My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(54)

“Or,” she says, holding up a finger, “a new type of wine.”

She goes on to tell me about the research she did with the New York sommelier about grape harvests. “I was dying to disprove the restaurateur,” she says.

“Ah, that’s the malcontent I know,” I say. “I’m so proud of you for wanting to prove someone wrong.”

With a laugh she asks, “And you want to hear the wildest thing of all?”

We’re ten feet from the group, so there’s just enough time. “Always.”

She stops at a street cart, where a vendor peddles fresh fruit. She’s using the cart for protection, so we can talk freely before we’re with the crowd again. Her face is soft, her eyes tender as she says, “When I found out, I wanted to tell you about the raccoons and the bird and the grape harvest. Isn’t that weird?”

My heart squeezes. “That’s the weirdest.”

“Later that day, I found out about the trip. But even before the trip news, I still thought of you,” she says, then knits her brow, like she’s sorting her impulse to talk to me then on the timeline of us.

Before the airplane apology.

Before the fountain confessions.

Even before we started stitching our friendship back together, she still wanted to talk to me.

I was a jerk then.

Hell, that barely covers it. I was a world-class prick, yet she wanted to share the idea of sweet raccoon wine with me.

That confession doesn’t slow the train of my new, unexpected thoughts. It speeds it up. Soon, I’ll need to talk to her about them, or explode.

But first, it’s time for a scavenger hunt.



Hazel was right. Other people do enjoy winning, and focusing on that—and them—takes all the pressure off me.

I’m having—gasp—fun. Steven kills it at solving clues leading to locations from my books. No surprise there. He’s in first place with his teammate, Alecia, collecting photos at all the locations in the hunt.

While we gather outside a tapas bar with flickering white lights, Amy sends the final clue to our phones.

Beside me, Hazel reads out loud from her device. “Here, the metal glistened,” she says, then cuts herself off, shouting, “The Hotel Reyes!”

I laugh as she immediately claps her hand over her mouth, eyes popping like she can’t believe she just spoiled the name of the hotel that hosts a glittery gala in A Beautiful Midnight.

“Sorry!” she says to the group, but the Book Besties are already laughing, and Redheaded College Girl is too. “It’s just my favorite scene in that book.”

Amy laughs as well. “No biggie. And we need to catch the train anyway, so maybe it all works out.”

A smooth baritone cuts through the crowd. “I can hold the train if you need a little more time for the photo.”

That’s Bettencourt, who’s materialized by Amy’s side. Perhaps that’s another thing billionaires do. Materialize.

“That would be great,” she says. “We can get a shot of the tour group outside the hotel.” The Book Besties lose their minds at the suggestion.

As we walk, Hazel explains more to the group again. “I just love when Francesca dances the tango at the gala with the knife in her garter,” she says, unapologetic in her apology.

I love that she loves that scene.

When we make it back to the train—held by Bettencourt, as promised—I put my language lessons to use, ordering drinks in the bar car for the crew.

“Ooh, la la,” Hazel says when I return with her favorite—a chardonnay.

We toast, and soon the conversation returns to the Book Besties and their daily lives. Jackie and her husband are raising two teens, including a high school senior with autism, Alecia’s wife just returned to work after beating breast cancer, and Maria’s going back to college at age forty-five to finish her degree.

We drink and talk about life and all its complications until Jackie says, with a wink in her dark eyes, “So, Noah and Lacey?”

Alecia smacks the table playfully, admonishing her friend. “You are like a dog with a bone, girl. Let it go. I want my ribeye steak reward,” she says, determined to win the bet with her friends over the love interest in our book.

But I want something too.

I want to work with Hazel again. Badly.

I turn to my friend—or friend again I should say. Even though I’ve had a few glasses, I won’t give wine that much power. This is the thought I’ve been marinating all day.

The guy I’ve been thinking of all day.

The guy we left on the operating table more than a year ago. Lacey’s guy.

When our gazes lock, Hazel’s wearing her familiar, public grin.

The one that says she’ll protect me from the will you finish your book question. Like she protected me when I walked away. When I left her holding the bag on the contract. That was such a shitty thing to do. And I hope—I truly hope—she’ll take me back.

I’m glad we learned that secret code long ago so I can use it now. I give a shrug of my right shoulder then a lopsided grin. A gesture that’s always meant I’m all in if you are.

I hold my breath, desperate for her yes, but it comes in no time. Hazel shrieks. “You mean it?”

“I do.”

All day, all the good memories have knocked on the front of my mind. I’ve second guessed myself. I’ve wondered. I’ve worried. But I can’t deny this ache in my creative heart—I’ve missed working with her so much.