Page 63 of The Prospect

“Once you’re done with that, Hazel, I’ve been granted special orders to get you a glass of water next.”

I half laugh, confused beyond belief. “A glass of water?” I repeat back. “What on earth are you talking about, Hart?”

Hart shifts his body so that he’s directly facing me, and with his weight dipping into the cushion of the couch, my body only sinks in that much closer to him.

“Green told me to keep you hydrated,” he explains in all seriousness. “I think he’s worried you’re going to pass out or something.”

My eyes practically roll to the back of my head. “Green’s a total hypochondriac,” I protest, though deep down, I can’t help but secretly love the way that his concern has left my stomach tingling. “That was one time on New Year's Eve, after downing like four shots. Besides, I think Green forgets I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“He’s just worried about you. That’s all.” To my surprise, Hart comes rushing to Green’s defense. “But you’re right, he doesn’t need to.” He raises both hands into the air. “Like you said, you can handle your own battles, Hazel and besides, he should know that I’d never let anything happen to you.”

The tingles from before now transform into a full-on fit of butterflies, fluttering their wings without a care as my hands start to tremble and to make matters worse, Hart’s smooth talk doesn’t cease to stop.

“You know, Hazel, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately,” he admits, running his thumb along the soft side of my cheek.

“You have?” I hum in response. I don’t think I have it in me to say anything much else. Hart’s touch is so paralyzing and riveting at the same time, I’m surprised I was even able to spit that out.

“I have,” he confesses, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I mean, it’s been kind of hard not to. Every time I go to my station at the clubhouse, I’m reminded ofyou. You know, I still can’t believe that you painted that picture for me. Honestly, I’m in awe every time I look at it. You have a gift, Hazel.Seriously.”

I’m flush in the face as I accept his compliment, trying my best to process what to say back to him, but sometimes diverting is the only way to cope—and so, diversion becomes my new guilty pleasure.

“Hey, you’re not too shabby of an artist yourself,” I remark.

Hart tilts his head in confusion.

“What?” I laugh, flashing him a look. “Have you already forgotten about your rock? I mean, it’s got a perfect spot on my shelf. It’s wholeheartedly been my muse these days.”

Hart playfully nudges my shoulder with a roll of his eyes. “You’re hilarious,” he remarks sarcastically. “A true comedian. You know that?”

As we laugh, I get lost in the ocean of his blue eyes. I guess I'd never quite noticed just how pigmented they were, but now, as I stare deep into them, all I can think about is what blue has to offer.

Blue means trust, peace, reliability and most of all, security. It’s like Hart’s eyes are a direct reflection of the traits that make up the man he is today. Yet, even despite the cool tone of his orbs, those two eyes hold the power to heat up anyone with a single flash.

Since we walked into this party together, everyone’s eyes have been fixated upon him, and if I’m being honest, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been listening in on some of the not-so-subtle gushing remarks that have been made.

“Is that the Crawfield player?”

“Holy shit, he’s fit.”

“Where can I get myself one?”

“Christ, I’d love to spend five minutes alone in a room with him.”

I would’ve thought that the remarks would’ve left me doubtful—like, who am I in retrospect to him? But given that Hart hasn’t once looked in anyone else's direction all night long, the only thing I’m left with is this egotistical sense of pride as this cloud-nine feeling circles through my mind, all the while, the looming response to his question from earlier lingers in the air and before I know it, the words, “And you’re gorgeous. Did you know that?” fall out of my mouth.

Holy mother of crap, why did I just say that?

And it’s not just me that’s thinking it, it’s Hart too, with his reddening cheeks and wandering stare.

“Oh my gosh, I—don’t know why I just said that…” I’m so embarrassed that I start to frantically search for my bag, ready to make a beeline out of this room to escape from this embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, do you mind just excusing me—” I quickly rise to my feet, only the second I do, I collide with someone else—a man who once held two cups of lager in his hand that has now found its way all over me.

Fuck.

“Hazel!” Hart is quick to rush to my aid as he pushes back the guy, who, rather than checking to see if I’m alright, has gone totally off on me.

“Hey, princess. Word of advice, why don’t you watch where you’re bloody going!” he shouts.

I wince at his words as I reach for some paper towels, attempting to pat down the liquid as it soaks through the fabric of my jeans.

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