Don't Be In Love

by Liana Cincotti

“How’s tutoring with Addy going?” Addy? Suddenly, there was a thick blanket thrown over the mood.

wanted to tell him how I was feeling. How she made me feel. Anxious. Admired. Agitated. Adored. Acknowledged. A complex canvas with layers of paint that couldn’t be traced back to their first brushstrokes.

“I hope it wouldn’t be awkward then if I asked Adelaide out?” My pencil snapped. The lead flew across the table, leaving a short, thick line in my paper—proof of what he just said.

If we were in the campus kitchen, I’d assume the shooting pain in my chest was from a fork pressed into my chest. But no. I leaned my head into my palm to stop the swaying and prepare myself in case this was some early-on heart attack. I’d sure provide a doctor with quite a bit of entertainment. The cause of the attack, you ask? Best friend fancies the woman I’m dreaming about.

But Adelaide just watched. The same way I watched her run her finger over her computer screen to breakdown definitions and explain analytics.

“Parlo dieci lingue. Italian just happened to be the last.” My heart lurched. I pushed my hand against my chest as if I could calm the beat. “How do you know Italian?” Then my heart stilled. Like a hummingbird trapped behind a window.

But his face was so calm, and he was so close. His hand splayed out on the desk like he was reaching for me. That pocket of energy in my chest surged again.

“You should sell these. They should be in people’s homes.” “Oh, I don’t know.” “I would cover my entire room in them,” I gushed. “You would?” “Of course.

“She knows all about you,” he mentioned. It wasn’t phrased in a romantic way. But my stomach still dipped the way a golf ball went over a hump in a mini golf course.

On the walk back home from the bookstore last night, I jumped over puddles. He held the umbrella above our heads with his left hand. I clutched onto his right, reluctantly, in order to avoid falling a second time.

His rings dug into my fingers as I squeezed tight, careful not to fall, but let go immediately once my feet were back on the ground.

Before I left for class this morning, there was a blank postcard in my mailbox with a sticky note. I’ll bring you a stamp when you’re ready. Twelve hours later, there was a collection of pen dots in the top left corner of the postcard. It looked as if I forgot how to spell. Or how to use a pen.

The idea that someone had been dragging him along for five years made me sick.

It created an anxious patter that made it difficult to breathe and I didn’t know if it was because I was beginning to care for him or because … I didn’t know.

Now that I was learning more about him—his hobbies, his habits—it only added more weight. More interest.

I could feel myself leaning in more. Memorizing the freckles on his throat and the annunciation that his accent carried on certain words.

In walked Dorian, an umbrella hanging at his side. Wet specks polka dotted his navy blue sweater, a change from his usual black and grays. I hated that I noticed that. That I liked it.

His gaze swept across the room, from Dotty to Mia to me. The corner of his mouth ticked upward.

“Hi.” He smiled. “Hi.” I smiled back, the muscles in my face going rogue. “Read...

I attempted to hold onto the handle, but the difference in our height made our arms seesaw back and forth. He peeled my hand off in debate, holding it above me.

“I gave it to her when you started skipping out on our meetings a few weeks ago and began walking home by yourself again.” He gave me a level look. “Think I’d forget?”

“It means that I’ve caught you staring at me a few times.” “I have not.” “Oh, we’re lying now?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“I know why everyone else looks. I want to know why you look.”

Swaying trees and rustling leaves frazzled by the rain filled the space. But it wasn’t loud enough for me to ignore the sound of his breathing or the beat of his footsteps.

“His crush will fizzle out at some point.” “Says who?” “Says the attention span of men.” “I think you’re talking to the wrong men then.”

His face softened. No pull at the corners of his lips or tension in his jaw. It carried all of my attention to his eyes where all of the light came from.

His face made my cheeks ache.

As we approached a puddle, he caught my hand so I could hop over.

“Come with me. Be my date,” he offered. He dropped the umbrella at his side.

“Dorian—” “Hear me out. It’s a masquerade. No one will know it’s you. No one would know it’s us.” “My friend loves you,” I reiterated. He stepped closer.

His hand is on my forearm and it’s draining me of all my logic.

“Based on the way you’re looking at me right now, I’m starting to doubt that’s the reason.”

“It doesn’t matter what my reason is. You have a girlfriend.” “I do not.” His eyebrows drew in.

“You’re kissing someone in them.” “That doesn’t mean anything,” he pressed. “Do you hear yourself?” “It. Doesn’t. Mean. Anything.”

“Prove it then,” I argued. One moment his eyes were skipping across my face like a pebble in a pond. And the next, his hand was leaving my forearm and taking the back of my neck, pulling me in.

There was no time to react when Dorian Blackwood looked...

His lips met mine and I gasped despite myself. It felt like all the ligh...

His hand tugged the hair at the nape of my neck, and I leaned into his hold, kissing him back without hesitation. I...

The drumming of the rain on the sidewalk was a distant sound compared to the roaring in my ears.

We’re kissing. We’re kissing. We’re kissing and I don’t want to pull away.

His lips were soft and sweet and consumin...

But I couldn’t cool down. Every surface of my body that he touched was on fire. Every surface of my body that he wasn’t touching was on fire. Anticipation was the brink, and I wanted to dive in.

I grabbed onto his jacket and pulled him against my chest.

He groaned. His lips parted just enough in the proclamation, and I was instantly parting mine. I...

His hands left my face and ran down my back, making their way to my hips. It was primal—the way he held ...

His tongue ran over my bottom lip and his heart thumped against mine as I finally explored the clean smell of his hair that lived on the T-shirt he had given me two weeks ago.

“We should stop,” I murmured between breaths. “Should we?” he asked against my lips.

God, his voice was so attractive, and I found myself leaning onto my toes to reach more of him.

“I’ve thought about this every day,” he whispered. ​I had thought about this every day too. I had thought about the way his hands clutched onto my hips. And how...

and I went ahead and kissed him anyway and enjoyed it. I already let myself think about him and us for months.