Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(23)

It’s his turn to look at me like I might be crazy.

“What?” I say. “You’ve never just … boned someone?”

He hides his blush by pretending to be grossed out by me. “That’s the worst word.”

“Bone. Bone. Boner. Booooones.”

He leans his head back against the couch. “God, would you just go away?”

I ignore this. “What if I set you up with someone?”

“No.”

“Just listen,” I tell him, pushing up onto my knees and invading his space. “What if I set you up with someone, and you set me up with someone, and we went out together?”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. No games, no expectations. Double blind date. Just for a laugh.”

“No.”

“Come on, Josh, just one time.”

He rolls his head to look at me. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone for the rest of the day?”

“Yes.”

“And if I hate it I never have to do it again.”

I nod, reaching up to scratch his scalp. His eyes fall closed. “If you hate it, we’ll never have to do it again. You can die in peace and will never have to take your hands out of your pants.”

He’s quiet for a minute. Is he considering it? Was it really the hands in his pants that sweetened the deal? He opens his eyes again. “Fine.”

I sit up straighter. “Fine? Really?”

“Yeah. But make sure she isn’t a jerk.”





EIGHT


JOSH


We set the date for a Friday night, almost four weeks from our original deal, and agree to spend the evening at the Rumrunner’s Tree House, a kitschy little bar Hazel found downtown. The location should have been my first clue.

Adam—a defensive lineman for an arena football team—shows up at the house while Hazel is still getting ready. I let him in, keeping my face neutral as we both pretend not to hear the horrible sound of her singing from the other end of the house.

The repairs on Hazel’s apartment are taking longer than expected, but we’ve managed to find a happy medium between my need for order and the trail of chaos that follows her everywhere she goes. Since the house looks presentable for the first time in days, I lead Adam back to the kitchen for a beer.

He follows with Winnie right on his heels and takes a seat at the kitchen bar.

“The place is looking great.” He nods, glancing around. “I think the last time I was here you were just finishing the floors.”

“I did the floors in the spring, and just got the new window casings in. I’ll let you know the next time I have a barbecue. Zach would like to catch up.”

“Cool.”

I met Adam at a youth event we were both doing a couple of years ago. We had just started the practice, and Adam was there with the team he played on at the time. He’s a nice enough guy—I mean, obviously, or I wouldn’t have set him up with Hazel—and at six foot four and 235 pounds of muscle he’s definitely good-looking, but he’s a little on the quiet side. My first instinct was that it would be a nice contrast in personalities, but now I’m wondering whether Hurricane Hazel might eat him alive.

“So this is kind of weird, right?” he says, reaching down to scratch Winnie behind her ears. “I mean, picking her up here? The two of you living together? I wouldn’t want to …”

I follow his eyes back down the hall to where Hazel is belting out an operatic version of Quiet Riot’s “Cum On Feel the Noize” and realize what he means. “Oh no. No.” I hold my hands out in front of me. “Hazel and I have never been, and are not, together.”

“So you’re just roommates, then?”

“Temporary roommates,” I correct. “She has her own place, but they’re doing some work on the building and she needed somewhere to crash for a few weeks. Or months, I guess.”

“I wondered what was going on when you called because you’re the last person I expected to want a roommate.” He chuckles as he brings the bottle to his lips, pausing to add, “No offense, man.”

My smile is wry as I take a sip from my own bottle. I turn my attention to the dog. “Winnie? Potty?” She bolts to my side. Bending, I stage-whisper, “You stay away from him, okay? He’s a dick.”

Adam laughs, and Winnie barks in what I take as agreement before following me to the back door and bounding down the steps into the yard.

When I return to the kitchen, Adam is eyeing a drawing of a unicorn Hazel doodled while I cooked dinner last night. It has two horns, a purple mane, pink fur, and a giant yellow penis.

Adam looks up at me with his beer paused midway to his lips. “She’s not like … crazy or anything, is she?”

There’s a twinge in my gut at this, a protective aversion to that word, but I refrain from asking him to define crazy. I wave him off instead. “Definitely not crazy.”

Of course it’s this moment she decides to make an appearance, bursting into the kitchen in a bright yellow sundress. “Who’s crazy?”

“Winnie,” I say quickly. “She’s been chasing squirrels again.” Placing a hand on the small of her back, I usher her closer. “Hazel, this is my friend Adam. Adam, this is Hazel. You two might actually see each other this year because Hazel just got a job at Riverview, and Adam’s team participates in the youth program there.”