by Leigh, Ember
It feels like hours go by in languid pleasure. The pressure of the rock beneath us finally forces me off of him. I groan as I hike my pants up and nestle in at his side.
“Good thing we didn’t fuck in the sand,” he says, pulling me onto his lap.
“Your cock would have felt like sandpaper.”
“Well…” he says, cocking his head. “I don’t know about that. You were pretty juicy. Could have tossed at least a half cup of sand in there without it making a difference.”
“A half cup of sand?” Laughter slips out of me as I rest my head against his shoulder. “Sounds like a recipe I don’t want to try.”
“Yeah, you don’t mess with perfection.” His lips press against the top of my head.
A lake breeze moves the sweaty strands of my hair at the nape of my neck. I watch the inky waves against the shore through the canopy of leaves and tree branches. “Exactly. And thank you for admitting I’m perfect.”
His bass laugh resonates through me. “I didn’t say you were perfect.”
“Oh, just my pussy, huh?”
He hums with appreciation. “No, I take it back. All of you is perfect.”
His words surprise me. Grayson Daly laying down the gauntlet? I look up at him, a brow arched. “You aren’t going to use this opportunity to one-up me?”
Moonlight illuminates the satisfied smile on his face. “Nope.”
“I think this is your formal admittance of defeat, then.”
“No, no,” he’s quick to add. “Just recognizing the strengths of my foe.”
I dissolve into laughter. He’s as far from my foe as anyone could get. Even though a month ago, he was the definition of my enemy.
“More like your ho,” I crack.
“So that makes you the Daly ho.”
We both crack up. “There were a few Daly hos—back in high school, at least,” I add.
“Mostly Connor,” Gray says. “I was a good little enamored boy when we were together.”
My smile fades a little. “Until you took your lover.”
He tenses beneath me. “I never took a lover.”
“Yes, you did. We ran into her earlier this week at the tennis courts. She, by the way, is still in love with you.”
Grayson scoffs. “She was never my lover. She was the prom queen.”
“Right, but you totally ditched me before prom to be with her,” I remind him, as though he hadn’t fully participated in that string of events.
“I didn’t ditch you,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You ditched me. I found out that you were going with Mark What’s-His-Face, and I got pissed.”
“I only went with Mark What’s-His-Face because you ditched me first!” I exclaim, sitting up.
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Come on. I was head over heels for you, Hazel. It really fucking hurt when you changed your mind.”
I’m breathing heavily again, but not because of sexual ecstasy this time. I search his face in the dim moonlight. Something doesn’t make sense, even all these years later. “I swear to God. I took him as a last resort. Besides, Aubree made sure to tell me in explicit detail the exact rules and regulations defining the prom king and queen attendance as a couple. She could have recited the student handbook by heart.”
There’s a long stretch of silence. Finally, Gray says, “She what?”
“It was a couple weeks before prom. She cornered me at my locker to pressure me into not going with you to the dance because of the rules. I said she could fuck her rules with a baseball bat.”
“Typical Hazel ho,” Grayson murmurs.
“But then you went with her anyway. So, good job following the rules.” I try to laugh a little, but it sounds weak. Probably because we’re almost thirty and still discussing high school events as if they matter.
But they did matter once. And Grayson was such a huge part of my life at that time. We’d been planning to go to NYU together. Hell, if things had panned out like we planned, I’d probably be living in New York with him now. We’d be blissful and rich in Brooklyn, together. But it didn’t pan out. And now here we are. Ten years into our cold war, and things are just beginning to thaw.
“Hazel,” he says, his voice softer now. “I only went with her because she tipped me off that you were going with Mark, and he even confirmed it.” He pauses. “But now, I’m thinking that probably Aubree was behind it.”
The idea thuds through me. She’s a very obvious common denominator in this saga of miscommunication.
“So why didn’t you talk to me after that? We could have cleared it up,” I say.
“I don’t know. Because I was eighteen and a hothead? I was mad. It didn’t occur to me that Mark would lie about that. I don’t remember what he said exactly. But he told me you guys were going together and I…believed it.”
“Mark asked me to prom, but it was four days beforehand, and I was desperate.”
Grayson scoffs. “Fucking ridiculous. It was Aubree. It had to be.”
“She’s always been in love with you.” I pick at the hem of his shirt while something like an orb of satisfaction encases me. It’s a relief to know that your high school sweetheart didn’t actually spurn you. Even if you spent the following ten years believing it. “She’s the perfect candidate for the crime.”
“I should have called her out on the tennis courts,” Gray says.
“Or challenged her to a match.”
“Her against both of us,” Gray adds.
“We would have slaughtered her.” I cackle, and Gray offers his hand for a high five. Somehow, this feels like redemption. Like we can finally team up to gain the victory we deserve.
A few more moments of silence drift by, and finally Gray says what’s been on my mind.
“What would have happened if we hadn’t graduated hating each other?”
His question makes my chest hurt. I don’t like thinking about how the past ten years have been a mistake. Like Aubree has stolen something from us by getting in the way. The past decade has been fruitful and productive and successful.
But it’s also been lonely. Even though I have plenty of friends, and customers for miles around…I’ve been lonely. I’ve been missing Grayson. Even as a foe.
“I don’t know if I can think about that,” I say into his chest, hoping he can’t hear how tight my throat is.
Gray rubs my back. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”
I tilt my head to look up at him. “You have? Even though we hated each other?”
His smile stretches wide. “Hate is just love that got all twisted up.”
The words trickle through me. Fuck, he’s right. I’ve loved Grayson since the beginning. Since we were six years old and running through the kindergarten playground to see who could scare more classmates.
And now at twenty-eight, I love him more than I can properly say.
“I hate you,” I whisper to him. He grins and captures my lips in a kiss.
Because he knows what I mean.
“I love you too, Hazel,” he whispers back.
He’s always known.
Chapter 20
GRAYSON
The soft sounds of Hazel moving around the bedroom at six a.m. rouse me to consciousness the next morning. The bedcovers go hushhh as she sits down and pulls on leggings. I roll over, blinking lazily as I watch her get ready for the day.
This is my favorite part of the morning. Admittedly, it’s partly because I’m the one staying behind and not going into work. But also because I get to watch Hazel in the lazy, early rays of daybreak. When she’s bathed in cobalt and then sunflower yellow, and she’s brimming with energy for the day.
“Not gonna wear my favorite skirt today?” I say, my voice groggy.
She looks back at me and smiles. “Not today. My knees are all scraped from our escapade on the rocks.”
I tut. “We’ll bring knee pads next time.”
“No, I wear these scrapes with pride. Except, secretly.”
I laugh a li
ttle, and she stands, pulling the leggings up to her waist. Then she breezes into the connected bathroom and a triangle of light spills onto the bedroom floor. I listen to the sounds of her rummaging through drawers and opening makeup cases.
My eyes drift shut, and I try to imagine being in my apartment again. It’s been so long, I can barely remember what life is like in New York. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve forgotten, even after a decade of calling it home. Three weeks back in Bayshore, and I feel like I’ll never leave again.
Except I am soon. In less than a week, actually. Panic streaks through me, jolting my eyes open. I’ve been content to put it off until “the right time.” But the clarity of dawn helps me realize that time is now.
“Hazel,” I call out.
“Yeah?” She’s got that distracted voice she gets when she’s putting on eyeliner.
“I’m leaving in five days.”
Silence ripples out from the bathroom. Finally, she clears her throat. “Is it wrong that I wish you were staying?”
I manage a weak laugh. “Not wrong. Trust me, I don’t want to leave yet either.”
“Then stay.”
I sit up in bed, rubbing at my face. It’s not that easy. We both know it. When I look up, she’s in front of me, earnestness written all over her face.
“Morning, beautiful,” I say, grinning as I take her in. I’ll never get tired of waking up with her. Of admiring her cute nose and the line of her collarbone or the sexy smirks she reserves just for me.
She looks at me expectantly, and I sigh. “I can’t stay. You know this.”
Hazel looks crushed, and she starts picking at the comforter.
“But I have an idea.” I say the words slowly, trying to find the words I’ve been practicing over the past few days. “I don’t want this to end. It’s a little crazy, but…hear me out.”
“Okay,” she says, and moves the fiddling to her cuticles.
“I think you should come to New York.”
“Like to visit?”
“Like to live.”
Silence forms a gulf between us. Hazel is staring at me, but I can’t read what’s swimming in her eyes. It’s something I’ve never seen before. She’s still, like stone, and the only sign that she’s alive is the intermittent blinking.
“You can live with me,” I say, anxiety pulsing under my skin. “You always wanted to come to New York. And now, well, this is the perfect opportunity. You would make a killing out there. I can promise you that. Relaunching your business might take some time, but I’ve started crunching the numbers for you.” Words are flowing now, more of an effort to fill the icy silence than anything. “I’m one hundred percent confident that you could quadruple your earnings out there. And you’ve got your in. You’ve got me.”
She blinks but still says nothing.
“Hazel…”
She jerks her head away, and it’s then that I notice her chin wobble. My stomach shrinks to a fist, and she heads for the bathroom.
I’m pretty sure this isn’t going well.
But there’s still hope.
“You don’t have to decide now,” I call out. “But Hazel, this thing between us is good. I don’t want it to end.”
There’s more rustling in the bathroom. She still hasn’t said a word.
“Hazel,” I say again, frustration making my voice harsh. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
She emerges from the bathroom a moment later, her makeup bags packed. She comes over to the bed, sets everything down, and then starts stuffing her clothes from yesterday into her small duffel. I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
When she speaks, her voice is as cold as a glacier. “Moving to New York City is the last thing I want.”
I pinch my eyes shut. “And moving to Bayshore is the last thing I want.”
Her nostrils flare as she sweeps her heated gaze up to meet mine. “Then I guess we made our decision.”
“No,” I blurt as she slings her duffel bag over her shoulder and stomps toward the bedroom door. “Hazel, think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
She pauses in the doorway, twisting around to look at me. “Do you even know me? Have you listened to a single thing I’ve said since you’ve gotten home? Or do you only see me as some sort of filler for sex and intimacy, since you apparently can’t get laid in New York?”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, that’s it, Hazel, I’m using you for sex and plan to import you as my pleasure doll.”
“Whatever. We knew this day was coming, so we might as well start accepting it now. I tried earlier this week, but this time I’m not going to fail. Goodbye, Grayson.”
She storms out of the bedroom, leaving me rigid and mulling over her words. The bedside clock switches to 6:23 as the front door slams shut. Her car starts a moment later, and I listen until I can’t hear the hum of her engine in the distance anymore.
Then I collapse backward and stare at the ceiling.
That went worse than I’d imagined. But I’m not going to be swayed by her display of aggression. She thinks this is over—well, it’s not. Not until we’ve talked this out like adults, instead of the hot-headed teenagers we both are inside.
Besides, I’m convinced my idea has merit. I haven’t shown her the spreadsheet yet, which is extremely convincing once we get into the financial projections tab. She reacted angrily. Fine. Once she cools down, we’ll talk more about it.
She wanted to live in New York once upon a time. And now I can make that a reality. Hazel knew from a young age who she wanted to be and what she wanted out of life. Which is why I know that there must be some part of her still curious about taking a stab at life in the Big Apple.
But waiting doesn’t come easy for me. I toss and turn in bed for another ten minutes, mulling over things, before I realize that more sleep is totally off the table. I’d get dressed and go straight to her office except that I don’t want to mess up her schedule. I’ll wait, even if it kills me, for the right moment to continue this conversation.
In the meantime?
It’s back to renovating. Which is the other thing about Bayshore that’s got me hooked. These quiet mornings, scuffing around the house between sawdust and paint chips. Imagining new styles and then making them a reality. If I had more time, I’d stay here and see this through to completion. But for now, I’ve got to get as much done as I can before I start the drive home.
Returning for a few weekend trips is an option, one that I’ll offer to Hazel as a sort of compromise. But it won’t be anything long term, and it certainly won’t scratch the itch we’re sure to have.
Besides, once she sees what it’s like without these sweet touches as part of the daily grind?
She’ll be Team New York in no time.
I can guarantee it.
Chapter 21
HAZEL
I’m in mourning. I’m inches away from ordering a black netted fascinator on Amazon, but I stop myself before I one-click the funeral accessory.
But this fantasy of Grayson and me?
Officially dead.
My insides are steaming for the rest of the day after he suggests his “solution.” Which sounds a lot like “give up your life to come live mine.”
I know better than that. But what makes me angrier than his suggestion was the fact that my first reaction was to consider it.
Sitting there in his bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror, I could almost hear the honks and shouts of the street beyond the window of his Brooklyn apartment. I really went there—fantasizing cab rides, Broadway, the occasional three a.m. hot dog just because—but the whole thing doesn’t feel right.
And not because I don’t eat hot dogs.
I’m pissed that this was his only solution. He hasn’t been listening to a damn thing I’ve said the entire time.
I’m cycling between hurt and astonishment so hard I feel like I’m out on a Sea Ray on choppy water. Being jolted back and forth between bow and stern, the spray from
the white caps coming up to dampen me. There’s nothing straightforward about this. Because, on the one hand, he wants to be with me. And yes, that’s very alluring. Very redeeming. But on the other hand, he wants me to abandon my life.
He wants me to abandon this. My gothic desk situated at the perfect angle in the perfect sunny office, with the perfect view of Briggs Bay due north. My father, who lives three miles away. My amazing group of friends, whom I see weekly, and sometimes daily. He thinks I’ll have the energy to start up a brand-new realty business in the most competitive city in the world, and go make a whole new friend group after that?
He wants me to give up this sparkling lake, where I can count three sailboats out on the water in my direct line of sight.
He wants me to give up my house, which I hand styled from the inside out. All the way down to my little crabapple tree in the front left corner of the yard. Sure, you can find a house in New York, but not with my fifty-year-old lilac bush in the backyard, and certainly not without paying five times as much.
And honestly, I don’t know what’s more depressing, the fact that we’ve spent the past ten years hating each other because Aubree manipulated us into breaking up, or the fact that we’ve reconnected, fallen in love again, and will ultimately fail because the distance manipulates us into breaking up.
But maybe this is something I need to learn as a twenty-something successful woman.
There are very few men I’d consider forever with, and those who I would are destined to not work out.
Great.
Grayson calls me on and off that day, but I silence all his calls. I don’t respond to texts, either. I’m actually busy with clients all day, and that evening is a meeting with the city about an abandoned downtown building I invested in, with the goal to renovate it and attract more businesses. It’s really a collaboration between the city and me. I’m not a developer; I just happened to snag the deal when I saw it and like the idea of participating in downtown’s renaissance.
I’m in meetings until eight, because we can’t find a good renovation company who isn’t price gouging. Afterward, I head to the hipster taco joint so I can finally grab dinner and try to unwind with a margarita. No Grayson. Not if I know what’s good for me.
