Page 88 of Not in Love

“Hmm. Sure. Then my damn sister developed a very ageinappropriate crush on Hark, and the triangle became a square. I might just hate all of them.”

“You are clearly the real victim of the situation.”

“So glad that came across.”

“Are Maya and Hark . . . ?”

“No. God, no.”

“Well, as far as you know,” I added, just to annoy him. His glare had me laughing. “I’ve definitely had sex with guys ten or fifteen years my senior. And look how well-adjusted I turned out.”

He snorted at my deadpan delivery. I was a mess. He knew it. I didn’t mind. “As much as I wish all this wellness for my sister . . . not with Hark.” He gave me another half-hearted glare. “What about you and Tisha?”

“What about us?”

“Is it just the two of you?”

For me, yes. I’d had two college roommates, who’d not been fans of my “stuck-up, superior, bitchy airs” in the first semester, but had slowly realized that I was just stumped by social situations. They’d taken me under their wing, brought me to parties, come to cheer for me at skating competitions. We were still in touch, but life was busy, and they both had families. “Tisha has several other friends, whom she constantly introduces me to.” I shrugged. “Most people don’t like me very much.”

We stepped outside, into the oppressive heat of the dimly lit, deserted parking lot. Our cars were the farthest from the entrance—and the closest to each other.

“I’m not surprised,” Eli said.

My eyebrow rose. “You’re not surprised that people don’t like me?”

“You never try to be anything but what you are.” We stopped by his vehicle. “I think people are puzzled, and intimidated, and generally unsure of what to do with you.”

“You are not unsure.”

“No. Then again, I like you very much.” Another blinding grin that had my heart somersaulting. Then his expression sobered, folding into something that looked like sorrow. “You’re a wild ride, Rue. I’ve never met anyone like you, and never will again.”

Something swelled at the base of my throat. “That’s okay. You’ll meet plenty of better people.”

“Will I?” His Adam’s apple rolled. He opened the back seat and threw in his equipment. When he turned back to me, his cocky smile had reappeared. “Have a great rest of your night. Like you said, you’re not here to hang out, and this is not a date. The keys are not mine, so unless you want me to fuck you in my car, I’ll see you—”

“Yes,” I said.

Very quickly.

It was not premeditated. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to me. But now that it was on the table, I wasn’t going to be embarrassed at how eager I sounded.

I just wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Eli looked surprised. And incredulous. And angry. And amused. And once he’d cycled through another handful of emotions, he said, “Part of me wants to feel offended. That you won’t skate with me for five minutes, but are okay with being fucked in the middle of a parking lot.”

“And the other part?”

Eyes fixed on mine, he opened the passenger door. “Get inside.”

I’d done it a few times in college—sex in cars, frat bathrooms, once in a locker room. Stupid, when discovery was always possible, and I’d grown tired of it early on, because nothing felt good enough to offset the anxiety of being caught.

But Eli did feel good enough. Eli was dragging me over the center console, arranging me to kneel on his lap, and the only things standing between us and something very embarrassing were air and darkness.

Foolish and irresponsible. But as always, things went from zero to incendiary, and stopping seemed impossible. “Did you wear these soft pants because you wanted to get fucked?” he asked when his hands slid into my leggings.

“I wore them because they’re comfortable—oh.” His thumb found my clit.

“Sensible. Pragmatic.” The tip of his finger prodded against my entrance. “That’s my type, apparently. Maybe once you’re out of my life I’ll just jerk off to budgeting plans.”

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