Page 58 of The Prospect

Once was a surprise.

Twice is a coincidence.

And three times? Well, that would be a downright miracle and Lord knows I stopped believing in those a long time ago.

With that thought in mind, despite everything in me that compels me to continue to lose myself in his touch, I pull back. I have to—it’s the only choice. Pulling back is the only way I can reclaim a sense of power in myself.

For far too long I’ve lived in delusion and if I allow the kiss to carry on, I’m confident delusion is where I will stay forever.

This kiss means nothing.

This kiss was to practice for Hart and Amira—the ones we’re with.

God, why do I have to keep painfully reminding myself of that narrative?

When I finally break free from his mouth I want to speak. I want to say something to summarize what just happened between the two of us, but with that same twinkle in his eyes from the first day we met, Green beats me to it.

“You’ve got nothing to be worried about,my special girl.” He pecks me one more time. “Nothing at all.”

EIGHTEEN

H A Z E L

“So…what do you think?”Amira holds two dresses up against her body and surveys herself up and down in the reflection of the mirror. “I like the black one because it’s the safe option. It’s classic, sleek, and compliments my figure, perfectly. And as for the red one,well, it’s?—”

“Amira, you realize that they're the exact same dress. Right?” I can’t help but sarcastically remark as I carefully guide some eyeliner along my lash line. “Just pick a color. Who cares?” I shrug. “You already know it’ll look amazing regardless.”

“Hazel Jane Collins!” Amira’s use of my full name forces me to jump back in surprise and screw up my eyeliner—yet again. “How could you say something like that?”

I groan, reaching for a makeup wipe to wipe away this catastrophe. You’d think, as an artist, I’d be a master at this, but no one tells you that oftentimes, the hardest canvas to perfect is your own face. This is a mess.

“Say something like what? What did I say?”

“That colors don’t matter!” she reminds me. “How could you say something like that when you once spent an hour explaining the intricacies of color theory to me? So enlighten me, Hazel. How do colors not matter?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek as Amira pulls up a chair and plants herself in front of me, awaiting my response.

I say nothing and it’s a response in itself as she flashes me a confident smirk.

“That’s what I thought…” Amira snatches both the eyeliner and makeup wipe away from my grasp and pouts her lips. “Now, let’s make a deal. You help me decide which color dress to go for, and I’ll save you the trouble of having to buy another eyeliner pen. Seriously, the amount of times you’ve applied this thing and taken it off…” She stares down at it in her palm. “I’m surprised you even have any left.”

I sigh in defeat. She knows she’s backed me into a corner here, so much so that before I can even agree to her plan, Amira takes the liberty to start wiping away the residual makeup around my eyes and start all over.

“So,” she begins. “What color dress do you think I should go with? Black or red? Give me all the details.”

“Well, if you go for the black, you’re right. There’s a sense of elegance and sophistication associated with that color and sometimes…” I recite my infinite knowledge of color theory from the top of my head, “a little bit ofmystery.”

Amira tilts my chin to the right so that she can work on my other eye. “‘Mystery’?” she repeats, eyes full of delight. “Hmm, I like that, it’s giving sexy. It's giving scandalous. But what about red?” she prompts me to go on. “What does red mean, again?”

“Well, red,” I explain, “is quite simplistic. Red symbolizes passion. It’s the complete poster child for all those deep emotions that live inside of us, most especially….love.” I almost have a hard time saying the word out loud. “Red means love.”

Amira finishes with my other eye in record time as she leans back proudly into her chair. “Love, huh?” She stands, walking back over to where she discarded the dresses, and, little to mysurprise, reaches for the red one. “Thank you for that lesson, Professor Hazel,” she jokes. “Or dare I say, color master.”

“You helped me, I helped you. It was a win-win.” I scour for some lipstick within my makeup bag. My selection is quite literally the epitome of slim picking.

“Here. Use this.” Amira tosses me her own from across the room. I barely scramble to catch it, only when I do and pop off the lid, I can see that the color she’s selected perfectly matches her dress.

Red.

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