Page 93 of Just Friends

The farm disappears in my rearview mirror as I pull out of the driveway and steer my car toward town, swallowed up by the trees and mountains. I follow the winding roads, rolling down the windows to let in the smell of wildflowers and pine. Over the whir of the engine and the wind whipping past, I can just make out the sound of the babbling creek leading toward the river in town.

Afternoon sun glistens on the windows of the shops in town, busy with tourists and hikers milling about. My gaze catches on a wooden sign hanging above a door, swaying in the breeze.The Ridge Hardware Store. I have an urge to walk in there and tell Oliver that I hope no one ever tells his daughter he’s glad he met her once she was hot, that even the small things can stick with you.

But I have better places to be. A high-rise apartment in the middle of downtown. With way too many windows and not enough curtains. Monochromatic furniture and a colorful throw blanket strewn over the back of the couch. A butterfly painting interspersed with the black and white artwork.

And Alex, in the middle of it all. Gray sweatpants and the thinnest, worn tee. Messy hair and a smile that hitches up on one side first.

I can’t get home fast enough.

I’monthecouchwhen my front door opens and shuts with a click. Before Hazel can make it down the hallway, I’m up and moving. It feels like when you walk into a restaurant at the end of a long day and realize you’ve forgotten to eat. You knew you were hungry, but it’s not until you’re being seated and perusing the menu that you notice you’reravenous.

Missing Hazel has been like that. Being without her was lonely and sad, but now that she’s here, I feel it like the ache of a missing limb.

Hazel rounds the corner at the exact moment I do, and then we’re chest to chest, careening into each other too fast to stop. My hands find her forearms, steadying her, but I don’t step back. And neither does she. Time blurs at the edges, like we’re slipping between universes. I’m desperate to find the one where we’re together, to hold on to it for dear life and make it our reality.

“Hey,” I say, soft as a whisper in the dark. I’m scared to talk too loud or move too suddenly and break this trance we’ve fallen into.

But then I don’t have to move, because Hazel is. Her arms come around my middle and her face tips up into the crook of my neck. I respond immediately, hugging her tighter, like I’m worried she’ll change her mind and pull back, end the embrace before I have my chance to soak it in.

My head dips into the curve of her shoulder, breathing her in. She’s wearing something rich and floral today, and I want to drag my nose along her collarbone and up the line of her neck to find where it’s strongest.

“I missed you,” she says into my shoulder, her words muffled, but they still seep into my skin like fragrant oil.

My arms tighten, pulling her tighter against me until I can feel every dip and swell, every curve and jut of bone. When she breathes in, I take advantage of the sliver of space until there’s nothing left.

“Three weeks is too long,” I say into her hair, letting my hand that’s been planted on her shoulder blade travel across her back. Down the length of her spine. When she shivers against me, I feel it everywhere. The tips of my toes, the palms of my hands, behind my navel, at the base of my spine.

Hazel’s breath is hot against my skin as she says, “Three hours is too long.”

I pull back without thinking, needing to see her face. My gaze trails over her features, the slope of her nose, the dark fringe of her lashes, the curve of her lips, the spark behind her eyes.

She’s looking at me like she never has before, all soft eyes and parted lips, heavy breaths and blushing cheeks. That look feels like honey dripping inside me, warm and liquid, pooling in all the places I’m desperate for her.

“I forgot food,” Hazel says, and it takes me a moment to register her words. “It was my week to bring dinner,” she clarifies, and I nod, my mind shifting gears.

“That’s okay,” I say.

She pauses, her gaze dipping before it lands on me again. This time she looks shy, hesitant, twin roses blooming across her cheekbones. “I just wanted to see you.”

A kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. “I wanted to see you too,” I say. Then, “We can order food.”

Hazel’s head dips in a nod. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

She slips past me, disappearing into my apartment, and I stare at her for a moment before following. She’s wearing high-waisted linen shorts and a cropped white tank with those teeny tiny straps that always drive me crazy. For the rest of the night, I’m going to want to hook a finger through that strap and tug.

Temptation in the form of thin straps. I’m officially pathetic.

Hazel glances over her shoulder at me, raising her brows at the way my feet are rooted to the spot. I don’t know what she expects, walking in here and acting likethat. Maybe if I stay here all night, she’ll come back, and we can pick up where we left off.

“What do we want to eat?” Hazel asks, sinking into the couch and tucking her legs up under her. I guess that ruins my plan to stay fixed to this spot.

Slowly, I make my way into the living room. All my senses are amplified. I can feel the air conditioning blowing on my skin, and I can smell Hazel’s sex goddess perfume from across the room. Even the lights seem brighter, flaring at the edges of my vision.

“I’m good with whatever,” I say, lowering myself onto the couch next to her. She shifts, and her knee presses against my thigh. My every nerve ending singles down to that exact spot.

What kind of place am I in thatknee touchingis making it difficult to breathe? Maybe it’s just Hazel. Maybe everything feels bigger with her. The small moments are magnified, and the things that have never mattered before feel like they’re being written into my DNA.

If Hazel doesn’t want me, my new Bumble profile will have to bereally into knees.

---