Page 60 of The Prospect

“Because!” I turn in my chair so that I’m directly facing him. “Not only is Hazel my best friend, Hart, but I’ve known her for almost my whole life. So, trust what I say is true.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Hart opens up his car door and steps out, leaning against the roof as we continue the conversation. “But I seriously don’t think that you’ve needed to lecture me for the past thirty minutes about everything. It’s not necessary, Green. Don’t you think these are details about Hazel that I should get to know about myself? Isn’t that the whole objective of getting to know someone?”

Hart’s got a point—for once. I’ll admit, I have spent the entire car ride over here explicitly outlining every detail that I can think of when it pertains to Hazel, especially in relation to this party. I feel like I had no other choice. It’s always my job to look out for her, whether she realizes it or not, and like everything in my life, I take my job seriously…

For example, Hart doesn’t know that when Hazel drinks, she gets extremely dehydrated. How can I trust that she’s going to be okay if he isn’t aware of this?

Or what if Hazel says, “This is my favorite song,” and starts to bob her head along to the music? Hart should know that isn’t an automatic invitation to dance. I bet Hart doesn’t even know Hazel hates dancing almost as much as she hates when people push her too.

Christ, he should consider himself lucky right now. If anything, I’m looking out for him as much as I’m looking out for her. He should be on his knees thanking me for this great advice. Instead, he’s grumbling as he tucks his keys into his back pocket and says, “Listen, Green, I get that you’re looking out for Hazel, but give it a rest, will ya? How about you focus on your birdie instead, alright, mate?”

His remark irks me beyond belief. It’s one thing to tell someone to stay in their own lane, which, with full-respect, I get. I wouldn’t particularly like it if Hart was lecturing me on Amira right now, but it’s another to say something like that to someone when you’re referring to the closest person in their life.

I’ve tried my best to let go of the animosity I felt toward Hart earlier last week—his gloating about the photo, his affection, his use ofmynickname. Hazel had a way of ridding my mind free from those thoughts and reminding me that no matter what, we’re irreplaceable, but still, I can’t deny this lingering sense of distaste I feel…

Not so deep down I want Hazel to be happy with Hart, I do, yet a part of me can't help but fixate on the fact that tonight is the night—step three.

The kiss.

I won’t lie. I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss Amira from the very moment I first laid eyes on her. I’d be a fool not to have wondered what she tastes like, but with that passing thought comes another, that at any given moment as my lips touch Amira’s, Hazel’s could press into Hart’s.

I don’t shudder at the thought, but my chest tightens with it, so much so that I roll my shoulders back to ease the tension.

Why am I feeling this way?

I shrug it off.

There’s a reason why I urged Hart to be the DD tonight. A sober Hart means a less handsy Hart. Trust me when I say that. We’ve been to a few clubs together over the years, and the last thing I want to see tonight is him all over Hazel. It’s not that I don’t think I can handle it. It’s that I don’t know how I’m going to react if I do…

I really don’t.

“Are they on their way?” Hart asks as we approach the front of the house, side-stepping around the crowds of people who are already stumbling over themselves.

It’s only nine.

The girls decided to make their own way here tonight, which, if I’m reading into it, was just an excuse for some more time to get ready.

As I peer down at my phone, I can see a few missed messages from Amira. I’ve been slow to respond to her all night. At first, I was caught up in getting ready myself and then once Hart swung by to pick me up, I suppose I got sidetracked on my rant about Hazel...

The truth is, I’m looking forward to seeing Amira, I am, and as much as it pains me to admit it, Hart’s right. I do need to focus on her tonight. I know Hazel can stand her ground. Her cahoots with Hart should be the least of my concerns—not the only thing circling through my mind.

“They’re nearly here,” I relay Amira’s message to Hart, quickly responding to say we’ve arrived.

She immediately follows up with, “Meet us outside.”

I urge Hart with a nod of my head to follow me back down the front steps, where, within a matter of seconds, I see them.

Hazeland Amira.

NINETEEN

H A Z E L

The music blaresfrom all the way up the street, the bass projecting like the thudding in my chest as we inch our way down the sidewalk.

“Don’t the neighbors complain about all the noise?” I struggle to walk in the heels Amira insisted I wear, trudging my way forward carefully so that I don’t trip up.

“The bylaw says that you can make as much noise as you want until eleven, and last time I checked…” Amira peers down at her phone screen before flashing it in my direction. “It’s only nine.”

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