If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 18

Shay

It’s snowing again, and I stare at the flakes falling outside the window when I should be giving my attention to this stubborn dissertation chapter.

George is always hot and keeps his apartment cool, so I’m bundled on the couch in my hoodie and a pair of leggings, a fuzzy blanket tucked around me. George sits at the kitchen table, grading papers. A month ago, I considered this my happy place. But since Easton came home, my time with George feels forced, like I’m faking my way through a relationship that was never meant to go this far. My phone buzzes beside me on the end table. When I see Easton’s name, my stomach flips.

Easton: I’m heading to Chicago for a few days. I’ll be back to close on the new house, then Abi and I will be official Jackson Harbor residents.

I blame my visceral reaction on old habits. I’ve spent so much of my life loving him and having to wait for his attention that my brain is programmed to pump out adrenaline when I finally get it—but then I see it’s a group text sent out not just to me but also to my brothers.

That definitely makes more sense. After the way we parted on campus yesterday, he probably isn’t interested in having any one-on-one conversations with me. I’m a little surprised I’m included at all.

A pang of nostalgia sweeps through me as I remember his first couple of seasons in the NFL and all the group texts that blew up my phone after every game. Why’d we stop those?

Ethan: Lilly is so excited to meet Abi.

Easton: You have no idea how grateful I am for that. Abi is nervous about the move.

Carter: Hurry back. Need someone who can push me at the gym!

Levi: Fuck you too, Carter. I creamed your ass on that triplet this morning.

Jake: Let the old man be delusional, Levi. Today he believes he can keep up with a pro athlete, but the day we decide to run a 5K, all the excuses come out.

Brayden: Accurate.

Ethan: Y’all know you can stay relatively fit without killing yourselves competing with each other, right? Been doing it for years.

Carter: Really, Ethan? Do you even lift, bro?

Ethan: Oh, fuck off. I could out-bench you all every day of the week.

Levi: Every day except the ones ending in Y.

Easton: You have no idea how much I missed this nonsense.

I’m staring at the screen and grinning like an idiot when George brushes his knuckles over my shoulder. “You’re awfully attached to that phone this afternoon.”

Shame washes over me. George isn’t anti-technology, but he doesn’t like when people are glued to their screens, and he’s been known to pull out his old typewriter from time to time to pound out a draft of an article. I’d blame his aversion to technology on his age, but he’s only ten years older than me. The guy’s been forced to use computers since high school.

I roll my shoulders, shrugging off the guilty feelings. “Easton was just updating everyone on his plans and my brothers were going back and forth, giving each other shit.”

He arches a brow, waiting for more.

I wave a hand. “They’re just being idiots.”

“Hmm.” He dips his head and grazes his lips across the crook of my neck. I pull away without thinking, and his expression cools. “What’s going on with you?”

Good question. “Nothing. I’m just . . . There’s a lot on my plate right now. I’m still feeling a little lost about the future.” We haven’t talked about it since last week in his office. I haven’t wanted to bring it up again.

He straightens and folds his arms. Gone is seductive George. He’s pulling out his Dr. Alby face. “You’re a defense away from completing your dissertation, and you have half a dozen interviews lined up for jobs.”

“So?”

“So why aren’t you excited? You’ve worked for this for years.”

“Why are you so excited? Doesn’t it bother you at all that I might not even live here next year? That I might be on the other side of the country?” What the hell was that ring in your coat pocket? And who the hell is Buttercup?

His eyes flicker. I don’t think he actually moves, but I can feel him retreat. “Shay, this is the nature of academia. We have to take what we can get. New PhDs in this field are lucky to find a tenure-track position at all. We don’t get to be picky about where we live.”

“I know that.”

“Then please explain what’s going on in your head.”

“If you’re not Buttercup, I wonder who is.” I mentally shake myself. I’ve never worried about George’s faithfulness before, and then I let Easton go and make me question it. I’m not sure what upset me more—the fact that Easton assumed a decent guy who wanted to date me must also be a cheater, or that the possibility didn’t wreck anything in me. George and I might not be forever, but I’d be hurt if he wasn’t faithful. I might not be ready for that ring, but I’d be upset if he planned to give it to someone else. Wouldn’t I?

Fuck. I can’t avoid this anymore. “When you forgot your coat at the restaurant that night, a ring box fell out.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “That’s what all this craziness has been about? You saw my ring and thought I was going to propose? Shay, we . . .” He grimaces then reaches for my hand. “I care about you, and I can’t deny how appealing I find the idea of not letting you go. But that’s a far cry from marriage, isn’t it?”

“No. Of course not.” But it does seem strange that watching me go seems so easy for him. I just don’t understand why I’m never enough. But it’s not fair to put that on George when he’s not the one I’m so desperate to have choose me.

“I thought we were just having fun. Enjoying each other.” He lowers his mouth to mine, and I stiffen but don’t let myself pull away.

I pour myself into the kiss, willing myself to feel whatever it was that made this feel so good before Easton came back to town. But every movement of our lips and tongues seems clinical. I want to melt, but kissing George feels wrong.

“You called me Buttercup.”

“I really don’t know.” I just stand there as he trails kisses up the side of my neck and strokes up and down my arms. Buttercup. I can’t deny the coincidence.

I wriggle out of his embrace. Buttercup. What is this I’m feeling? It’s not jealousy. It’s not even hurt. It’s disgust. “Stop.”

“I don’t need an excuse. I’m not in the mood.”