My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(17)

UNDER-EXAGGERATING


Hazel

As I zip up my suitcase on Thursday morning, I sniffle. Then, I sniffle a few more times for emphasis.

“Did you hear that? I think I’m coming down with something,” I call out to TJ, who’s toasting bagels in my kitchen. Since bagels are good any time of day, we’re having a send-off lunch before my trip. The flight’s at seven, but I’m leaving for the airport a little after three, just in case.

“You sound just fine,” he says.

I touch my throat then sniffle again. “Gosh, I hope I don’t have a cold. I’d hate to give anyone a cold.”

TJ’s shoes slap against the hardwood floorboards as he strides toward my bedroom, filling up the doorway with his redwood-tree-size frame, holding a mug of coffee. He stares down at me, one eyebrow arched. “Then don’t kiss anyone,” he says, ominously. He doesn’t have to say Axel’s name for me to know who he means.

I wrinkle my nose at that preposterous suggestion, then pop up from my now-closed luggage, stroking my throat again. I force out another cough. “I’m dying. Doesn’t it sound like I’m dying?”

“Dying of pathetic attempts to get out of a trip,” he says.

I sneer at him, then shake a finger. “This is all your fault.”

He cracks up, lifts his cup, takes a drink. “How is this my fault?”

“It’s not! I’m just freaking out,” I blurt out, then I let my shoulders sag. My stomach twists with nerves. “I don’t know how to handle being with Axel for a week. Help.”

My friend closes the distance between us, wraps his free arm around me, and squeezes. “Let’s get you a bagel, and we’ll come up with a game plan.”

I nod, feeling a little better for the moral support. We head to my tiny kitchen, where I blow out a heavy breath. Try to shake off the past. “Sorry. It’s just that seeing him is tougher than I’d thought.”

For so many reasons.

“You miss him,” he says gently, and it’s not a question. It’s just the truth.

I desperately miss the friendship, the camaraderie, the way we understood each other.

“I do,” I say, sad and wistful. Then I shake out my shoulders, like I can shimmy away the emotions. “But I’m just going to…adult my way through this trip. I’ll focus on the readers and the agenda, and then I’ll snag some girl time with Rachel in Paris.”

“Good idea. Make that your reward for adulting with Axel,” he says. “Tell yourself you only get to see her if you’ve been good.”

“Oh, I do like rewards,” I say, excited now.

“I know, Hazel. I know.”

“All right, Rachel is my reward and adulting is the plan. I can do this.”

TJ slugs my arm. “You’ve got this. And for the record, you’ve always adulted with him.”

Have I, though? That day in Chelsea when Axel blindsided me was not my finest moment. Yes, I was surprised, but I didn’t handle the news well that he was leaving the book, the country, and me.

I said some things.

Things I wish I could un-say.

Maybe this trip is a do-over. A chance to adult well. “I need a bagel for strength and sustenance,” I say.

The toaster answers my prayer, popping up with a nicely browned sesame bagel. I grab some butter from the fridge, then smear it on. “I hate cream cheese,” I explain, though TJ knows this, because we wrote cream cheese on my whiteboard shitlist the day he learned of my dislike for it. It was listed under Axel, and also me.

“How do you hate cream cheese again?” he asks.

“Have you tried cream cheese?” I counter, then shudder.

“Yes. It’s too good. Which is why my bagel is naked.” He pats his flat stomach.

I pat his belly too. “Because you like giving Jude your abs.”

His knowing smile says I understand him perfectly. Then he adds, “I like abs.”

I laugh, then an image flashes before me from the other day at the coffee shop. When Axel leaned back in his chair and his shirt rode up the slightest bit, giving me a peek of his stomach, lean and toned.

A tiny shiver has the audacity to slide down my spine.

But that’s the last thing I need as I head to the airport to meet him at the gate when boarding begins.

Because of course we’re sitting together.

Since our publishers think we’re former writing partners who simply split amicably over creative differences but managed to stay friends.

That’s the true fiction.



I’m nearly at the airline counter to check my suitcase when my phone buzzes with a text.

Axel: File this under ‘only in New York.’ A delivery truck just jackknifed by the access road. Boxes spilled out. There are satin Yankees jackets strewn all over the street. I got out of the Lyft. I’m walking the last mile.





He’s sent a photo of the spillage. Holy mountain of shiny pin-striped blue. That’s very New York.

Hazel: Or just order another Lyft on the other side of the exit?



Axel: I considered that. But it’s a bit of a free-for-all. I’m taking my chances walking.





Hazel: TO JFK? YOU’RE WALKING ALONG THE ROAD TO JFK? It’s practically a highway.