Page 52 of Not in Love

His expression hardened. “Yes, actually. I could tell you about—” Abruptly, he stopped. His strong neck tensed as he turned over his shoulder, and a moment later he was pushing me through the closest doorway and into a lab. He pressed me into a workstation that couldn’t be seen through the glass walls.

My sluggish brain couldn’t keep up. “What are you doing?” I asked, and then fell silent. A handful of voices were getting closer.

“You know who that is?”

I shook my head.

“Kline’s CEO and its general counsel.” His eyes held mine in what felt like a challenge. “I have no problem with your friend seeing us together, but I figured you might?”

I did. So I fell silent, letting the bite of the workbench dig into my lower back, listening as Florence’s voice grew fainter. Eli remained close, his hands caging me to the table, and it soaked the air between us, the shame of what I’d done. What I still wanted to do.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

I blurted out the truth. “You said ‘negotiated.’”

A confused look. “What?”

“On the app. The checklist part of it, it asks about kinks. You wrote ‘if negotiated’ but didn’t elaborate.”

His gaze sharpened to something so intense, I couldn’t conceive it. It was heady. A little unhinged.

“You want to know what I’m into?”

I nodded.

“Why?” His head tilted. “Are you hoping I’ll take control? That if I’m the one calling the shots, it’ll make you feel less guilty about being with me?”

Uncomfortable, how spot-on he was. “I just think we should fuck again,” I heard myself say. The alcohol dulled the bluntness of my words, but Eli’s pupils still widened.

“As far as I can recall, we never did that.”

“Semantics.”

“How much have you had to drink, Rue?”

“I don’t know.” I did. “A few beers.” Three. A few sips of a fourth.

“Yeah. Okay.” He took a step back. Turned away to stare at an embossed Kline logo on the wall, tendons tense on the side of his neck, as if under great strain. Then he looked back at me, once again tightly leashed. “We can revisit the matter when you’ve metabolized the alcohol out of your system.”

“Just like I metabolized you?” I said under my breath. His nostrils flared. “We could leave together. Tonight.”

“Rue.”

“Unless you’re busy.”

“Rue.”

“You can say no, if you—”

“Rue.” His interest was a palpable presence, as concrete as the floor between us. He’s going to say yes, I thought, elated. But: “Tomorrow.” His knuckles whitened around the edge of the bench. “We revisit this tomorrow, if you still want to. Call me, and I’ll tell you what I like.” He had the final look of someone who hadn’t budged in years.

“Sure. In the meantime, feel free to touch me. Or kiss me.”

He exhaled. “Rue.”

“What? It’s a kiss. Are you scared of me now?”

He stepped closer, slowly leaning into me. My heart hammered in my chest, then exploded when he let his hand slide upward under my sweatshirt.

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