Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

“Not at all condescending.” He tried not to grin and failed. But it was okay, because she kept methodically rifling through his life via the wallet, stopping to peruse the more interesting pieces, once humming audibly. Eli felt it like a physical thing, a thrum through air and flesh. Like her slender fingers were peeling out the layers of him, slowly, inexorably.

“Well, you do have health insurance, which hopefully covers the necessary amount of murder-prevention therapy,” she said dispassionately before folding the wallet and handing it back to him with a solemn nod. She gave one last look at the doors, where Vincent was nervously smoking a cigarette. Still in wait.

“This is one consistent wallet. Despite the fact that your name is literally Carnagemonger.”

“Not literally. Not figuratively, either.”

“Regardless.” Her lips curved in the shadow of a smile. Eli felt it in his marrow, wrapped around his balls. “Mr. Killgore, you may drive me home.”





3





IT WOULD HAVE BEEN FUN





ELI

His heart skipped a beat, then thudded hard. He felt oddly, foolishly like running a victory lap around the bar. He curbed the impulse and said, as dryly as he could muster: “What an honor.”

“You’re welcome.” Another unsmiling nod. There was something astonishingly effortless about this woman. Like she had no interest in being anything but herself.

“Am I allowed to know your name now?”

“No.”

“Figures.” Eli sighed and handed her his unlocked phone. “Take a picture of my driver’s license, text it or email it to a friend, and then let’s go. Share my location with them, too.”

“Is this an order?”

Yes, and an out-of-place one at that, but she didn’t seem too put off. Whoever her friend was, they were close enough that she had their number memorized. She sent a picture of his license, typed a short explanation that Eli forced himself not to peer at, and returned the phone. Then she gracefully hopped off her stool.

Fuck, she was tall. Even in flats, her eyes were only a handful of inches below Eli’s—and, no use in denying it at this point, right on the verge of spectacular. He forced himself to look away.

“You’re sober enough to drive, right?” she asked.

“Yeah. My plans fit better with sobriety.”

“Very well.” Her words were somewhat queenly, and his grin widened.

“You know you’re not doing me a favor, right?” he asked, even though she was. With Vincent around, he couldn’t have let her return home alone without losing whatever peace of mind he had left, which was very little.

She blinked at him serenely, and he was briefly certain that she could read his mind. The filthy thoughts he couldn’t rein in. The way her sweet scent seemed to settle inside his brain.

No. She couldn’t, because she was obviously relaxed with him. Trusting enough to send him on a bit of a power trip. Still difficult to decipher, but his gut told him that she didn’t mind prolonging their time together any more than he did. “Come on. My car’s in the parking garage.”

They avoided the main entrance, where Vincent waited, and called the elevator, a comfortable silence between them. A middle-aged man joined them inside the cabin, and Eli did not like the long, clinging look he gave to . . .

He still didn’t know her damn name. Which meant that he had no right to scowl at some creep just because he was looking at her tits. He did anyway, and the man must have felt the aggression coming off Eli in waves, because he abashedly lowered his gaze. Eli felt like a primate, half-locked in some ridiculous dominance battle, like the last twenty minutes had regressed him some fifty thousand years of evolution and—

Jesus. He needed to . . . get the fuck laid, probably. Or sleep. A vacation. Time, that’s what he needed. The past six months had been nothing but exhaustion and work, with no chance to think about any of this. Then, yesterday, she’d messaged him on an app he hadn’t opened in nearly a year, and it had felt like a cosmic gift.

A celebration for what he, Hark, and Minami had achieved. A prelude to what would come. Tomorrow.

He was deluded. A fucking break, that’s what he needed.

“Where do you live?” he asked, steering her toward his car with a flick of his hand. He tried to touch her as little as possible, but it was hard when she was the one drifting closer. Her shoulder brushed his arm, and the spot felt electric, itchy even through his clothes. The cool air of the underground lot was a welcome distraction.

“I can put the address in your GPS—”

“Can you please listen to me for one minute?” someone called, and when they turned back, Vincent was running toward them across the empty parking lot. “You can’t make this decision for the both of us, and I just need you to—”

“Go home, Vince,” she said.

Vince stopped. Then started again in their direction, his gait more menacing. “No, not until you listen to me—”

“I have listened. And I’ve asked you for a few days so I can think it through.”

“You’re being a bitch, as always—”

Eli had heard enough, and stepped in front of the woman. “Hey. Apologize and get lost.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Vince glowered. “This has nothing to do with you.”