Page 29 of Not in Love

“And where does that leave us?”

“I don’t think there is an us.” My hand tightened even more—so hard, I accidentally pressed my thumb against the pipette’s ejector, dropping the tip. “Shit.” I knelt to the floor, bending my head in the cramped space.

“Here,” Eli said. When I lifted my eyes, the tip was in the center of his open palm. When I lifted them higher, he was crouching in front of me.

Close.

Closer than he’d been since the other night.

“Thank you,” I said, without reaching for the tip. Not sure whether I could trust myself.

Eli stared as though my skull were made of glass, and he could see the exact mess passing through my head. He took my free hand, gently pried it open, and deposited the tip on my palm.

Then, just as gently, a lot more slowly, he closed his fingers around mine.

There were two layers of gloves between our skin. I could barely feel his heat, but his grip was possessive, at once taking and making an offer. My heart beat in my throat, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

“Have you been thinking about this as much as I have?” Eli’s voice was low and husky, scratchy with something I didn’t dare to name, but could have easily picked out in a lineup.

“I don’t know. How much have you been thinking about this?”

He let out a soft laugh. “A lot.”

“Then, yes.” I licked my lips, then almost begged him not to look at my mouth that way. “I wish there was a way to stop it.”

“Rue.” His Adam’s apple moved. “I think there is.”

“What’s that?”

“You know.”

I did. It was unfinished between us. What we’d started the other night was there, suspended, oscillating wildly. I could feel it in my teeth. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Is it not?”

“You’re with Harkness. I’m with Kline.”

“Yeah, well.” He sounded self-deprecating, as though he wasn’t a fan of his own feelings. “Right now, I don’t give a fuck about Harkness. Or Kline. Or anything else except for . . .”

You. This. Us. My brain wanted him to say the words, and I hated that about myself. “I don’t think I like you as a person. I certainly don’t like what you’re doing, nor do I respect it.”

If he was hurt, he didn’t show it. “Thankfully, that’s not a condition for anything.”

He was right, and I closed my eyes. Imagined saying yes. Imagined the process of working this thing out of myself, the act of sweating him out. How good it would feel, and the peace and satisfaction I’d feel later. I imagined hearing his name, seeing his face, and not having an instant, uncontrollable, incendiary gut reaction.

I could do it. If I had him, I could stop wanting him. It’s what always happened. No repeats.

But. “Florence wouldn’t like it.”

For the first time, Eli seemed genuinely upset. “And that’s what matters most to you? Florence’s approval?”

“Not her approval. Her well-being.”

He inched back his head. “Okay.” This time he looked disappointed, maybe in me. But his tone was casual, the discrepancy jarring even as his fingers tightened lightly around mine one last time. “Then maybe you should know that—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Because the door opened without warning, and when we glanced up, Florence and Jay were staring down at us.

8

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