Page 59 of Not in Love

He followed Rue to one of the many storage rooms. Uniforms, old helmets, and the occasional stick piled on all surfaces, and he had to sidestep several boxes of pucks just to find the light switch. His brain hiccuped, disoriented in time: he hadn’t been in here in over a decade, but the logo on the green jerseys was as familiar to him as the weight of the head on his shoulders.

“Have you kept in touch with Alec since graduating?” he asked. If he couldn’t have her, he at least wanted to know things about her. Tiles for the Rue mosaic that had taken up residence in his brain.

“Yeah.” She unearthed a cart from under a box of shin guards. In the harsh ceiling lights, she was paler than usual, her curves meeting dramatic shadows and narrow angles. “Did your sister?”

“Yup. Alec has done a lot for our family.”

“For me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“When I was a teenager, he’d bring food to the rink, just for me. Sandwiches, veggies and hummus. Healthy snacks with protein.” She stopped unloading the cart, eyes unfocused in the middle distance. “I never even said I was hungry.”

He observed her, recalling the slight frame of teenage Rue. Wasn’t her project on shelf life extension of produce? “And were you hungry?”

She shook off the memory of it, and he realized that this one hadn’t been one of the ugly stories they’d gotten into the habit of exchanging. She’d shared it with him without quite wanting to. “Do you see the water?” she asked.

He pointed at the cart he’d just loaded with eighty bottles.

“Ah. Right.” She scratched the back of her neck, uncharacteristically flustered. A fucking sight to behold. He wanted to pull her apart, watch the atoms of her squirm in pleasure, and take his own sweet time putting them back together. He wanted her to feel the way he did.

“My ex-fiancée was a chef,” he said.

Her look was blank. “And?”

“She was—is—damn good. And she thought everyone should have at least three signature dishes they could prepare without needing a recipe.”

“To impress at dinner parties?”

He laughed. McKenzie would, too, at the idea of wanting to impress. “To be able to eat good food. By yourself or with others.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“There are three dishes I can make. Because a professional Michelin restaurant chef taught me.” Rue blinked, like it still wasn’t clear. “I could feed you well. If you’re still hungry, that is.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look and slipped into speechlessness. Then she moved closer, and the blood in his veins thickened as she pushed onto the tips of her toes. Her heat warmed him, and her chin tilted up, and her mouth—

He turned his head away before her lips could touch his.

Which, his body immediately let him know, was a supremely fucked-up idea. Go back. Kiss her. Lock the door. Pull her shirt up and her shorts down. Bend her over. You know what to do next. She does, too.

Rue took a step back, looking confused, maybe hurt by the rejection.

Eli’s body revolted. He was so hard, he could feel his erection pulsate against the zipper of his jeans, bent at a painful angle. When she made to leave, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and spun her around. “Wait.”

She lifted her chin. Her eyes held a hint of challenge.

“I live nearby,” he said. A gambit. “You could come over. Retrieve your property.”

“My property?”

“You left something in that hotel room.”

He watched her scan her memories, and her eyes widened when she stumbled upon the answer. “You could have thrown them away.”

“The thought never occurred to me.”

“They’re not your size, you know.”

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