Page 43 of The Prospect

Gosh, why am I spiraling out of control here?

Just ask him.

“Do you like it?” I fidget beneath my seat, attempting to get comfortable, although the only real way I will be is if he tells me what he’s thinking.

The photo I’d selected to paint took me ages to find. I’d spent hours scouring the web for the perfect photo, and just when I was about to give up, I stumbled upon a photo taken by the team's photographer that perfectly captured him mid-play.

Unlike your typical “action shot,” this photo captured the ruggedness of Hart, yet the tender side I’ve come to see tonight.

In the picture he’s got a bright smile as he peers back over his shoulder. I can only assume this shot was taken post-goal, all the while the way his jersey clung against his damp skin…well…let’s just say I had to paint beside a fan.

“Hazel…’” All he does is says my name, and it’s enough assurance that, damn, I’ve just done something right. “Hazel, I…” His voice trails off as he places the portrait in his lap. “I love it. I can’t believe you painted this for me. I—I don’t even know what to say. ”

Speechless. I don’t know if I’ve ever made anyone speechless before. I’m not complaining though, because rather than words Hart does me one better by briskly pulling me in tight and wrapping his strong arms around my body. I seamlessly melt into his embrace.

“Thank you so much,” he eventually whispers into my hair, holding me for a second longer before he pulls back and lingers in front of my face.

I gulp, swearing he’s about to kiss me as I stare down at his lips. I mean, it’s the perfect moment, is it not?

Perfect date.

Perfect night.

Perfect gesture.

I’ve seen it in the movies.

I’ve read about it in the books.

Any second now, he’s about to lean in and?—

He kisses my cheek.

What?

He lingers way longer than he ever has before but rather than kissing my lips, he kisses my cheek. I’m stunned.

“I like you, Hazel.” Hart eventually pulls back, voice dropping an octave as he runs his thumb delicately along the soft side of my cheek. “But I don’t kiss on the first date. So I guess what I’m trying to say is…can we have a second?”

I tighten my lips, nodding excitedly at his ability to make up for what was just about to be something I was going to overthink all night long about.

“I’d like that,” I tell him. “I, uh—like you too.”

He kisses my other cheek once more before pulling back. “Glad to know that we’re on the same page,pretty girl.”

I’m a squealing mess.

Like I’ve just been front row at a concert and the lead singer winked at me kind of mess.

Like I’ve just gotten all of my numbers right on my lotto-ticket kind of mess.

Like for the first time I’ve met someone who sees me. Likes me. Chooses me, kind of a mess.

I fall back onto my bed.

Christ.

What a feeling.

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