I.

“Okay, then,” I said, taking a step closer. “Let’s start.”

Eli took off his shirt. He was handsome in a rugged, interesting way, but what I liked about him was the story his body told. The broadness of his shoulders, the product of a childhood spent honing his body. Strong, long arms. A few scars here and there, where he must have taken hits and kept going. “Did you play defense?”

He smiled. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Do we need a safe word, or something?”

“Why don’t we just . . . communicate, for now? I tell you what I’d like you to do, what I would like to do, and you can tell me no, or ask me to stop. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds better than screaming ‘broccoli’ because you’re pulling my hair too hard.”

He laughed. “That’s the spirit. Are you okay with me holding you down?” He stepped closer and gently pulled my hands from the back pockets of my jean shorts. Then he closed one hand around both my wrists with surprising ease, trapping them on my lower back. “Like this.”

Heat bloomed in my stomach. Blood rushed to my cheeks, but I nodded.

“If you change your mind, just ask me to let go.”

“I won’t.”

He scanned my face. “I’m serious. If you don’t like something I’m doing, you’ll tell me immediately.”

“I’m down for whatever.”

“Really? For whatever?”

I nodded.

“So I can press you into the mattress right now and fuck your ass without lube?” I froze. A now who’s up for anything? eyebrow rose on his forehead, and I had to stop myself from fidgeting in his grip. “Thought so,” he said softly. “Take off your clothes and lie face up on the bed, Rue. And if something bothers you, anything, tell me.”

I was naked in just a few moments, aware of Eli’s eyes trailing my every move. Stopped in front of the bed. “You can,” I said over my shoulder. “But I’ve never done it, so maybe not without lube.”

He stood completely still, but something behind his eyes stuttered, as if his brain was short-circuiting. By the time I lay down, he looked calm. His fingers traced the valley between my breasts, then played my rib cage like a piano. He was still wearing the gray sweatpants he’d put on for breakfast, the outline of his erection straining against the soft material.

“Would you like me to do something about that?” I asked. Wasn’t that the point? For me to service him in some way? The idea had me pressing my legs together in anticipation.

But he shook his head. “How about we start slow? Just relax.”

“So what do I do?”

He chuckled. “But of course.”

“What?”

“You always need something to do.”

Did I? Yes. Ever since I was a child, having a goal was the best way to avoid thinking about whatever misery I was going through. How did he know, though?

“Because I’m the same way,” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss on my cheek. It felt menacingly intimate. “Why don’t we say that your job is not coming, since you speak English so well?” His hand shifted to my abdomen, then pressed lightly, his weight on my flesh delicious.

“I can’t come? Ever?”

“Not until I tell you. It doesn’t matter how close you are, you wait for my permission. Okay?”

“Doesn’t sound too hard. Not having orgasms with a man is something in which I have plenty of experience.”

He muttered something that sounded a lot like mouthy, and then bent down to kiss me in the way I’d become accustomed to, at once restrained and absolutely filthy.

So new for me, recognizing someone’s kiss fingerprint. Being familiar with Eli’s fresh, woodsy scent. “This is a recurring dream of mine,” he said against one of my nipples before biting it softly.