Page 39 of Rival Season
“You mean the best night’ssleepof my life,” Hazel corrects primly.
“Obviously.” I smirk as I open my closet and slide a Lions hoodie off a hanger. I can feel the way her eyes track my movements. “Do you want to hang out here while I’m at practice? You’ve got your books and laptop, right? Ally usually goes to the gym for an early run, so you’d have the place to yourself. You could study in peace.”
Hazel frowns down at her phone. “Chadwick texted a few minutes ago, he’s back already. I should probably go downstairs and get my new key from him before he disappears again.”
I almost tell her she can just sleep here again if that happens, but I bite back the words. She obviously needs to go to her own place, where all her stuff is, at some point. Even if that douche is hanging out there like a bad smell you can’t get rid of.
“Okay. I’ll walk you down there on my way out.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Our eyes meet, and Hazel smiles. A smile that makes something in my stomach unexpectedly flip.
It’s fake,I remind myself. She’s awesome, and pretty, and surprisingly fun to hang out with…as a friend. That’s what we are now, I think. Friends who share a common enemy. I’m attracted to her—very much so—and I’m pretty sure she’s attracted to me, too, but that’s where it ends. I live to flirt and tease, but that’s it. I’m no longer interested in casual hookups, but that doesn’t change the fact I don’t do relationships. Even if I did, it’s not like I’d be prime potential boyfriend material for a beautiful PhD candidate who’s nearly four years older than me. Especially not if guys like Weatherby are her usual type—all slick and smooth while I’m jagged edges.
So instead of smiling back, I smirk and nod down at the clothes in my hands. “Now, can you please stop checking me out so I can get changed for practice.”
Hazel rolls her eyes and sighs as she looks away. “That ego of yours is going to need its own zip code soon.”
I quickly shrug off my pajamas and change into sweats and hoodie. As I do so, I spot her clothes from yesterday, neatly folded on the armchair. “Hey, do you want some of my sweats to wear home?”
She begins to shake her head but then stops and nods. “I was going to say no, but actually, yes. Chadwick will hate me coming back wearing your clothes.”
“Hazel Palmer, look at you! You’re mastering this fake dating to piss off your ex thing. Such a fast learner.”
“I have a good teacher.”
“That, you do,” I reply. My voice is light, but the fact that she’s thinking about Chad-dick at all right now serves as a much-needed reminder that Hazel’s just out of a relationship. She was with him for a year; I’m sure there are still some lingering feelings there—otherwise she wouldn’t be going through all this trouble to make him jealous. Awful as Chadwick might be, there’s always a chance she could go running back to him if those lingering feelings for him grow.
I don’t know much about love—it’s not like I grew up surrounded by good examples of it—but I do know it isn’t always logical, and it can make you do things you’d otherwise be too smart to do.
I pass Hazel a turquoise Lions hoodie—the color of our team’s home jerseys, just so Chadwick definitely won’t mistake what she’s wearing for a single second—and one of my favorite pairs of sweatpants, a soft old gray pair that are almost threadbare.
“Well, I’d say that was a successful first sleepover.”
“First? That’s presumptuous.”
“Nope, it’s accurate. Next sleepover’s gonna be at your place. Little bit of light torture for Chad-dick to punish him for locking you out last night.”
Our eyes meet, and this slow, almost wicked smile spreads over Hazel’s face. “I think I might like that idea.”
“Me too,” I reply with a grin of my own. “Maybe I can sleep over after our game tonight and make it two sleepovers in a row? We don’t have practice until tomorrow afternoon, so there will be plenty of time for you to show me your fancy yoga moves in the morning.”
“Not a chance.”
“Agree to disagree.” I worry my teeth into my lower lip, suddenly a little nervous to ask my next question. “Hey, um, are you still…coming to the game?” I ask, my voice way more hesitant than I want it to be. I almost feel like a kid again; that kid who was always one step away from rejection, so he tried to never get his hopes up. “I got you a ticket to sit with Ally,” I add stupidly.
I’ve never asked a girl to come to one of my NHL games before. Never asked a girl to come to one of my college games, either. While I know Hazel isn’t actually my girlfriend, I care about her opinion of me, so wanting her to see me play is more important than I realized.
“Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it,” Hazel replies, which makes me weirdly happy.
Too happy, probably, but what the hell.
I should take my own advice, the advice I gave Hazel last night and not overthink things. So what if I want to impress her?
There might be an expiration date on this fake dating agreement between us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it while it lasts.
