Not in love

25

DOES IT REALLY NOT SOUND LIKE A FANTASTIC IDEA?

RUE

The voices of Dave, Alec, and the HVAC maintenance guy came from the hallway on the right, so I took a left turn and headed for the hockey rink. I’d expected to find Eli; I did not expect him to be alone.

My day had taken a shitty turn when the real estate lawyer recommended by Nyota told me that he wasn’t taking on new clients. The rink, though, soothed me. It smelled like childhood, and aching muscles, and the bored stares of skaters’ parents during Saturday morning practice. I walked to the bench, taking in the circles Eli drew on the ice, his ever-messy hair, the pockets of sweat darkening his long-sleeved gray shirt. The echo of the stick hitting the puck.

He was in no way unique. Most hockey players skated this way—forceful, rhythmic strides, a seamless combination of strength and grace, swift turns and powerful stops. I’d never been particularly drawn to them, but Eli was my never-ending exception. Eyes on him, I went to stand next to a pair of beat-up sneakers and waited for him to notice me. Less than five minutes later he glided to me—breath labored, grin wide.

It was a punch in the stomach, how happy he was to see me. How happy I was to see him.

“Alec invited me,” I said when he stopped at the glass boards.

He took his gloves off and wiped his brow with his forearm. “I’m sure Dave’s doodling our wedding invitations on an HVAC user manual.”

I smiled. His scent was as familiar to me as the ice’s, the way they blended confusing to my senses. “He said your sister would be here, too.”

He shook his head. “Homework. Or whatever the hell they call it in college.”

I nodded. Made myself go straight to the point. “You left something in my car.”

He examined me for a long moment. Cheeks red and curls wild, chest still rising and falling a beat too quickly—I’d never wanted to touch him more than in this very moment. And then his lips curved. “Hi, Rue. Nice to see you on this lovely summer night.”

I rocked on my feet. “Hi. And likewise. You left—”

“Yup, I heard you the first time.” He held out his hand over the guards, palm facing up in invitation. “Come skate with me.”

What? “I don’t . . .”

“I know you can skate, Rue. I’ve seen you do it with my own two eyes.”

“When . . . ?” A thought occurred to me. “You watched my old competitions. Online.”

He nodded. “You weren’t kidding about ‘Pump Up the Jam.’”

I exhaled a laugh, wondering if I should feel stalked. But hadn’t

I researched him, too? “No, I wasn’t. I told you, no sense of humor.”

“Sure. Come on in. Let’s skate together.” He noticed my hesitation. “You’re already here. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t have my—”

“There’s a roomful of equipment over there.” He pointed past my shoulders, and I actually tried to picture it—the two of us, skating together. Being close. Keeping track of each other on the ice. Okay, I said in my head. Yes. Let’s do it. I want to do it.

In fact, I wanted to do it so bad, I really shouldn’t. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Eli.”

His smile froze. “It doesn’t have to be a date. You already turned me down for that. But there is an empty rink, and you can pirouette around to your heart’s content. Or whatever it is that you people do.”

He made it sound simple. But skating could be so . . . intimate. Even more than sex. And if Eli and I were to go beyond sex, then my betrayal of Florence would run too deep for comfort. There had to be some limits. I had to set some limits. “I didn’t come here for that.”

He exhaled a self-deprecating laugh and skated away. He grabbed the puck, came back, and a moment later he was on the bench, changing into his shoes.

“Are you leaving?” I asked.

“Yup.” Sweat beads trickled down his temple. He’d clearly been at it for a while. “So you can skate on your own.”

“But that’s not why I came.”

“Right. True. We only meet for two reasons—to fuck, and to return things that we leave in each other’s cars.” He flashed me a smile, and his face was so unbearably familiar and attractive, and I had to stop myself from reaching out. “What did I forget?”

I dug into my pockets and held out the keys I’d found under my seat. He stared at them with a frown, then said, “They’re not mine.”

I frowned, too. “They have to be.”

“And yet.” He went back to his shoes. “Who else has been in your car?”

Tisha. But I knew what her keys looked like.

“Sorry you made the trip for nothing,” he said. “I’d love to believe that you planted the keys as an excuse to see me—”

“I didn’t—”

“—but that would be too much wishful thinking, even for me. Sure you don’t want to skate?”

I nodded. My eyes lingered as he tied his shoelaces. “Do you always train alone?”

“This is not really training. Just playing around a bit.” He stood, hoisting the laces of his skates over his shoulder. “I don’t like crowds, that’s all. When the rink is available, I take advantage.”

“Do none of your friends skate?”

“Some of my former teammates have gone pro. None in the area—Austin’s no hockey hot spot.”

“What about the Harkness people?”

“Hark, yes, decently. I took Minami once, and she spent one hour on her butt. Sul didn’t even put on skates.” He smiled like they were beloved memories, and began heading out. I hurried behind him, feeling like an ugly duckling trying to catch up with an uninterested swan.

“What’s the story there?” I asked, unwilling to let the conversation end.

“What do you mean?”

“Hark and Minami, they’re weird with each other.”

“Good catch.”

“Obvious, if I picked up on it.”

He gave me a fond look, like my oddities were something he treasured. “Just your run-of-the-mill love triangle.”

“Like in The Hunger Games?”

He halted. “You read The Hunger Games?”

“Tisha wanted me to, but I’m not really the fiction type.” Made-up stories confused me. I preferred dwelling in facts. “I watched the movie, though. I enjoyed it.”

“Look at you.” He resumed walking, delighted. “Hark and Minami dated for a couple of years. She broke it off. Hark never got over it. She married Sul.”

“Fascinating.”

“Is it?” He gave me a pained look.

“Not as much as The Hunger Games, but yes. Sul seems . . . quiet.”

“He talks even less than you do.”

“I talk.”

“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 a

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.”