Page 77 of The Prospect

I just don’t understand it. None of this makes sense. I’ve watched hundreds of hours of romance movies. Read every chapter there is on love and hell, even dug up my old tween romance magazines in hopes of an answer, but apparently, there’s no easy way to succumb: why has my best friend been acting insane now that I have a boyfriend?

Boyfriend.

What a word—what a status.

I suppose even amidst all this chaos with Green, nothing with Hart has seemed to let up. We made it official yesterday. Well, he did, not me. It slipped out of his mouth when he called to reserve this last-minute table at a local restaurant, telling the hostess that he needed a private table for two—given that he was taking his girlfriend on a date.

My beat-red face by the time he came off the phone was enough of an indicator for him to realize what he’d said. Only he didn’t take it back, instead he took it with stride and asked, “Hazel Collins, will you officially go out with me?”

It was cheesy and overly formal, but as corny as it sounds, that's kind of my vibe, and so here I am, a girlfriend. Who would’ve thought?

“Fine.” I can no longer resist nor spew out the word no anymore. I’ve exhausted my vocabulary today. “I’ll be there after practice, waiting by your car. Don’t be late. You promise?”

“I promise.” Hart doesn’t skip a beat when it comes to a response. “I’ll see you soon, pretty girl.”

I end the call before he does, falling back onto my bed in utter exhaustion. I can count on my fingers the number of hours of sleep I’ve gotten these past three days, and even then, I hardly know if the trance I was in constitutes as sleep.

These sheets have become a reminder of that dreaded Saturday night, Green’s outburst, and most importantly, the pained look in his eyes when he saw me cowering behind Hart.

I didn’t know what to make of it.

Nothing about the situation that unfolded made sense, except for the fact that it wasn’t fair that Green was allowed to have his happily ever after that night and I wasn’t.

He ruined something special between Hart and me and since then, I’ve hardly been able to kiss him—taste him—touch him without being drawn back to that moment…

Fuck.I just wish I could erase it all. Take this whole thing back, even if it has worked out in my favor, because Christ, if I thought loving Green in secret was hard, loving him despite how much I hate him right now is even harder.

He’s got this stupid effect on me. His hooks are so deep, reminding me that no matter what he says, does or continues to text, somehow, my heart will always find a way to forgive him.

You know how much you mean to me—please don’t allow this to come between us.

We’re Haze & Greenie, remember?

“Daniel Green,” I say out loud, locking my phone as I reach for my bag. “What kind of demonic love spell do you have me under?”

I snuggleinto the jacket that engulfs my body in warmth. It was Hart’s earlier this week, but since I’ve been spending most of my time at his place in an attempt to avoid Amira’s imminent conversation about that night, Hart’s wardrobe has become my own.

I can hear the boys practicing as I lean back against the hood of his car—Warren’s whistle going off, followed by Wilks’s obnoxiously loud yet hysterical laugh every now and then. And if I squint close enough, I’m confident that through the gaps in the gate, I can see Green with these bright red shoes on.

I told him they looked pompous and were a total eyesore, but he seemingly liked the fact that they made him stand out.

I wanted to tell him that his shoes aren’t the reason why I can always spot him on the field, but like a veteran, when it comes to holding back, I bit my tongue and kept my comments to myself.

Usually, I’m right up at the gate, with a full view of everything in sight, but now being behind the scenes, out of view and hopefully out of mind, is the only way I’ll be able to avoid Green today.

Rolling up the excessive sleeve of Hart’s jacket, I peer down at my watch. He says I’m old-fashioned for wearing one, but Itold him I preferred the term timeless. He smiled and kissed my cheek, telling me that he agreed, but was certain that there never has been anyone in this world quite like me. It sent a shiver down my spine in the best way possible, just like it does when I unsuspectingly hear Green’s voice for the first time in days.

“I had a feeling you’d be out here,” he calls out, forcing me to stand up straight from the car and swallow hard.

Almost instantly, my chest tightens and palms dampen as I meet his solid brown eyes, staring at me, whispering the words “I’m sorry,” with the way they glaze over my skin.

I want to say, “It’s okay,” but I hold back, and rather than cowering, I stand up even taller.

“Shouldn’t you be practicing?” I stare behind him, an absent pair of red shoes on the pitch as they walk along the pavement. “You’re not supposed to wear those off the grass. You know that, right?”

Green looks down at his feet before peering back up at me. “Really, Hazel? Do you think I give a toss about that right now?” Green approaches me and I have to scold myself for even being remotely concerned about something as miniscule as his footwear.

It’s a force of habit.

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