She glares down at me from the side of the bed. “Are we done here? I think we are.”
“Yeah.” Shit. She’s definitely mad. I should be better at not fighting after being married, but apparently I have a lot to learn.
Hazel marches across the room and bends over, rummaging in her suitcase. My dick definitely appreciates the view, but unfortunately, she promptly pulls on pants. More clothes follow, and not the kind you wear to bed or to lounge around your hotel room. Shoes, another shirt, a blazer. It seems too early in the morning—or late at night—for business casual.
“Are you going somewhere?” I sit up and look for my clothes. Chasing her naked will only get me arrested. Plus, it’s creepy.
Hazel swipes her boots from the floor. “Jack—”
“Because I think we should go back to bed.”
She yanks on a boot. “Do you remember the conversation we had when we first got together?”
“I’m sure you’ll remind me.” I’m feeling decidedly naked here. Her right boot and my jeans are tangled up together at the foot of the bed and she lobs the jeans at me. I force myself to pull them on. Why are we getting dressed when we could be naked? Together? Is she pranking me?
“We agreed that either of us could walk away at any time.” She shrugs. “I’ve decided now is a good time for me to go.”
Hazel’s gaze dissects me and I suddenly have a very good idea how those frogs felt when we went after them with a scalpel in high-school biology. Except the frogs were dead and pickled, and I’m just confused.
“Where are you going?”
“It’s really none of your business.”
“I brought you here.”
“This isn’t a date, Jack. You don’t have to walk me to my front door.”
“The one time I walked you to your door, it turned out great.”
Hazel stares at me for a minute. Then she turns around and slams the lid on the suitcase. “I had no idea you were such a dick.”
My phone buzzes again. Fuck.
“You should answer that,” Hazel says pleasantly. Way, way too pleasantly. I can almost hear her grinding her teeth. “Clearly it’s important.”
“I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Hazel grabs her own phone, swipes angrily and holds it up so I can see the screen. I’m not sure when she took that photo, although the obvious answer is last night. Molly and I lean into each other, talking. I’m sporting a fierce look on my face and I’m half-turned, putting my upper body between Molly and the rest of the world.
“Tell me a story. What do you imagine is happening here?”
“We’re having a conversation, not sex.”
“Mmm,” she says. “That’s not the story I see.”
I turn off my phone and toss it on the nightstand. “Then explain it to me, Hazel. What do you see that I don’t?”
I don’t know what I expect her to say, mostly because there seems to a thousand hyperactive butterflies roosting in my stomach. I don’t get anxious, so it makes no sense that waiting for Hazel’s answer is killing me. I shove off the bed and pace toward her.
She looks at me and then at her suitcase. “Fuck it. I’m rich. I’ll buy new stuff.”
“That doesn’t sound good, Hazel.”
“I see two people in that picture, Jack. You and Molly. I don’t see us. You’re smart—you figure it out.” She taps the phone. “We said we’d be together until we both found someone for real, but I don’t think you’re looking.”
“You think I still have a thing for Molly?”
She swipes up her purse. “I think you have your head up your ass, yes.”
“Molly and I are over.”
“You chased her to Vegas. Maybe you should think about that.” Hazel exhales. “But I won’t do this anymore. No more benefits, Jack.”
“She’s part of my past. I only came here because I wanted to make sure she was taken care of. I promise I won’t reach out to her anymore, but don’t go.”
The butterflies in my stomach achieve liftoff and rocket into outer space.
“Let me fix this,” I whisper.
“I’ll always be your friend,” she says. “But I can’t do this anymore.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE DAYS TICK past and become weeks. Weeks become a month. I go to work and I close deals. I make a shit ton of money I don’t need. Sometimes Hazel and I take meetings together and sometimes we fly solo. We meet and debrief, arguing the merits, or lack thereof, of the pitches we’ve heard. We fight just as much because we’re both passionate about what we believe and that’s what makes us good partners. We come at a problem from different angles and then we argue-listen to each other because we respect each other. Things between us are friendly. Polite. There’s no extracurricular nudity or dirty talk. No kisses, no naked walks on the beach, no sex.
We’re just friends.
My Santa Cruz beach house is three thousand square feet of empty. It’s too big for a single guy unless he’s a hoarder. When I float the idea of selling it, however, Dev and Max revolt. Dev points out that real estate is an awesome investment in California and that he doesn’t want asshole neighbors so I have an obligation, as his best friend, to stay the fuck put. His words, not mine. Max suggests I rescue a dozen cats.
Animal lovers talk about how pets have their person, the one human they gravitate to, curl up in bed with, wait by the front door for, and whose stuff they pee on when the human’s been away too long or otherwise misbehaving. Faithful companions. It sounds a lot like marriage, doesn’t it? Been there, done that, got my half of the T-shirt.
Never again.
I had the rest of my life all planned out and it didn’t involve inviting a woman to move into my house or my heart.
After I’d moved on from my divorce, I’d planned to grow my business. Make more money.
