Page 80 of Rival Season
I swallow, hardly daring to believe what I’m hearing. “What do you mean by that?” I ask in a low voice, my mind spinning.
“Look, I know we said no feelings, but somewhere along the way, I caught feelings for you, Penn. I’ve tried to fight them—Lord knows I have—but they’re real, and I’m sorry if that makes things weird,” Hazel babbles, barely stopping to take a breath. She wrings her hands but then sets her chin in determination before she continues, “I know this wasn’t part of our deal or anything we agreed on, but I realized today that I had to be honest with you, and with myself, or I’d regret it. So there it is. I like you, Penn. I like spending time with you, I like kissing you, and I get that you’re not looking for a girlfriend, and you might not feel the same way, so?—”
“I like you too, Hazel,” I cut her off, jumping to my feet.
She stands. “You do?”
I stride forward, probably looking like a moron clutching my towel at my hip, but I can’t bring myself to care. When I come to a stop right in front of her, I look down at her beautiful face. “How could anyone not like you, Hazel? You’re incredible.”
Hazel’s eyes get big, and her chin wobbles for a moment before she grimaces with a laugh. “Don’t you dare make me cry for the third time in one day, Penn Matthews.”
“I wouldn't dream of it.” I smile, my heart full as I cup my hand around her jaw. “How about I kiss you instead?”
She smiles wide before rising up on her tiptoes. I stare into her green eyes, using my hand to angle her face just right before leaning in and pressing my mouth to hers. Her warm, soft lips against my own creates a bewildering shock of sensations…my rough stubble against her smooth skin, her soft sweater brushing my torso, her sweet scent dancing with the fragrance of my shower soap…nothing has ever felt moreright.
“So what does this mean?” Hazel asks when we finally pull back from each other. “If I like you, and you like me.”
“I don’t know, exactly.” I clear my throat. “We’re still getting to know each other in so many ways. You’ve just come out of a serious relationship, things have been difficult with your family, and you have a ton of work commitments. I also have a crazy schedule, and I don’t have the first clue about how to juggle work with an adult relationship. But what Idoknow is that I’m in no way ready for this to be over between us.”
Hazel’s smile is everything. “Same.”
“So why don’t we just keep…doing what we’re doing? Scrap our agreement and the end date and keep enjoying being together and seeing each other, and just…date each other.”
“I like the sound of that.” Her eyes twinkle.
“Good, because I plan on dating the hell out of you.”
Hazel laughs, and I move to kiss her again, but we’re interrupted by a knock on my door.
“Can I not get a single moment of damn privacy in this pucking loft?” I groan.
“So popular,” Hazel teases.
My door opens and Noah pops his head around it. His eyes widen when he sees me standing in a towel. “Dude, hurry up and get dressed. We have to leave in a few for this art thing—and don’t you dare say you’re not coming. If Fisher’s making me go, you’re going too.”
“Fine, I’m getting dressed now.” Noah closes the door and I turn to Hazel. “How do you feel about our first official date as a non-fake-couple being a local art show?”
“It sounds amazing.”
And you know what? It really does.
CHAPTER 30
HAZEL
Walkinginto the art gallery downtown, I feel lighter than air. The ache in my chest from this morning disappeared along with my dread over my fake relationship ending. Penn smiles from beside me, squeezing my hand as we walk inside the industrial brick building. Knowing his feelings for me are as real as mine are for him has my whole body humming with happy relief. Everything feels so right. I’m excited to see where things go with us as we continue seeing each other…without any pressure or a ticking clock looming over us.
The exposed brick walls inside are lined with beautiful art pieces and photographs in a myriad of different styles and colors. French music plays through the speakers, and a young man in a white dress shirt and tie greets us with a tray of bruschetta. We each take a slice and make our way further inside the gallery.
A woman in a pencil skirt and silk top—more than likely the gallery curator—moves toward us. “Good evening, and welcome to our art show. I designed the show for everyone to start on the left and then move through the building. Once you reach the back, turn around and peruse the right side.”
“Thank you,” Fisher says. “Where is the Santi painting located? I’m most excited about that one.”
She smiles. “Ahh, yes. You and everyone else.” The woman chuckles. “The Santi is right in the middle of everything.”
He nods and waves an arm for us to follow him. Fisher seems antsy to get to the Santi painting—he filled me in about the mysterious artist on the drive over here—shifting from foot to foot in front of the first display like he’s looking at it just to be polite.
“Dude, chill. We didn’t drive all the way over here just to see one painting,” Noah says, arching one eyebrow.
