Don't Be In Love

by Liana Cincotti

I wish I could avoid his gaze. But he was magnetic, constantly pulling me in, even when he didn’t mean to. Then he trapped me with that hauntingly handsome, serious look.

Whenever you want to see me, I’ll come.”

“What are you doing Saturday?” I laughed. “We don’t meet on Saturdays.” “I know. My question still stands.” “Well, it’s my birthday.” “I know.” His lips lifted with a slight smile

“Who told you it was my birthday?” “What makes you think someone had to tell me?” he contested.

“Will you be busy the whole day?” “I’m not sure yet, why?” He shook his head with an embarrassed smile. “Because I’m trying to ask you out, Adelaide.”

My mind was whirling with thoughts of her. Talking to her. Watching her lean over me. Feeling her hands on my chest. Having her in between my legs.

And every time I saw her, I was more enamored, finding more things to explore. From the way she tilted her head when my words were unexpected to the way she brushed hair from her face when she was impatient.

wasn’t one to study. But I knew the wave-like ups and downs of her voice as if I studied them for centuries. I could predict the meaning of each one with my eyes closed if asked.

That I’ve fallen madly in love with her and think about her every waking second as if she’s poisoned me?”

The first being that I had an unhealthy addiction that was looking, listening, and touching her.

“I’m telling you. If you walk in with flowers, the first thing she’ll do is smile when she sees you.”

The music faded away as I took in the absurdly attractive man standing at the front desk.

The only meaning I could understand was Dorian.

Dorian in a suit. Dorian checking his watch. Dorian holding flowers. Holding peonies.

His presence strung me like a violin bow and kept me still as if I was captur...

Then I was staring at him too long and he was turning, his eyes instantly catching m...

Wow, he mouthed. I rolled my eyes. Typical. You like it, a full smile that squeezed out his dimple said. I couldn’t help but smile back. Right as I took a few steps forward, he followed, the two of us meeting in the middle.

“Well, I’m happy you got here on time. Wouldn’t want you to miss my birthday.” “Oh, I wouldn’t dare.”

I was so focused on him that I forgot I was even here, and not just watching him from afar.

Dorian was up and extending his hand. ​“Dance with me,” he said. ​“I don’t have much of an option, do I?” ​“Not really.”

His hands filled the space on my waist while mine occupied the back of his neck.

“And I’d let you lead me wherever you’d like, Ms. Adorno.

“What are you thinking about?” His head had a slight tilt. The shape of your brow. The scar close to your scalp. The broadness of your shoulders. The way you say my name. The light that’s cupping the right side of your face.

“I’m thinking about how you’ve stepped on my foot three times already.” “No, I haven’t.” I backed up anyway. He pulled me back in. “Maybe I lied.” He winked.

My knees were weaker than the spine of a two-hundred year-old book.

His eyes met mine in a moment of thought. They were dark. Conflicting. As if he hoped he could just pass the words swirling around in his mind through a look rather than voicing them. Then he paused on my mouth and regret instantly hit my throat.

I stared at his full lips, debating the consequences of kissing him.

The last time we had kissed was four weeks ago and I already needed another fill.

“Ask me something then. Anything.” I pressed my lips together. “What do you think of me? Truly. Because I can’t figure it out.” That’s the question? his eyes said. That’s the question, I nodded. “I’m just surprised you don’t already know,” he responded. “It’s obvious?” “I thought so.”

what’s something you like about me?” “I find the tomato tattooed on your upper thigh incredibly hot.”

He turned away to laugh but I didn’t miss the dimple appearing in his cheek. “Dorian Blackwood, are you blushing?”

He took my hands and returned them to his shoulders.

“It’s because you’re looking at me like that.” “Looking at you like what?” he asked as if he was innocent.

“Well, it’s really not appropriate at the moment.” “I just said your thigh tattoo was sexy; I think we’re past appropriate. You have to tell me.”

“Come on,” I pouted. “Adelaide,” he gave me a level look. “It can be my birthday gift.” “I think you look beautiful, that’s all.”

“I gave you the censored version, that’s why. I also don’t think you’re supposed to find your friends beautiful.”

“You better give me your number after this—no more communicating via email!”

“How do I look?” he smirked, a laugh on the edge of his lips as rain droplets turned strands of his hair into sopping curls. ​“Exceptionally wet. That look is pretty in right now,”

He tilted the umbrella away from my head, letting a line of rain in. ​I shrieked, jumping forward into his chest, laughing.

“Well, goodnight then.” ​“Goodnight,” he said softly. A thin stream of water ran down the edge of his face. I stopped it with my thumb, surprising us both.

But this time, it gave me a moment to breathe him in. As if I was in a museum trying to pull the meaning of a painting from its use of light.

I counted how far I’d have to lean forward on my heels to reach his lips. Then I tried to calculate how many what was I doings would pass before they were replaced with the complete and utter chaos of desire.

took three steps upstairs before the urge to get one more glance at him turned me around. I found him in the rain still, under the tree.

“What are you doing?” I shouted over the rain. “I’m waiting for you!” he yelled back, the rain shadowing his words. “Waiting for me to what?” “For you to get into your flat!” “But your shoes—” “Adelaide, I’m already soaked so just get inside!”

The wind whipped my hair as I looked below at Dorian. ​See, I’m safe, my arched brows said. ​Stubborn, he shook his head.

Rain was coating his hair. He resembled a shot from a romance film. With one hand in his pocket and the other holding the umbrella at a slant, he didn’t care if it was covering him anymore.

Stepping back under the cover of the balcony above my head, I opened my hands and found a telephone booth keychain.

You did this? I let it dangle from my fingers and stared at him in awe. ​It’s just something small. He scrunched his nose.

My chest filled with earnestness. I was a teddy bear stuffed with handknit hearts.

“What are you—” I cut off his question with a suffocating hug. The umbrella shuttered above us. Then, it fell altogether at our side as he wrapped his arms around me.