Page 31 of Rival Season
“You’re notjustanything, Hazel.” It’s wild to me that this smart, beautiful, feisty woman could have such a low opinion of herself. And it kind of makes me want to kill Chadwick for contributing to her feeling that way.
Hazel flushes, then turns her face away and looks down as we step outside into the street.
It’s chilly outside today, and she crosses her arms to keep herself warm. I wish I’d brought a jacket to give her—but I always run hot, and San Francisco winters are a cakewalk compared to the tundra I grew up in, so I hardly ever bother with a coat here.
“I’m taking the metro to Berkeley today to lock myself in one of the silent study rooms on campus,” Hazel explains as she bristles in obvious annoyance. “When I said earlier that Chadwick was driving me crazy, I wasn’t lying. I can’t concentrate on anything with him bugging me all the time and parading his PT around trying to make me jealous.”
“He did not!” I have to laugh. What a putz.
Hazel rolls her eyes. “I think he’s jealous of you, so he’s got atwo can play that gamementality right now.”
“Look on the bright side. At least our plan’s starting to work if he’s retaliating.”
“True.” She nods, then blinks at me as I veer right on the sidewalk, adjusting her book bag on my shoulder as I turn.
“Hey, where are you going?” She places a hand on my arm, and I feel the cold of her fingers through my sleeve. “The metro station’s this way.”
“We’re not going to the metro,” I say.
“Yes, we are!” Hazel’s fingertips dig into my arm as she tries to stop me, and her gaze heats with frustration. “I really have to get some work done today. I want to be on campus by noon at the latest, so if we even want to have time to grab coffee first, we have to start walking that way now.”
“If you think I’m going to let you walk all the way to the station while you’re shivering, you’re sorely mistaken,” I tell her as I keep walking, now almost at the side exterior door of our building that leads to the parkade.
She makes no move to follow. Instead, she shakes her head stubbornly. “It will take longer to drive to the metro station than to walk there. Plus, finding parking will be a nightmare.”
“Like I said, we’re not going to the metro,” I say patiently. “I’m driving you to campus.”
Her mouth falls open. “That’ll be over an hour round trip for you. You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can.” I lift a shoulder. “Plus, it doesn’t have to be an immediate round trip. I’m off today, and my sister’s a freshman at Berkeley. I could visit her and hang out for the afternoon and then drive you home again later when you’re done studying.” I fix my eyes on hers, trying to gauge her expression. “If you’re comfortable with that, that is.”
Hazel blinks, lost for words—for once—and I can’t help but notice again how gorgeous she is. There’s something about the combination of those intense eyes with that wild curly hair and the freckles dancing across her cheekbones that’s uniquely pretty. She’s the kind of pretty that makes you look then immediately want to look again.
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Thank you, Penn.”
“It’s no biggie.” I shrug again, then grab my phone from my pocket and shoot off a quick text to Cassie, telling her I’m heading her way today.
Fifteen minutes later, when my phone buzzes with a message from my sister, we’re already in my truck and well on the road to Berkeley. The heat is cranked, we have drive-thru coffees in hand, and beside me, Hazel is smiling and relaxed, her head lolling back against her headrest.
“Can you check that for me?” I ask her, nodding to my phone sitting in one of the cupholders between us as I change lanes. “It’s probably Cassie responding.”
Hazel startles. “You want me to look at your phone?”
“Sure. Passcode’s 032956.”
“But what if it’s a—” Hazel hesitates, then waves a hand awkwardly and clears her throat. “Girl?”
I grin. “My sister is female, yes.”
“You know what I mean,” Hazel tuts. “What if it’s not her, but a girl you don’t have an, um, brotherly relationship with.”
“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not hanging out with any other girls right now?” I look at her over the top of my sunglasses. “I’m a fully monogamous fake boyfriend at all times, and that includes textual chemistry.”
She gives a delighted little chuckle that fills the cab of the truck as she finally reaches for my phone. The smallest things—like common decency—make this girl so happy.
“Okay, I believe you.” She smirks as she taps in my passcode. “But if I open this and it’s a sext, I will be sending you my therapy bill, Penn Matthews.”
“It won’t be,” I tell her.
