Page 95 of Just Friends

“It was not you,” I say, emphasizing each word. “You are everything, Hazel. You are sunshine and butterflies and ice cream. You are kind and gentle and you make magic with a paintbrush. You are everything, and if he didn’t see that, he’s blind.”

I’m panting now, my words coming out faster than I can think. I’m raw and on edge and unfiltered.

“He’s blind, Hazel. And maybe you’ll forgive him one day, but I won’t. I’ll never stop hating him for making you feel like anything but the kinds of dreams you never expect to come true, the ones that feel too silly to even wish for. Wishes on butterfly wings, Haze. That’s what you are.”

Her gaze holds mine for so long that I start to come back to myself. That I finally realize I shifted my legs beneath me, and that I’m practically horizontal as I lean over Hazel, my hand tangled in her hair. I can feel her shallow breaths against my skin, her pulse thrumming against my palm. She’s so real to me right now that it hurts.

But then she leans forward, and the gap between us closes. Inches that feel like miles dissolve until there’s nothing, and her lips are on mine.

The kiss is soft, tentative. The barest whisper, like she’s testing it out. And I want to devour her, to pour all my love into this kiss, but I don’t. If this is all she can give me right now, I’m not going to push it.

Then her hand fists around the collar of my shirt, tugging me closer, and I almost lose all my restraint. Hazel is the water I’ve been deprived of while wandering in the desert, and I have to hold back from drinking her in too fast.

Her lips part, and I stifle a groan when her tongue trails across the seam of my mouth, parting me. The first taste of her is sweet, like the whipped cream on top of a decadent cake. I want to tilt her face for a better angle, but I let her lead.

When she sighs against my lips, I know I’ve made the right decision.

I’ve imagined kissing Hazel Lane more times than I can count, but the daydream pales in comparison to the real thing. I feel overwhelmed, my every nerve ending standing at attention, in tune to the barest of touches. Her knuckles against my collarbone. A knee pressed to mine. Nails curling against the back of my neck.

Hazel pulls back, her head sinking into the throw pillow below her as she looks up at me. Somehow, during the kiss, we slid farther and farther down so I’m almost propped over her, our hands still intertwined and pushing into the couch cushions. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, and her gaze moves all over my face before fixing on my eyes once more.

“That was nice,” she says after a long moment, and a laugh shoots out of me.

I sit back on my heels, dragging Hazel up with me. “Yeah, nice is one word for it.”

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth as she watches me, and I want to ask what that kiss meant. If it was a one-time thing or the first of many. If it was a test or a goodbye. If we can do it again. If this means she’s willing to try with me.

“Maybe we should start the movie,” she says, and I nod. At this point, she could ask me to run naked through the grocery store, and I’d probably say yes.

Flipping on the TV, I ask, “What do you want to watch?”

“Just Friends,” Hazel says, and my heart stops for an instant before resuming its beating, if not at a faster rhythm. I open the search bar and begin typing in the title.

“Is that the one with Ryan Reynolds and Effie Trinket?”

Hazel snorts a laugh. “No, that’s Elizabeth Banks. This is that one girl,” she says, trailing off and patting her knee with the tips of her fingers, thinking. “You know, what’s-her-face.”

“Ah, yes,” I say. “Best Actress last year went to What’s-Her-Face. And her co-star, What’s-His-Nuts, won Best Actor.”

A high-pitched giggle escapes her lips, and I look at her, sidelong, holding back my smile. “What do I get if it’s Effie?” my voice drops to something reserved for late nights and bed sheets.

Hazel watches me through heavy lids, her gaze only straying from my eyes to dip to my mouth. “What do you want?”

I wonder if her heart is beating as fast as mine, if she wants to kiss me again as badly as I want to kiss her. It feels impossible, after all this time, that she would feel the same way. But I want it so much that I’m willing to take her scraps until she’s ready.

“I want to kiss you again,” I say, deciding on honesty.

Her throat bobs in a swallow, and her eyes drop to my lips again, holding. “You know what?” she says, and her voice is thick as maple syrup. “I think you’re right. It is Effie. We don’t need to look it up.”

My pulse skyrockets, and she comes closer, this time crowding into my space. I can’t breathe as she swings one leg over my hips, settling her weight into my lap. My hands find her hips on instinct, sliding against the curves to rest there. It’s like the hollows of her hip bones were made with my hands in mind, like they were always destined to land right here.

When I try to pull her closer, Hazel stops me with a hand on my chest. Her hair falls around her in a curtain, blocking off the rest of my view of the apartment. But I don’t need to see it. Not when my entire world is sitting right here, her hands sliding over my collarbones and up the length of my neck until they stop on either side of my face.

Her palms scrape against my stubble, and I wonder if it will leave a friction burn on her skin. I want to tug her hands away and inspect them, press kisses against the redness, but she holds tight.

“Alexander Malcolm Bates,” she says slowly, as if tasting each name. “You said a lot of things earlier.”

I swallow. Nod. Words are beyond me right now, with her so close, her knees hugging my hips and her hands on my face.

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