Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

“Why does nearly every woman in this house seem to have some kind of connection with you? There’s Minami, the historic ex. Avery, the other ex. Tamryn, the mysterious new entry. And then me, of course, the—” “Don’t,” he says. So sharp that my eyes let go of Antares to find his. “Don’t put yourself in the same category as Minami, or Avery, or Tamryn. You do not belong there.”

“I just…I kinda thought maybe Alfie was the one?” “Based on what?” “He…He’s funny, especially when he’s drunk. And he left me space—I need a lot of space, sometimes. And he held me when I wanted to be snuggled.” “All of these things you listed, a dog could do.”

Paul is showing Avery pictures of his garden; Diego, Minami, and Sul are bonding over a video game that involves elf-fucking. Rue laughs with Tisha, and does not look like she’d rather be elsewhere.

“Hey,” Eli calls after a while. I turn. “What?” “I’m proud of—” “Oh, stop it.” “—you, Maya.” I resume walking. Faster. “I’m proud of you, and you cannot stop me,” he shouts louder. “I’m not listening.” “Well, you should. Because I respect you as a person—” “Shut up!” “—and as a scientist.” I flip him off from over my shoulder. The last thing I hear, right as I start down the stone staircase, is my brother dissolving into laughter.

I have yet to decide whether to stick to my guns, apologize for my lies about the German, or pretend that I was too drunk to remember what happened last night. The first option requires courage, the second, maturity, and the third, wisdom. I lack all three.

I thought this was a Zelda reference for a minute

I would never ask you to have a baby if you weren’t ready. I would never ask you to keep a baby you didn’t want—” “Conor, relax. You can be a fan of reproductive rights and think that coming inside me is hot.” He covers his eyes. “Christ.” “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Lots of people have a breeding kink.” “Fucking—I don’t.” “Oh, Conor. Yes, you do.”

“You are…” “What?” “A deeply weird person,” he says, and then he’s kissing me again,

“It’s by one of my favorite composers.” “Ludovico Einaudi?” I frown up at him. “You know Ludovico Einaudi?” “I know of him.”

How does Ali know tall my very specific interests?