If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan)

Chapter Eighteen

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. NôvelDrama.Org: owner of this content.

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?”

“I didn’t . . .” I sigh, and he arches a brow. “I couldn’t think of another explanation for what I saw.”

“It’s a family heirloom. It was my grandmother’s, and I’d tucked it into my pocket to take it to the bank.

Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I panicked.”

Sighing, he moves my laptop to the coffee table and pulls me off the couch to stand in front of him. The

blanket falls to the floor, pooling around my feet. “What exactly do you want from me, Shay? Promises

of all my tomorrows? Do you want me to beg you to stay here when you’ve worked so hard to go?”

“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.

He steps closer and slides his hands to the small of my back, pulling my hips flush against him. “I know

how hard you’ve worked for this. I’m not going to be the guy who expects you to arrange your life

around him.”

“I’m not asking you to be that guy.” I swallow. “It’s just odd that you don’t seem to care that this thing

between us has an expiration date.”

“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.

George backs toward the bedroom, his mouth still on mine. “Come on, Buttercup.”

I pull back. “What did you just call me?”

He blinks, but color rises into his cheeks before he hides his face in my neck again. “I don’t know.”

“You called me Buttercup.”

He shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“You’ve never called me that before. Do you call someone else that?”

He licks my collarbone. I hate that I can’t see his face. “Who would I call that?”

“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.

“Come to bed with me. We haven’t been together in two weeks.”

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.”

He steps back, letting me retreat. “Seeing that ring gave you a convenient excuse to pull away, but

what’s your excuse now?”

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

“Seems like you’re never in the mood anymore. Not since that football player came to town.” And there it is. His dark eyes are colder than the snow piling on the windowsills. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?

You’re chickening out about the jobs, about moving away, not because you’re serious about this genre-

fiction whim but because you don’t want to move away from him.”

There is so much in that statement to unpack. I start with the part that pisses me off the most. “Genre-

fiction whim?”

He rolls his eyes. “What do you want me to call it?”

“I don’t know—my novels, maybe? My potential career as an author? My dream that this fucking

institution beat out of me for no good reason? I’ve been writing novels since I was eighteen. Twelve

years isn’t a whim.”

“Okay.” He holds up his hands. “Hell, Shay, you can’t be pissed at me about me not taking this

seriously when you’ve never breathed a word about it to me before.”

Because I didn’t tell anyone. No one but Easton. “That’s fair, but I have told you—and many times—

how important my family is to me. I hate the idea of leaving them, and I won’t uproot my life for a job I

don’t want. Considering my options at this stage of the game isn’t cowardly; it’s prudent.”

“I’d tell you that you’re being immature and you’ll regret shaping your life around everyone else instead

of building it around yourself.” Updated at Drąmanovеls.cоm

“I don’t need you to understand my decisions to know they’re right for me. I don’t need your approval.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s my point. Live your life. Don’t make your choices based on anyone else.”

He reaches for my hand. “Come on. I’m sick of arguing. Let’s go to bed.”

I pull away. “I’m going home.”

He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re going home angry.” He says it like it’s the dumbest possible

choice.

“Yes. I am.” I roll my shoulders back. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if that ring was for you, would you?” His frustrated expression transforms

to a sneer. “I see now. You want a proposal. You’re looking for a declaration of love, a promise that I’ll

provide for you forever as if you’re a child and not an independent woman?”

I grab my purse from the table. “You don’t see me at all.”

“I see a scared little girl.”

“Fuck off, George.”