Page 36 of The Prospect

“I wanted to bring you these.” I pull the bouquet out from behind me, placing them within her grasp as she uses her body to hold open the door.

“Green…” she says my name so tenderly that it slowly melts my heart. “Thank you so much. Awh, you seriously didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, I wanted to,” I tell her. “Just like I want to take you out on a date tonight. Are you up for it?”

Excitedly she nods, but stares down at her outfit. She’s wearing nothing but a sports bra and shorts, it looks like she just got back from the gym.

“Do you mind giving me a few minutes?” She opens the door fully, pulling me inside and gesturing for me to take a seat onto her bed as she races toward her dresser.

“Of course. That’s no problem.”

I’ve only ever been inside Hazel’s dorm room a handful of times. It’s so small that anytime the two of us want to hang out, we always just end up going back to my place. But now being here and having a moment to look around, I can see just how much work Hazel put into making this space her own.

There’s art everywhere—so much art that it’s even taken over Amira’s side of the room…

“Hazel did a great job decorating, didn’t she?” Amira catches my watchful gaze and smiles, reaching for a towel.

“She always does.” I smile in return, yet with the mention of her name out loud my mind can’t help but wonder where that key missing detail is.“Hey, uh—where is Hazel?” I call out to Amira right before she enters the bathroom

“She didn’t tell you?” Amira tilts her head to the side, before stepping in to get dressed.

I stand up, scribbling a message onto a loose scrap paper before I secretly place that and what I’d snagged from the shop under Hazel’s pillow. “Tell me what?” I wonder.

Amira steps out of the bathroom in a show-stopping piece and fuck, it hits me hard, but somehow not harder than when she says…

“Hart asked her out on a date.”

TWELVE

H A Z E L

“I don’t,uh—usually dress like this, by the way...” I lie through my teeth as Hart focuses on the road ahead, only my comment alone is enough to make him peel his eyes away from the pavement and scan me up and down.

It’s a burning feeling. One that, despite wearing a baggy black tee and even baggier long pants, still omits a full smile on his face, especially as he says, “Doesn’t matter to me what you wear, love. You lookbeautiful.”

He has this effect on me, forcing me to blush with every syllable that leaves his lips.

I won’t lie, I don’t mind.

Even before he called, my Wednesday night was already revolving around Hart as I tucked myself away into the art hall to finalize my romantic gesture.

Now, with it secured safely inside my bag, here I am, in his car, on a date, headed toward a destination he has insisted must be kept a secret.

Thank gosh I was nearly finished.

“You’re sweet, but I would’ve dressed a bit nicer had I known we were going to go out.” I nervously run my hands through a few stray strands of hair. “You see, I was just at the art hallfinishing up something, that’s why this shirt has so much paint on it, and if I’m being honest, Hart, I’m kind of embarrassed…”

Hart cuts my senseless rambling short and reaches for one of the many damp paint brushes that poke out of my bag. After I saw his text inviting me out, I didn’t have much time to clean them off, meaning that in my frantic state, I broke the number one rule of an artist.

Always. Clean. Your. Brushes.

“Hey, what are you?—”

Before I can waste so much as another breath, Hart uses the stark-white canvas of his T-shirt to dry off the brush, soiling it in an instant with the colors blue and yellow.

“Hart!” I scream out, yet my voice comes out as a laugh as I snatch the brush back. “Why would you do that?” I can’t stop giggling at the complete mess he’s made. “Now you’ve ruined your shirt too!”

“So?” He shrugs, a sly smirk cascading along his rosy pink lips. “You were all worried about being covered in paint, so guess what? Now I am too. We’re even. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about now, is there, love?”

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