Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(53)

“This is bullshit. Minami is married, and she and I haven’t been anything other than friends for—”

“Not that ex, Conor.”

He is briefly perplexed. I watch him buffer for…too long, before he remembers that he used to date Avery, too. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“You really forgot?”

He looks reasonably embarrassed about that. “Listen, Maya—”

“Wow. It’s true.” I cock my head. Study him. The jealousy that’s been bleeding through me for the past few days dissipates at once. Sure, Avery had him, but…She didn’t. Not at all. “You really aren’t interested in her.”

“As I told you,” he replies, harsh. “She’s a friend and a colleague.”

“She still likes you. She told me so yesterday, at the theater—”

“She told me, too, and I made it clear to her that nothing would be happening, ever, and that I don’t think about her that—”

“What about me?” Am I always this reckless? It’s the alcohol, has to be. “Do you think about me? Did I make it into your long-term memory?”

The only reply I get are his fingertips, tightening against my skin. When I lean into him, my chin brushes the fabric on his shoulder. It’s softer than it looks. Smells like laundry soap and salt and him. Smells like his pillow, all those years ago in Edinburgh.

“Here is the deal, Conor,” I tell him. My lips nearly make contact with the short hair behind his ear. “You and I are friends. And because of that, I am willing to give you a say in some of the choices I make when it comes to my…let’s call it, safety.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. I decide to take a gamble.

“The guy I met? I don’t have to call him back.”

“You categorically should not. He might—”

“Yeah, I know. I’m a wee lass and the world is a dangerous place. I also don’t have to be nice to Paul when he flirts with me—”

“Christ, Maya. Paul is not worthy of cleaning the fucking soles of your shoes with his tongue.”

“Right.” I pull back and pat his shoulder, comforting. “The thing is, I can do whatever I like. And you can ask me not to. But if you want me to listen, you’re going to have to give me a valid reason.”

“I told you. It’s not—”

“Safe? That’s not going to cut it. Because I could make it safe. I’m a responsible girl and I’ve had my fair share of hookups, so you don’t need to worry about that. If that’s what your peace of mind requires, you can stand outside my room to make sure that whoever I choose to sleep with doesn’t do anything untoward.”

His free hand closes around the edge of the counter, knuckles moon-white against the dark finishing of the wood.

“If that doesn’t sound good, then you’re going to have to do better, Conor. I want to have fun. You can ask me not to meet up with other guys. But what alternative will you offer?”

He doesn’t prevaricate, which is a relief. My respect for him would definitely take a hit if he pretended not to understand what I’m implying. “No,” he says. So quick, so firm, so definitive, I wonder if the answer is not definitive at all.

“That’s okay,” I say. “You don’t have to be interested just because I am—”

“Maya.”

“—but I hope you’ll see where I’m coming from, too. And I hope you won’t waste more of my time.”

“You can’t do this.”

“No? Why not?”

He has no answer for me. What he does have is a muscle twitching in his jaw, and an Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows. It must be a sign of my terrible temperament, that I cannot help smiling at the sight.

“Don’t worry about me.” I slide my fingers around his hand, dragging it away from my waist. His palm is warm, rough-skinned, and pliant in my grip. Instead of dropping it, I guide it into his lap and gently set it on his inner thigh.

The muscles in his quads twitch.

I smile, and before leaving I say: “Think about it, Conor. The offer stands.”





4 days before the wedding





Chapter 22




I wake up early—again.

Swim laps—again.

Have a granita breakfast—again.

All according to my new routine. The only different thing is the low-level hangover that I manage to shoo away only with ibuprofen. Over half of the party decides to go on a day-long excursion to Catania, but I’ve already made plans to go after the wedding, so I opt for staying at the villa.

“And we’re supposed to, what?” Nyota asks me when I inform her. “Relinquish our dysfunctional codependency? Be apart?”

I pat her back. “Don’t forget to write.”

I’m heading toward the beach, walking by a first-floor room. When I hear Conor’s voice, I halt, hoping to avoid meeting him. Even sober, I don’t regret what I told him last night. It did, however, end in something that felt a lot like another rejection, and I don’t want to deal with the fallback of it. I decide to exit the villa via the back door, but stop when I hear Tamryn’s distressed tone. “—don’t understand,” she’s saying. She sounds angry and tearful. “Their lawyers must be aware that their demands aren’t supported.”