Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating(52)

Her chest and neck flush when she sees me, but I notice that her eyes stay firmly on my face. “Hey.”

I rub a casual hand over my stomach. “Hey.”

She quickly turns back to the silverware drawer, closing it with her hip.

“What are you making?” I ask.

Pointing to a box of Shredded Wheat on the counter, she says, “Just cereal. I figured you’d want some, too.” Then she lifts her chin to the coffeepot.

“No blue pancakes? No banana waffles?”

Hazel laughs down at the counter. “I’d probably burn them.”

I pause on my way to grab a mug. “When did that ever stop you before?”

I’m treated to a flash of a real smile before she tucks it away and turns to pull the milk from the fridge.

And seriously, what the hell? Where is my Crazy Hazie?

A sinking feeling spreads from my stomach up through my chest. Did last night break something good between us?

“Haze.”

She looks up at me as she pours some cereal into her bowl. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush before. “Yeah, why?”

“You’re being … normal.”

She doesn’t seem to get it.

I put my mug down and hold out my hand, curling my fingers. “Come here.”

She comes over to me across the kitchen. Her hair is a wild mess, tumbling down her back. The words are so close to the surface: I know this is confusing, but can we try to figure it out?

But she isn’t looking at me, and I can’t tell if the tightness in her eyes is fear or a need to put some distance between us. Am I missing something?

Unfortunately, she’s going to have to do that with words, not expressions and mumbled phrases. I put my hands on her hips and it’s an invitation to touch me. Instead she curls her hands into fists and tucks them against her chest.

“Is this about Tyler?”

She blinks with incomprehension and then shakes her head.

“Then did last night freak you out?” I ask.

She hesitates, but then shakes her head again. But she was pretty emotional last night, and it’s hard for me to know how to read that: if the most insecure part of me is right, and she wants to give this thing with Tyler a shot, I have to let her.

Right?

“Okay, so what is it? Why aren’t you wearing a chicken costume and frying me homemade doughnuts in the sink?”

“I guess it’s a little about last night.” She gnaws on her lower lip before admitting, “I … worry about what would happen …” She screws her mouth to the side, plucking words carefully, but lets the last bit out in a rush: “If we were to pretend we’re compatible.”

Ummmm. It felt pretty compatible. I squeeze her hips gently. “I don’t think we’re pretending anything. We’ve slept together twice, and that’s okay, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything we don’t want it to mean. You’re okay?”

“I am. Are you?”

I laugh a little. “Of course I am. You’re my best friend, Haze.”

Her eyes meet mine and they’re wide with surprise.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve never said that before.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

I start to think back but it’s honestly immaterial. “Well, it’s true. I’m okay. You’re okay. Most importantly, we’re okay?”

She nods, and finally meets my eyes.

“Now come on. Make me some bad pancakes.”

She slumps with a dopey grin, shuffling back toward the stove. “I mean, if you insist.”

Something unwinds in me at the same time something else tightens. On the one hand, Hazel is back. On the other hand, I feel like we just agreed to maintain the status quo, when I think I want us to evolve.

We made love last night. She has to know that.

She pulls out a mixing bowl. “Did you have fun last night?”

I stare at her. “Um. I thought we already established that, yes, I had fun.”

Laughing, she amends, “I mean before we got back here.”

“Oh. I guess—Sasha is nice. Tyler seemed okay. Mostly I was worried about you.” I study her for a reaction to this. She does a quick scrunch of her nose as if stifling a sneeze. “Feeling better about it this morning?”

She’s only just gotten the flour out and already she has a streak of white on her cheek. “Yeah. I don’t really know why it hit me so hard. It’s good to see him. He seems like he’s in a good place.” Hazel nods a few times, as if she’s convincing herself.

“I thought you told me you were only together for six months. He said two and a half years.”

“He strung me along for two of those years. We weren’t really together; he was just nailing me on the side.” She meets my eyes and crosses hers goofily. “Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot.”

“Guys are idiots when they’re that age. I’m sure he said all the right things to make you think he was coming back every time. He’s several years older now. He seemed pretty remorseful.”

She makes a weird little grimace and then looks away. I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am: Why the hell am I defending him?