by Leigh, Ember
“Are we that obvious?” Hazel asks to our group of friends.
Callie snorts. “I knew it the second we saw Gray on the Jet Ski that day.”
My grin turns to shit-eating grade. “Did you?”
“Oh yeah,” Callie says, poking the fire with a stick. “The way she looked at you when you showed up at the dock. Had wedding bells written all over it.”
“Yeah, that glare was really romantic,” I tease, nudging her shoulder with my chin.
Hazel dissolves into laughter. I thread my hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, fingertips tingling with the promise of finding more. I’ve been with plenty of women and dated my fair share. I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. Like my insides are melting into lava and turning into dry ice with excitement at the same time. Like I need to start counting the hours and minutes I have left with her before I go back to New York. Before a day needs to go by when we’re apart.
“So you two want me to call Bryce, right?” Luke asks.
I point at him menacingly, and Hazel loses it into my chest.
“I told you, Luke,” I warn. “I will pacify the shit out of you.”
Anthony looks over my shoulder toward the road, a big smile coming over his face. “Look who else showed up!”
Luke hoots, and Callie waves. I turn around to see Connor approaching with Kinsley in tow. They’re all grins.
“Hey, brother,” Connor says, slapping me on the back as he comes up to the group. Everyone exchanges greetings, and normally timid Kinsley seems more outgoing now that she’s outside of the Daly house. My mom hasn’t been exactly warm with her; although, I give the woman credit; she’s handled the appearance of a Cabana relative inside her home remarkably well.
“Where are the rest of the brethren?” Luke asks.
“Dom went back to Cleveland,” Connor reports. The news makes me frown. Typical. Doesn’t even say goodbye. Just leaves, because he’s too important for siblings or giving a damn about anybody other than himself. “West said he had to go help someone decorate their new yoga studio.”
“At ten at night?” I ask.
Connor shrugs. “And Mav’s out being a ho.”
We all laugh. Maverick is twenty-three and living it up. I would almost be jealous of him, except I’m sort of over the endless-sex days. Scratch that. I’m totally into the endless-sex days, as long as it’s with the right person. With Hazel.
“And your mom and dad?” Hazel asks.
“Curled up in front of the TV shouting at the Real Housewives for being idiots,” Connor reports, settling onto an open cooler top before inviting Kinsley onto his lap. The way she looks at him includes a mixture of adoration and amusement. Like she’s hanging on each word. Really lapping him up.
When they first showed up, I had my doubts. But those two are in love. And good for them. There’s something poetic about Connor falling for Kinsley.
Almost as poetic as Grayson and Hazel, the enemies that fell for each other not once, but twice.
I squeeze my arms tighter around Hazel, wishing I could mold her against me so that she could never move. So that I could visit the delicious weight of her on top of me whenever I needed. So that her sweet clementine and freesia scent would always be a breath away from me.
I press my forehead to her arm as the guitar music swells and turns to a slow, earthy rendition of The Beatles’ “Something.” All I can think about is Hazel as the dreamy lyrics flow through me.
Nobody’s love story will ever be as epic as ours. Nobody else was born on the same day as their rival. Nobody else spent decades trying to outstrip their one true equal. Nobody else has been avoiding the one person that everyone else knew was meant for them.
Hazel and I, we’ve got a love story that beats the competition.
And doesn’t that just fucking figure?
Chapter 17
HAZEL
It’s not like I’ve started a paper chain or anything, counting the streak of days that Grayson and I have had sex. It’s ten, of course, but I’m not tracking it.
I just know it in the back of my head constantly.
It’s part of the armistice.
The armistice that looks and feels suspiciously like an extremely happy long-term relationship.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know what I think I’m doing. I’m simply going with what feels right. If I’m any indication, ignoring the big future questions is what late-twenty-somethings should do when hooking up with a man who lives hundreds of miles away.
Gray suggests tennis that Saturday. I work a few hours in the morning, as always, but I leave the office early so I can change before he picks me up. My blood has been humming from the moment I woke up about the chance to take him on in tennis. I’m going to whoop his ass so bad he’ll be limping for a week. The limp comes from how badly his ego will get beaten by my tennis superiority, of course.
The best tennis courts in town are behind the high school. Our old high school. Even though I live in Bayshore, I barely come around this part of town. As we pull into the empty parking lot facing the fenced-in tennis courts off to the side of the football stadium, memories come flooding back to me.
And all of them involve Grayson in some way. Whether I was trying to join the men’s tennis team or picking his locker so I could rearrange his books and ensure my advantage in the after-school sprint to the cars, damn near everything about my time in these halls revolved around this man.
“You okay, Hazel?” he asks as we enter the courts. The sun glints off his tanned skin, a simple white T-shirt stretching over his broad chest. He looks good enough to eat. Good enough to marry.
The thought sears through me.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound fine.
“You forget your homework?” he cracks.
“Nah, I turned it in yesterday.” I offer a smile, trying to regain my breezy mood from that morning. “A full twenty-four hours before you did, as usual.” But as time churns on, it’s harder to avoid thinking about what we’re doing. Every passing day demands an answer from us. Louder each time. What is this?
I don’t know the answer. Not even a little bit.
“Better get your head in the game,” Grayson warns, “because I’m not going easy on you.”
“You’ve never gone easy on me.”
“I might have once or twice,” he says, bouncing the tennis ball against the red court. The smile he sends over his shoulder steals my breath. Gray admitting he’s gone easy on me is about the same as him telling me he loves me. Because there may be no greater act of love from him than willingly coming in second.
“I don’t believe it,” I tease. “You’re just saying that because you want to get into my pants.”
Grayson smiles and takes his place on the far side of the court but doesn’t deny it. He bounces the ball high, tossing the racket in one hand.
“You ready to get your ass kicked?” he asks.
“I’m ready to remind you why you had to move away from Bayshore,” I say, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice.
He lifts a brow. “You think you were that good at tennis?”
“I know I was.” God, I love stoking this fire between us. “You’re not the first man I’ve driven to relocate.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Maybe it was because I questioned his skills, or maybe it was the mention of another man. Either way: Game on. Gray serves the ball hard, and we launch into a grunting, dashing, extremely serious tennis match. For each point that Gray grabs, I snag another. We edge up evenly in the score, until we’re sweating bullets and breathing heavy, and dammit, I never get a better workout than when I’m playing against Gray.
“Okay. Okay. This is match point.” I bounce the ball against the court, trying to corral my breathing. I’m exhausted by the end of the second set. Before today, I’d only been playing against Bryce on occasion, and he always made sure to let me win, if he tried at all. I hated that.
&
nbsp; “You played a good game, Matheson,” Grayson says, using the collar of his shirt to wipe at his upper lip, allowing a gut-clenching glimpse of that washboard. “Not bad for a rookie.”
I block out his words and serve. We volley back and forth intensely. I push myself to the limits, diving to return the ball. My racket hits at an unintended angle, pushing the ball into the farthest corner of Gray’s court. I watch in suspense to see if it stays in bounds. It does.
And Gray misses it.
I win.
Dark clouds swarm his face as I hop to my feet, pumping my fists in the air. I laugh incredulously.
“Hoooly shit!” I bounce over to him. He’s got his hands propped on his hips, studying me like he’s trying to figure out if he’ll devour me verbally or maybe sexually. Once we’re home. My entire body is on edge waiting for his reaction. To see which spikes he’ll start with.
“That was out of bounds.”
My jaw drops and I laugh again at the absurdity of his claim. “You are nuts! That was totally valid!”
“We need a rematch,” he says, raking his hand through his hair. He is impossibly sexy and sweaty right now. He uses the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe at his face again, and this time I get a full view of his tanned chest.
“Yeah. In bed,” I tease, sauntering up to him. “Don’t be salty that you lost. Just accept it.”
A smile plays at his lips. “There’s only one consolation prize I want.”
“And what’s that?” I drop my racket and throw my arms around his neck. The man is radiating heat like a nuclear reactor. If he were any other person, it would be uncomfortable. Too hot. Too sweaty.
But with Gray, I want all of him. Even in the blazing sun, on a tennis court, dripping with sweat. I’d sooner spend the rest of the day sweating with him at my side, than enjoy air-conditioned comfort without him.
“You,” he says, tugging at my ponytail, “on top of me.”
“Jeez, is that it?” I push up onto my toes and press my lips to his.
“Outside.”
“Here?”
“Tonight. By the water.”
I lob a sigh, like the request is so unsavory. But I love it. Now I can’t wait for tonight even more. “Fine. We’ll find our own little secluded place on the rocks for you to fuck me until I scream.”
An evil smile curls his lips. “Perfect.”
We pick up the rackets and our ball, heading back to the parking lot. We played for a solid hour, and my legs are wobbly from the Grayson-level workout. Giggles and conversation reach us as we weave out of the tennis courts. A small group of women head toward us, and I offer a small smile in their direction as we pass.
“Grayson Daly?”
One of the women stops in her tracks, turning toward Grayson with a shocked smile that says it all. It takes me a moment to place her, but those big, puppy-dog eyes and chipmunk cheeks click into place a moment before Gray says her name.
“Aubree.” Grayson’s got that tinny tone to his voice, the kind everyone has when they’ve run into an old acquaintance or schoolmate they haven’t seen in a decade. “Long time no see.”
Aubree slaps her knee, glancing back at her friends. “We went to high school together!” she explains to them. Smiling at Grayson, she says, “Who would have thought the prom king and queen would be back together again at BHS?”
Her words kick up a secret storm inside me. Not only has she not acknowledged me, but she’s referencing probably the worst period of my life. Right before prom, when Grayson and I didn’t just break up, we shattered.
“It’s been a hot minute,” Grayson says, wiping at his forehead. “Hazel and I just kicked each other’s ass on the courts. Like old times.”
Aubree nods and glances my way.
“Good to see you, Aubree,” I say succinctly. Fuck her for ignoring me, but I won’t sink to her level.
She sends me a plastic smile before barreling on. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you lived in New York.”
“I’m back for a little bit,” he says, crossing his arms, biceps bulging in the white shirt. It’s clear what she’s after: Grayson. And for some reason, my presence at his side means nothing for her quest.
“How long?” She steps closer. Her friends behind her have receded into their own conversation, and I don’t bother hiding the sigh that rockets out of me. “Will you be around in September? You know, there’s the Bicentennial Ball going on. We should totally go!”
I twirl my racket in one hand, contemplating what cracking it against her head might feel like. Whether or not I’d have the guts to actually try. My muscles are pretty tired right now—I better not.
Grayson glances back at me, and I can see the indecision written in his face. “I’ll see you there—I’m going with Hazel.”
“Oh!” Aubree’s smile turns to stone and she blinks rapidly. “Well, that’s great! There’s nothing better than supporting Bayshore’s birthday in style!” Her pinched voice gives me a vapid type of satisfaction.
“You ladies have fun,” I interject suddenly, waving at all of them. I’d use my middle finger if I could. “See you at the ball, Aubree.”
We make a quick exit, and neither of us speaks until we’re back at the car. Only after Gray unlocks the doors and I slide into the passenger’s seat do my shoulders drop.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, looking into his rearview mirror. Like checking to make sure Aubree hasn’t followed us.
“Wasn’t it so nice to run into the prom queen?” I ask sarcastically, then scoff. “Jesus, she didn’t even look at me.”
Grayson turns the car on, and the Muse we’d been playing during our ride to the tennis courts comes blasting through the speakers. He turns it down quickly.
“Mega bitch,” Grayson agrees, sounding distracted as he buckles up.
“Are you serious about the ball?” I ask suddenly.
He hesitates, not looking over at me as he navigates out of the parking lot. “Well, no. I’ll be in New York. I just said that to get her off our backs.”
That’s right. He’ll be back in New York. Where he’ll be again in a matter of weeks. The news sobers me, dousing my anger at the encounter with Aubree, dousing the high of my win. Almost extinguishing all the bliss I’d been simmering in for the past ten days.
“Oh. I thought maybe you’d come back for it,” I mumble.
“Why is everyone so obsessed with this stupid ball?” His question is lighthearted and joking, but the words spear me. Wounding and reminding in equal measure. “I don’t get it. It’s the adult equivalent of a school dance. If you need me there that bad, I mean I can try to get the time off. But wouldn’t you rather I used my vacation for something a little bigger? Like, I dunno, taking a weekend in Paris? Skiing in Colorado?”
Sunlight filters through the oak trees lining this road, and to the west begin the rolling corn fields. It’s a picturesque day, but my insides are grumpy as hell. Everything that has come out of his mouth is wrong. The Bicentennial Ball, my life here, Bayshore in general—none of it really matters to him. And I don’t want a pity date to the ball. I don’t want a pity anything. I want someone invested in my life, and my life is in Bayshore.
“No, don’t worry about it.” My tone comes out clipped, but I can’t help it. “It’s just a stupid thing in Bayshore, you know, so who cares?”
Silence thuds between us. There’s a storm raging inside me, and I’m doing my best to control it, but let’s be real, it’s not going well.
“I don’t understand why it’s so important,” Grayson admits.
“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.” I stare out the window, watching but not really seeing the trees as we zip down the street. “You haven’t worked in the community for the past ten years. You haven’t helped cultivate it from a forgotten beach town into a thriving tourist destination. A place that people are proud to do business in. You leave for a decade and come back and still know people’s names, and that’s nice, but you don’t know what anybody
here is doing for the community. The ball is to celebrate that. To honor our history. Our hard work. But you could give a fuck-all about this place.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I rush to add. “Because honestly, you don’t belong there. You shouldn’t go. The party is for people who care about this city and want to see it prosper. Not outsiders who come in and scoff because it’s their tiny hometown and that means it’s stagnant and backwards.”
I can’t control the words tumbling out of my mouth. I’m over-reacting and I know it. Doesn’t change things, though.
“I never said it was stagnant and backwards,” Gray says through gritted teeth.
“No, no, you’re right. You called it sluggish and uninteresting.”
He expels a sigh. “I was annoyed that day.”
“You were speaking your truth,” I remind him. “And it’s fine. Believe what you want, but don’t come back for the ball because you think it’s going to make me happy. It won’t. It’ll piss me off. Save your vacation time for Paris.”
Tense silence stretches through the car, and my entire body is rigid as we weave back into town and toward his house. My mind is running a mile a minute. Doubts crash through me like lake waves on a stormy day. White caps and all. I’m fucking drowning in it, and for the first time in a long time, I can’t see the surface.
When he parks, I’ve got the door open before the car is off.
“I think I need some time,” I say to him quietly, avoiding his gaze.
“Hazel—”
“We’ve been really up each other’s asses, you know?” I try to keep the tremble out of my voice. I need to appear strong. Unaffected, maybe. I don’t want him to know how hard I’ve fallen for him again in such a short time. This was supposed to be about sex, and maybe it can return to that. But only after I take a day or two to fucking breathe.
