My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(67)

When Hazel’s brushing her teeth, I don’t come up behind her and dust a kiss onto her neck like I want to.

Instead, I pull back the bow, meeting her gaze in the mirror as she saws her toothbrush across her teeth. “Have you added one yet to your next rom-com?”

Her eyes become question marks.

“A quirky pet,” I clarify. The conversation at our unexpected dinner seems longer than a little over a month ago.

She nods sagely, then speaks through a mouthful of mint. “Do snakes count?”

Damn.

She wastes no time.

I try again, grabbing another arrow from the quiver, tossing a glance at the bed beyond the door. The duvet is tangled on her side of the mattress. “I’m kind of amazed I survived the cover ambush the last few nights.”

She spits then shoots me a curious look. “Want a T-shirt that says I Shared a Bed With Hazel Valentine And All I Got Was This T-Shirt Since She’s a Cover Hog?”

Well, fuck. Someone is sharper than I am. She returns to brushing her teeth. Or rather, attacking them with a toothbrush.

“Careful now. That toothbrush might file a restraining order against you,” I say.

I grab my toothbrush as she shoots me a narrow-eyed stare in the mirror, then spits in the sink. “I’ll have you know I do some great thinking while I’m destroying toothbrushes,” she says.

I can’t keep up with her, so I go for the low blow. “Then by all means, attack it again…sweetheart.”

She stops brushing on that word. Like it’s dirty.

Because it is.

I probably shouldn’t have said that.

I definitely shouldn’t have said it. She knows it was a weapon.

But she doesn’t call me on it. Instead, she lifts the brush again, then, meeting my gaze in the mirror like a cat refusing to look away, says coolly, “I will, Axel. Or should I call you my nemesis again?”

Ah, hell.

I should have known better. She’s too sharp, too clever, too perfectly matched.

“That or…jerk,” I say, apologetically.

With a roll of her eyes she mutters, “Sexy jerk.”

And like that, I’m forgiven.

And like that, I fall a little more.

And all I want to do is tell her how I feel. Words well up inside me, threatening to burst free. I’m in love with you and it sucks.

I really need to keep my mouth busy today.

Maybe this toothbrush will save me. I jam it in my mouth and imitate her. Attacking my teeth as I brush so damn hard.

This is not us.

This is not real.

We don’t brush our teeth together in the morning and bicker as foreplay.

That’s it. I know how to stay the course and survive. But it’ll require some finesse. Good thing I’m an expert finesser.

Once she leaves the tiny bathroom and roots around in her suitcase, which I relocated to my room last night, I come up behind her, sliding a hand up her back just the way she likes, slow and seductive.

She shivers, then murmurs.

Over the last few days, I’ve learned some of the things she likes. I wish I could learn more. I wish I could help her discover new things she likes too. And, conversely, I wish I could unlearn so many things about her as well—that she wishes on fountains, that she hogs the bed, that she wants to choose better, that she loves to explore and lift up others, and to tell stories all day and into the night. And that she supports me, encourages me, and sees through me.

I don’t know what to do with this Hazel knowledge. All these facts and details are overflowing in my head, and there’s hardly room for them, yet I want to fill my brain with more, more, more.

I bring my lips to her ear, flick my tongue against the lobe. “I was a jerk just then,” I whisper. I need to apologize but it’ll also help my shut-my-mouth cause.

“You were, but you don’t scare me, Axel Huxley.”

My heart spins faster. I am so fucked.

“I shouldn’t have called you sweetheart,” I continue, and this time the nickname comes out tender, full of all the feelings for her.

She leans back against me, warm and eager. “Or say it like that instead,” she urges.

I need to escalate. Right fucking now. I shift gears, full speed ahead with dirty talk. “I don’t want to make out. I want to fuck you again.” I take a beat, then add, low and smoky, “With my tongue.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, then she drops the blouse she just picked up. She leans back against me. “And you think I want that?”

She’s so fucking good at our games too, whether it’s bickering or banter, whether it’s one-upmanship or word play. She’s the perfect partner in crime, in games, in…everything.

“You do. So sit on my face, Hazel.”

A minute later, I’m lying on the bed, and she’s not hovering; she’s sitting, pressing, pushing. I love that she grinds against me shamelessly. My mouth is thoroughly occupied as I make her come hard.

Too bad it defeats my purpose.

Because when she flops next to me, running her fingers down my chest, I want to get closer. I want to tell her that she can come over every night in New York. Or I’ll go to her place. I don’t care where we are. I just want to be with her.

And on that never-going-to-happen thought, I need to get some coffee and eggs really fucking soon to shut me up for the next day.