Not in Love(71)

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 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.”