Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for telling me I was being a dick.”
“You were a smidge of a dick,” she says.
I laugh. “Better to be a smidge of a dick than…”
But I trail off since sexual innuendo is a bad idea. But also because it hurts to be this close to her, this aware of how much I want to push her up against the wall and call her maddeningly beautiful, since she is. She fucking is. So I grab the tool of sarcasm to jimmy my way out of this situation. “Besides, I need to get used to calling you Hazel the Hungry.”
“That’s my villain name?” she asks dubiously as we resume walking.
“You don’t like it? But you like lunch,” I point out, so helpfully.
She scoffs. “I would think something like Hazel the Horrible.”
I shake my head. “Nah, too on the nose. How about Hazel the Harried?”
“Because I’m too…busy to be a good villain?”
“Hmm,” I say, tapping my chin as I consider other options. “What about Hazel the Hot-Blooded?”
She nods a few times, digging it. “Works for me.”
“Then I’m definitely not using it,” I say, as we reach the end of the alley. It lets us into the main drag.
She draws a deep inhale as she looks around, smiling as her eyes travel across the view. “It’s good to be here again.”
“So you and your mom had a nice trip to Nice?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “She always wanted to travel here. My dad never did, so I finally took her to France when I graduated from college. I wasn’t sure I wanted to travel with her, but I’m glad I did.”
“Why weren’t you sure?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds before she answers. “I was frustrated with her when I was younger. Even though it wasn’t her fault, I was still annoyed with my parents' relationship. I didn’t like how she let my dad treat her, but then she went to a codependent anonymous type group when I was a teenager, and I did the same, and I think I understood her more. Why she let him control her but also how she wanted to change.”
“That’s great,” I say, genuinely glad she sought the help she needed, and that her mom did too. While she’s told me before about her complicated relationship with her father, and how strict he was with everyone, I wasn’t aware of how that impacted her connection with her mother. “That you went, that she did, that it helped.”
“I’m glad I went too. I think it made it possible for us to be close again. Know what I mean?” She holds my gaze for an important beat.
She’s not talking about her mom. She’s talking about us, and us is terrifying. “Sure,” I say, sinking back into my protective shell.
We walk in silence for a block, then she turns to me again at a street corner. “This is nice, Axel,” she says.
Her remark sends a jolt of warmth through me. Maybe of wistfulness too. I know what she means. Talking. Sharing. And I can’t be entirely monosyllabic in my replies. “It is,” I say, admitting that much. “It’s nice to talk to you again.”
Please let that be enough, Hazel.
Please don’t ask me for more.
I don’t want to tell her how deeply I’ve missed her, how hard the last year has been, how awful I felt when I left.
“Axel,” she continues, her tone vulnerable. “I was so mad the day you left me. I still don’t think I understand it.”
Nope. No way am I going down that path. I made myself a promise at a fountain. “Hazel. Let’s just have a nice day together,” I say, fixing on a smile, hoping it smooths over my blockade.
She drops her face, frowning, resigned.
And once again, I’ve said the wrong thing.
20
BLINDSIDED
Hazel
That morning, more than a year ago
I settled in at our favorite writing table at Big Cup in Chelsea, ready to tackle the next scene in our co-written novel. This was going to be a good one. After I flipped open my laptop, I took a sip of the writing fuel, then tapped away for the next hour, eagerly waiting for Axel to arrive so I could show him all these words.
Lacey had just marched down the Park Avenue high-rise hall toward the hero’s penthouse when my writing partner walked into the coffee shop.
At last!
I’d been stealing glances at the door that morning. I was bursting. I had so much to tell him about what I’d planned for our hero and heroine. I wanted to see if he liked the idea as much as I did.
I loved these characters so much—Lacey was the strong and feisty doctor, and Nate was a rich, broody business mogul. Plus, the misunderstanding between these two in the scene Axel and I worked on together yesterday was deliciously brutal.