Florence was briefly motionless. Then she picked up a pen, clicked it twice, and put it down again. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I looked them up online.” Not false, but not the whole truth. I wish I could have said that Eli was forcing me to hide things from Florence, but I needed to take accountability. It was my own inability to stay away from him that had turned me into a liar. “Is it possible that you crossed paths? Briefly, maybe? They were working on biofuels, too.”
More stillness. Another shrug, stiff this time. “No. Categorically, no. I would remember if we had.”
Why are you denying this so vehemently? Why does it feel like you’re hiding something?
“Rue, is this . . . Has Eli Killgore contacted you? Put strange ideas in your head?”
I shook my head. Who’s hiding something now, Rue?
“Listen, I can tell that you’re nervous about Harkness. And I appreciate that you worry about me. But there is absolutely no need to research these people.” She leaned closer, so close that her green eyes shone. Her cold hand took mine. “I know that this whole legal business is unsettling, and maybe it’s making you second-guess things you know. But the truth is, when I was at UT, I worked so hard on my tech, in off-campus labs, that I barely showed up in the department. And if I’ve crossed paths with Harkness before . . . well, that explains why they’re targeting Kline so aggressively. Maybe they’ve been keeping their eyes on us all these years, waiting to pounce. But them knowing me doesn’t mean that I knew them, and honestly, they’re dicks. I don’t care to know where they’re from, or what their story is. I just want them gone from my life.”
It made sense. So much sense, all my questions were answered. So much sense, I turned my palm and squeezed hers. “I get it,” I said, feeling a million pounds lighter than when I’d entered this office. “And you’re right.”
Florence’s lips stretched into a reassuring smile. “Stop worrying, okay? I’ve got it all under control.”
I nodded. Stood, almost lightheaded from relief. Made it to the door.
“Rue,” Florence called. I looked at her from over my shoulder. “It’s getting long again.”
“What is?”
Florence pointed to the left side of her own head. “Your undercut. Might be time to trim it again.”
“Yeah. I think you’re right.”
“Where does time go?”
I had no answer. So I smiled my goodbyes, and went back to my office, putting the matter out of my head—until that night, when I got into my car and heard a weird sound.
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.