Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)

by Ali Hazelwood

“You built a nice adulthood over the ruins of a shitty adolescence,” my therapist once said, and I enjoy the mental image of it. The idea of life as something I could choose, cultivate day by day, curate and nurture. Being mindful, instead of reactive.

“Did we just become best friends?” she asks, grinning. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

Conor’s Irish-accented financespeak fades into a remote corner of my brain.

Conor barely even smiles, though I refuse to take that personally. It’s just how he is—sharky, impatient, sometimes mean.

Honestly, he’s not my type. Too overworked. Too incapable of letting go. Too single-minded. Too much of a dickhead.

And for the last three years of my life, I’ve been in love with him.

“Great.” I smile, pointedly ignoring the familiar way Avery’s hand rests on the back of his upper arm. You knew that this would happen, I remind myself. And physical contact is a totally normal thing between people who enjoy each other’s company. I can’t remember the last time I touched him.

Eli must have picked a room on the second floor for Avery, perhaps adjacent to Conor’s. It would certainly explain why Conor took me all the way to the third. The lengths he goes to, just to avoid me, have always been impressive.

Eli was right, I am exhausted. Better take a nap, before I collapse.” It’s a clear invitation to leave. But Conor closes the door behind him, dark eyes suddenly hard. I die a little. I die a lot, because he asks: “Are you high?”

And that’s when I decide that if he’s going to play this game, I’m going to give him difficult. “It was Avery, wasn’t it?” He freezes, facing away from me. “What?” “She was the reason you stopped talking to me.”

My slightly disbelieving laughter. “I am starting to see someone, Maya. And I worry that she might misconstrue the relationship between you and me.” I hung up on him. And regretted it

Instead of picking up my calls, he would reply with texts that made something very clear: he was there for me, but he’d rather wire me a million dollars than have a five-minute conversation with me. And today, after nearly a year of silence, he finds my eyes and says carefully: “Avery and I have not been together in months.”

“None of this is relevant. Avery and I are colleagues, and friends. The reason I’m here is to celebrate Eli’s wedding. I have no more interest in resuming my relationship with her, than I have with you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Maya.” He runs a hand down his face. For a heartbeat, he looks as torn apart as I feel. “We last spoke almost a year ago. You were abroad for months. You are…You have everything going on for you.”

“I’m Maya. Maya Killgore. Eli’s sister.” “You are—” A deep sigh. “Of course, you fucking are.” And that, at last, is when I finally place the voice. It belongs to Hark. Or, Eli calls him Hark. Full name, Connor Harkness.

“Are you crying?” It’s Conor Harkness. Again. “No,” I snarl. Between hiccups. “You are crying.” “What do you care?

I’m too emotionally exhausted to charge the insult with any heat, but it still reverberates between us—until I hear a deep, rich chuckle. Unlike everything else about this conversation, it’s warm and it feels a little like…not a hug, no, but a hand rubbing soothingly up and down my spine.

Leaning against the counter is a tall, handsome man. He has dark, thick hair, A square jawline covered by the shadow of a beard. Strong brows that accentuate his light brown eyes. He is familiar, but…why?

He’s smiling at me. A faint, barely-there, sharklike curve of his full lips. I feel as though I should be scared. But…of what? “Maya,” a warm, deep, recently heard voice says. That’s when it finally hits me. Conor Harkness is in my kitchen.

“Hey, baby girl.” Kaede’s little arms wrap around my neck. Conor’s hand brushes against the back of mine, then lingers there to make sure that the baby is well supported. “Careful,” he murmurs, not letting go. “She’s gotten heavier.”

His smile widens. I wait for a flutter of something to flap its wings in my stomach, a skipped heartbeat, a glimmer of interest—in vain. It’s been a recurring problem. My gaze strays to Conor,

He laughs several times—Conor, that is. Often in response to something Avery said. Once or twice after talking, hushed, with Tamryn. Each time, my stomach politely asks me if it could keel over. No, I say flatly. In this body, we endure.

“Maya’s so good with kids,” Avery agrees. Conor’s voice is a low rumble. “She was one most recently.”

“Which one is Antares, again?” I point at it, and he nods. His throat moves as he swallows. I feel…suspended. Unmoored. The stars are one end of the universe, the waves kissing the shore, the other. And then the two of us, floating somewhere in the middle.

I told Conor, and he listened, like he always did, saying very little, the slow rhythm of his breathing anchoring me through the phone.

He knew that all I wanted was to not be alone. So he listened, and only once, late at night, a few weeks before putting an end to the calls, he said: “I wish I could bear this for you, Maya.” I believed him. Because I’m a fucking idiot.

Childish brat still rings in my ears.

He smiles. “That’s not how meiosis works. You should have figured it out, since you’re the smartest person I know.”

“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.”

“Keep an eye on Kaede,” I tell Conor. “Where are you going?” “Elsewhere.” His large hand envelops my wrist. “Maya.”

Not because his features have changed, but because he looks…young. Not young young. Not He could sit next to me at a lecture and I wouldn’t bat an eye young.

And he’s here. “You couldn’t wait,” I repeat, skeptical. “I told you.” He scans my face with complete, undiluted attention.

But I asked, if your boyfriend was ever foolish enough to let you go, that you let me know, because I’d come knock at your door. And I’m grateful that you did, love.” Love.

He bends down to press a cool, dry kiss over my cheek, cupping the back of my head. It’s just his fingertips, and I could easily free myself, but he smells good.

I shake my head, baffled by the conniving, amusing, petty plans this man seems to have put in place in the last three hours, and ask in my most conversational tone: “Are you out of your mind?”

“She’s not,” Conor says. “Mmm?” Another yawn. “Prettier.” “Who?” “Georgie. Or whatever the hell her name is.” “Aww, you’re sweet.” “And you need a mirror.”

I throw it out like a dare, mostly to get him off my back, but the glint in his eyes, the sudden tension in his fist, they are dead giveaways. That he’s considering it. He’s considering spending the day with me. At once, my blood is carbonated.

He’s my friend. I missed him. If this is all I get with him, that’s enough. Remember the first day? Edinburgh? Breakfast? Then the rest? Always together? Please tell me you didn’t forget.

“So I’m your brother now?” “Sure,” I joke, even though it feels wrong. To Conor, too, judging from the set of his brow. It’s a relief, being interrupted by the server for our order.

My worry must show, because Conor takes his sunglasses off to say, “But it wasn’t Minami’s doing.” “What do you mean?” His brown eyes are filled with humor. “My heart didn’t break because we split. We split because it was malfunctioning to begin with.”

“Everything okay?” I ask. My eyes find Conor, who’s not laughing. He is, in fact, inscrutable. “The guy over there was trying to figure out the total, and…did you hear the word he used?” “Nope.” “Figlia.” “And it means…?” “ ‘Daughter.’ He pointed at you and asked if our daughter was older than eighteen?”

Conor helps her through all of them, hands wrapped around her waist to lift her off a particularly high ledge. Then again, even as he helps her, his eyes are often on me. I jump, easy, surefooted in my sneakers, mostly to make a point. Conor looks away, but not before I see the amused shake of his head.

What’s a tiny little bit of heartbreak, when faced with the vastness of mankind? Does it matter that a love is unrequited, if the universe started with a hot fireball and will end the same way?

The one thing I can control is being kind to those who are kind to me. And it sounds like Avery wouldn’t mind some time alone with Conor.

It earned me a deep sigh. His hand grabbed my hood and pushed it over my head and all the way down my face, and I laughed and laughed even though I felt breathless.

It’s his hand on the small of my back that pushes me out of the pub.

“Listen, Maya—he doesn’t want Tamryn, or Avery. He wants you.”

I was sitting next to him for dinner, and I guarantee you that that man has zero interest in Tamryn or in Avery. He looked at you the whole time.” “Sure he did.” “Seriously. Not in an obvious way, he’s smarter than that. But he’s constantly checking on you. He keeps track of where you are.”

I shouldn’t speak like I know you. But Conor told me a lot about you.” I let out a scoffing laugh. “I’m surprised. That he speaks about me.” “Are you?” Her eyes meet mine, knowing.

“You shouldn’t be, Maya. I’ve known about you for years. Conor and I are very close. What’s important to him, he tells me.” I swallow, heart in my throat. “Sometimes I wonder if I qualify.” Suddenly, she looks sad. “He only—”