As we follow the happy couple down the aisle and toward the tables set up on the sand for a private dinner, I nudge Hazel. “Do you want to get married?”
She stares at me. There’s one of those awkward pauses where you both realize that there’s more than one way to interpret the words you just put out there. Does she think I’m proposing? What do I do if she says yes?
“Someday,” I clarify. Fuck. I’m not making this better. “To somebody. I didn’t mean—”
She pats my arm. “I know what you mean, Jack.”
One of the great things about Hazel is that we’re always on the same page about the big things. Sometimes it feels like we’re married. Not the actual wedding part, but the stuff that comes after it. Like we’re one of those old married couples who’ve put in fifty years together and who finish each other’s sentences. I mean, it definitely couldn’t work, but there are worse things than marrying your best friend and being partners for life. It seems to work all the time in Hazel’s large collection of romance novels, although those are made up and no one I know is a duke in desperate need of a bride.
I’m definitely not a duke, and I swore I wouldn’t get married again. No matter what Hazel says, I still feel as if I fucked things up with Molly, and that’s not a great feeling. Plus, do I even know ten things about Hazel? I can’t use the L word, not for us. I’m not too convinced about the math, that if you can just list ten things that make a person lovable, that equals loving them. I know exactly how I feel about Hazel, and it’s not romantic. There are no grand gestures in our future.
Right on cue, the night sky lights up with fireworks. Dev insisted that today had to be special for Lola, and he’s overdelivered. She’s gazing at him like he’s Atlas, effortlessly shouldering the weight of the heavens. For all I know—and I most definitely do not want to think about it any more than I already have—he’s a god in bed. I’m sure Hazel has all of the details.
While the night sky lights up with Lola’s name and something that’s probably supposed to be flowers or shooting stars, the girls pose for a few final photos while Max, Dev and I finish off the champagne. Waste not, want not.
“You’re next.” Dev flops down beside Max and me. Sand flies everywhere. When I slide him a glance, he’s looking at Max and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Max reaches over and lazily punches me in the arm. “Unless Jack here decides to get back on the horse first.”
I stare at him, not sure if he’s serious or not. Apparently he’s forgotten our conversation at the market.
Dev looks at me. “You’re seeing someone?”
“I’m not looking for a relationship right now,” I say carefully.
Max snorts. “Hazel and he are ‘friends.’”
Dev gets a sort of arrested look on his face. Or maybe he’s just constipated. Either way, this is not a conversation I want to have. “The two of you are together?”
Max nods, as if it’s as simple as that.
“We’re just friends.” I’m pretty sure the tone of my voice makes it more than clear that I’m not in a sharing mood.
“With benefits,” Max says.
Dev freaking gawks at me. This is one of the reasons why Hazel and I have kept our sleeping together a secret. I can practically see the thoughts marching through Dev’s head. Hazel and I are business partners. We’re part of the same friend group. What happens when I fuck this up? But it’s actually nobody’s business what Hazel and I do together. We’re two consenting adults and nobody’s getting hurt.
“So...does that mean you’re ready to start dating again?” Dev asks.
“He’s ready for something.” Max sounds pissy, but you know what? It’s still none of his business.
“I don’t want to be in a relationship. Hazel is just Hazel.” I shrug. “She’s like one of us, one of the guys. She’s not the kind of girl you feel romantic about.”
Dev’s face sort of freeze-frames. Right. I don’t even need to turn around to know that Hazel’s heard what I just said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT’S SATURDAY, TWO WEEKS after Hazel and I watched our friends tie the knot on a Cabo beach and I made an ass of myself. We’re both pretending everything is normal, even though it’s not. We go to work, we go home alone on the weeknights, and on the weekends we have sex constantly. The only thing that changes is where, because Hazel still insists that we alternate houses. It seems to matter to her, so I give up trying to figure out why and just do it.
This weekend it’s my turn to host, so we’re hiding out in my beach house. I finally let Hazel pass out around one this morning, so we haven’t gotten too much catch-up work done today, although we’ve both dutifully hauled our laptops into my home office. My office is a modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows. I can look out and see the ocean.
Today’s one of those rare rainy California days where the ocean is shades of gray and it’s cool enough that the heat is running. Hazel barely cracks her laptop before she passes out on the floor pillow she dragged next to the glass. She’s definitely been working too hard these last two weeks, so I don’t wake her up even though I was looking forward to lazy weekend sex.
After I clear my inbox, I open a new tab in my browser and look at Pinterest. There’s only one desk in my home office, so it feels like I should get another one for Hazel. I pin a few ideas so I
