Page 73 of Not in Love

She seemed to agree, because she met his eyes squarely. “Would you like to do that with me?”

Under the table, his hand and his cock twitched at once. He thought about pulling her into his lap. Locking her in this house and throwing away the key. About the things he could do to her. Discovering her limits. Figuring out what she liked. Having her at his mercy. Making her enjoy it. She had no fucking idea how much fun they could have, just the two of them. “If you wanted to try, yes. Some of it.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing that would push too hard, too quickly. Just you, letting me be in charge. And we’d talk everything over.” His blood thudded loudly in his veins. In anticipation. Or worry that she might change her mind. “You could stay for the day. We could . . . experiment.”

She blinked. “I should go home.”

“Why?” He tried for an easy grin. Not too eager. “It’s not like you have any pets.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was amused. “I do have plants to water.”

“The cactus you bought at the grocery store last week will be fine.”

She chewed on her lower lip. He studied her long, graceful fingers drumming against the table, remembered how they’d felt wrapped around him. “Won’t Maya be back?”

“Not until tonight. And I overheard her tell her friend Jade that I’m an incel. I’d love to show her that I do have some game.”

She laughed softly, and Eli knew that he had her.

22

GOOD GIRL

RUE

When we returned upstairs, I had three messages on my phone.

Nyota, emailing the contact information for a real estate lawyer licensed in Texas and Indiana. Good news is, he came highly recommended. Sad news: his hourly rate might reflect that.

Tisha, informing me that she was going to Kline for a couple of hours to finish up something for “the anthropomorphized period cramp” (Matt), asking whether I wanted to join her. We could take a joint dump on his desk on our way out. LMK.

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?”

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