My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(69)

And I search through my mind for a beautiful lie. “I just wanted to say…we should write that book.”

Her expression is blank, confused. But then there’s a smile. It’s slow and a little uncomfortable as she says, “We should.”

A few minutes later, we assemble for the photo, then step off the train for good.





35





DATE NIGHT


Hazel

As Axel and I lead the readers on the final activity of the final day of the tour—an hour-long bike tour around the city—I’m thinking about our date tonight when the tour ends.

We’re going to the Tivoli Gardens, the amusement park in the center of town. I can’t wait to ride The Demon and its three ridiculous vertical loops.

Bring on the adrenaline.

I’ll use it as fuel to say, What did you really want to tell me on the train?

I don’t think he was talking about books. I think—I hope—he was hinting at something more, something better.

Like, maybe we can try dating when we finish writing Lacey’s book at the end of the year. As I pump the pedals, riding past a fountain by the harbor, I picture that scenario down the road.

We could go back to New York. Meet up for our writing sessions. Finish the story we promised, and the second we write The End we can explore bougie coffee shops in Brooklyn and mock their ridiculous pour-overs, go to art galleries and figure out how to sneak into them late at night to steal things back (for research of course), then take a tango lesson together because we could both incorporate tango into our stories—him for subterfuge, me for sexual tension.

And all of that, every second, would be foreplay.

The bickering, the bantering.

We could crash into each other at night.

I glance at my phone in the phone holder on the handlebars. Ten more minutes and the tour will be over. We’ll arrive at the hotel in the center of town.

We’ll say our goodbyes to Jackie, Alecia, Maria, Uma, Steven, and all the others. Amy and Jay too.

Then we’ll run off for our date. It’ll be one last night, but maybe a promise of what’s to come.

As I pedal, I practice the words. Want to date me in a few months?

Tonight, under the twinkling lights of the adorably Scandinavian amusement park, will be the perfect time for me to take a chance.

But something nags at me as we cover the final blocks.

What if I’m asking for too much? What if this was just a vacation fling after all? What if I scare him away for good?

When we reach the hotel and lock up our bikes, I can’t shake this doubt. But I shove those thoughts aside since it’s time for goodbyes.

Axel works his way around the group, shaking hands, giving hugs. I do the same until I reach Jackie. “I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow,” I tell her softly.

Her eyes shine. “Thank you for everything.”

My throat tightens, but I clear away my own emotions then tell her, “You better email me and tell me how the deal went for the dog bandanas.”

She crosses her fingers. “I hope it goes well.”

“I know it will,” I tell her, then I hug her once more as my breath hitches. This was a special week in so many ways. It rejuvenated me. It reminded me that I might be the woman who works through her issues with words, but at least those words are reaching people, touching people.

Including myself.

The Book Besties head into a different hotel—I’m glad we have separate ones—and then I walk to Axel, more nervous than I’d thought I’d be. There are no more buffers. It’s just us for one more night.

Will I be brave?

I watch him, still talking intensely to Steven, still giving the guy all his attention, and I decide it’s time for me to change.

To choose better.

Axel’s the best choice I have ever made. I just know it.

There. That’s settled. My pulse evens like a boat lolling on peaceful waves.

But as I wait for him to finish, my phone trills. I grab it. Oh, I know this number. It’s the one that brings a cocktail of nerves and excitement.

My publisher.

Did something happen with the contract? What if they don’t want the book anymore? What if they want ten more books with Axel and me for one million dollars?

“Hello,” I say as I answer, and my voice is rusty.

“Hazel!” It’s Aaron, the publicist.

“Hazel Valentine,” Cady chimes.

“That’s me,” I say, stepping away from the hotel entrance and stopping at the quaint street corner.

“We have news,” Cady practically sings.

“Such good news. You know how well The I Do Redo is selling?”

“Like, everywhere,” Cady tag teams. “The U.S. and the world, and France and just everywhere.”

Everywhere is indeed everywhere. “I’ve heard. Michelle said the same. I’m so glad.”

“Oh, good. So you’ll go?”

Did I miss something? “Go where?”

Aaron tuts. “Cady, you didn’t even tell her.”

“Ack! My bad,” Cady says. “I got ahead of myself. Hazel, An Open Book wants you to do a special signing tomorrow.”

“In New York? When I return?”

I can hear Aaron roll his eyes. “I got this, Cady,” he says to her, then to me. “No, sweetie. In Paris. The store wants you to do a solo event tomorrow, a reader Q and A, and to sign both the French and English editions. Since you’re already there, we thought, easy-peasy. We’ll tack it onto the end. If you can just grab a flight to Paris tonight, you can do it tomorrow and leave from Charles de Gaulle. We’ll handle everything.”