Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

“How long has it been with Rue?”

“On and off, a few weeks.”

“Jesus, Eli. Aren’t there other women?”

“Sure, but I don’t want them.”

“What about the racquetball girl?”

He frowned. “Who?”

“The one we met when—”

“Stop right there. I don’t want Racquetball Girl, or any other girl, because they’re not Rue.”

“Oh, come off it. What’s the real reason?”

“This is the real reason. I like her. She’s a wonderful lay and she smells amazing and I love having her around. Do you want to read my fucking diary?”

“No, I want you to remember that things are heating up, and we’re closer than ever. Have you considered the possibility that Florence might be using her to find out shit from us?”

Eli did, right then, for all of a second. “She isn’t.”

“How can you be so sure? Because you have discovered the heights and the depths of sweet star-crossed love with her?”

“Because she never brings up Kline. Because I have been pursuing her. And because she’s not the kind of person who’d do that.”

“And you know her so well. All of what, two hours?”

“I know her well enough.”

“Goddammit, Eli. How serious is—” He interrupted himself, and when Eli followed his gaze, he saw Rue in the doorway.

He wondered how much she’d overheard, but her face was inscrutable as she asked, “Do you need any help with the cooking, Eli?” She ignored Hark, who, to his credit, managed to look contrite. He brushed past Rue with a murmured “excuse me,” and Eli was just glad to be alone with her again.

It was fundamentally fucked up, this feeling that his friends of over a decade were intruding on his life with Rue—a woman who would pour a Class 8 chemical down his nostrils for Florence Kline. Or even just recreationally. And yet, here he was.

Smiling at her.

His heart skipped when she smiled back faintly.

“Are you trying to steal my secret recipe, or do you just feel weird being with Harkness people in the other room?” he asked.

“The latter. I . . . I’m not very good with people I don’t know.”

“Ah.” Eli readjusted his mental image of Rue. She’d always been self-assured with him, at ease ever since the first night. He’d noticed that she seemed to be more reserved with others, but he’d chalked it up to a slightly aloof personality, not social anxiety. “Is this recipe secret, too?” she asked.

“It’s not.” His chest felt tight. “Come here, I’ll teach you.”

She padded to the stove but deviated when she noticed a bowl of fruit. She picked up an apple, holding it in a pensive way that pulled a fond smile from Eli. “Are you thinking about the microbial coating?”

She nodded. “I finished collecting data yesterday.”

She seemed excited, and he felt inexplicably pleased. Would congratulating her sound patronizing? “It’s a fantastic project.”

She smiled, and he felt like he’d won the lottery. “Thank you.”

“What will you do next?”

“I’m not sure yet. Once I have the patent, I’ll have to decide if I want to license it or market it myself.”

Something about the phrasing gave him pause. “Won’t Kline own the tech?”

“No. I will. Florence and I had an agreement from the start.”

Eli’s hand tightened around the handle of a knife. “Did she—are you—” Get a grip, asshole. Use your words. “Do you have a written contract for that?”

“Of course.” She gave him a puzzled look and put the apple back. “Why? Were you hoping to steal my intellectual property together with the rest of Kline?”

There was a bite in her words, but he was too swept by relief to mind. “Something like that.” He needed to change the topic. “Do you cook?”

“Not well, but I like to have proper meals. Food is what I splurge on.”

She said it like it was a luxury. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“Why?”

“I like to feed you well.” There was a pang of regret in his chest. McKenzie had tried to teach him as much as she could, but Eli had been too busy building a business. What a waste. Rue could have marveled at his kitchen prowess for weeks on end. “You can grate the cheese. Try not to shave your fingers—Minami’s in one of her vegetarian phases.”

They worked as well in his kitchen as they had in her lab, except that this time Eli took the lead and was surprised by how studiously Rue applied herself, treating garlic and olive oil like they were highly volatile substances. Cooking with McKenzie had been a lot of fun—McKenzie, who was bright and sunny and made everything turn into banter and kisses flavored with whatever ingredients they’d been using. Rue was nothing like that. She was intense and focused. A real fortress. She spoke little, always relevant questions and the occasional deadpan joke that had Eli biting his cheek to avoid laughing. She rarely volunteered information, and never started sentences with I.

And yet. There were shy smiles, and the rapt way she stared at his hands, and when he stood behind her to stir, she leaned back against his chest, just a little, just enough to make his brain and his heart and his dick pound in ways he wasn’t ready to analyze.