“Hockey. He plays hockey.”

“Sure. He’s also a finance bro. Did you talk about cryptocurrency?”

“No. We talked about . . .” We tell each other the kinds of stories that we couldn’t tell anyone else, because they’d make people uncomfortable, or sad, or feel like they need to laugh politely, minimize, comfort. We share horrible things that we have done, that have been done to us, and then wait and see if the other is going to be so appalled that they’ll finally leave—but somehow that never happens. We don’t make small talk. We cut through the flesh and show the stories that live in our skeletons. “Cooking. He likes to cook.”

“Wow, that’s convenient.” Tisha’s eyes seemed to pierce through me. “And, just to reiterate . . . this is still just sex?”

I nodded without letting myself think about it too hard, but there must have been something in the air, because on Monday morning I received a text from Alec.

Tonight we’re closing early for maintenance of the HVAC system. The rink will be empty, and Maya and Eli Killgore will come over to skate. I figured I’d ask if you wanted to join.

And in case you’re wondering: yes, Dave is trying to set you and Eli up. He seemed to believe you two hit it off when you exchanged one and a half words at the fundraiser. But don’t worry, Eli’s a good guy. He’ll leave you alone.

Alec had been so kind to me, it was next to impossible to be annoyed at him, which only left room for amusement. I was heading to see Florence, so I made a mental note to decline later. Spending non-naked time with Eli didn’t seem wise.

“Hey, stranger. Why do I feel like I haven’t seen very much of you lately?”

I smiled and took my customary seat in Florence’s office, crosslegged in my favorite chair. Quarterly performance evaluations were never something for which I bothered working up anxiety. Florence was supportive, and I was good at my job.

“Just busy finishing up the provisional patent.”

Florence took off her reading glasses. “It’s in the lawyers’ hands?”

“Yup.”

“They might be waiting for my approval on that—I’ve been swamped, but I’ll get it done tonight.”

“Perfect.” I attempted a small smile, and Florence cocked her head.

“You look tired. Is everything okay?”

“No. I’ve been sleeping poorly.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Florence told me reassuringly. “These things are just formalities. Go get some rest—you remain my best employee. Want a raise?”

“Always.”

“I’ll talk to accounting.”

I chuckled, unfolded my legs, and made myself ask, “The Harkness situation. Is it solved?”

My question seemed to surprise her. “What do you mean?”

“The investors to buy back the loan, did they come through?”

“Not yet. Close, though.”

“What’s the holdup?”

“Usual bureaucratic shit.” She shrugged. “No need to worry.”

“And then they’ll be out of our hair?”

“I hope so.”

“Did you . . .” I swallowed. “Did you know that the Harkness founders are chemical engineers? At UT. Grad students in the department when you still taught there.”

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.”