My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(72)

And like maybe, just maybe, I can see my future.





37





THAT LUCKY GUY


Axel

This is fun.

Not.

The last thing I wanted to do tonight was to wander the streets of Copenhagen all alone. But you don’t always get what you want and c’est la fucking vie.

I pass a sidewalk café full of tall men and women drinking beers, enjoying each other’s company.

I jerk my gaze away.

Maybe I’ll stay out all night long. I couldn’t get an earlier flight out of this godforsaken city, so I’ll just turn it into a work night. I’ll spend the next several hours wandering Copenhagen till dawn.

What else am I going to do? Not like I can ruin my fountain wish now by spewing up love professions to Hazel. She’s au revoired.

As I stalk through the city, I record the surroundings, taking pictures with my phone, writing notes on an app. I’ll return to all of this later when Brooks will have to escape from a villain in this city.

Maybe he’ll even do it over there. Yup. Across the street by the harbor.

I wait at the red light at the corner, then bound toward the canals that wrap around the city. I stop at the edge of a bridge, staring at the boats docked for the night—the ones that are used for boat tours past palaces and opera houses and all the sights I want to see with Hazel.

Why the fuck did I have to stop here?

That’s it. I’m nixing boat tours from my next book. Especially boat tours where the hero kisses the woman he’s been in love with for so long it messes with his whole head, his heart, his sense of the universe.

Instead, Brooks will come here, and he’ll have no other way to evade the villain than to jump off the bridge and land in a motorboat right below, then take off.

Sort of like I did this afternoon, jumping away from Hazel before she could leave me.

Introspective much?

I shake my head, annoyed at the intrusive thoughts brought on by doubt. I do my damnedest to ignore any and every emotion as I write more notes under a starlit sky when a smooth, deep voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Let me guess. You’re pondering.”

I jerk around. It’s Bettencourt. What is up with him? The dude really does appear out of thin air. Billionaire superpowers.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, like it’s a cross-examination.

“I just finished dinner nearby.” Oh. Okay, so he doesn’t really materialize. It’s just a coincidence. He waves toward the starlit river. “And I saw you staring at the water, contemplating the meaning of life, love, and a woman you can’t stop thinking of.”

Get out of my fucking head. “Why would I be doing that?”

“Occupational hazard of being an utter romantic,” he says. It’s not even a question. It’s just a statement.

I snort. “I’m not a romantic.”

He smiles, like okay, have it your way. “Then perhaps it just seemed familiar. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. Did it in Paris last night. Sorted out some things.”

The character bio I wrote for him was all wrong too. Billionaires aren’t supposed to figure shit out in one night. “You did?”

“Yes. Like what I want most out of life.” His gaze strays to the restaurant as if he’s hunting for someone, hope in his eyes.

“I’m just researching tonight. That’s all,” I say, firm and decisive since I don’t want to admit more. I don’t want to crack open my heart to somebody who is hitting way too close to home.

“Research is good too. Nothing wrong with that,” he says, generously.

Giving me an out.

Right now, I hate him on principle. Because I see myself in him. Or maybe I see who I wish I could be when, seconds later, Amy’s striding over to his side. He turns away from me, eyes only for her. When she joins him, he kisses her. Quick. Declarative. She’s his. Then he turns back to me, keeping an arm wrapped tightly around her. “Good luck with your research, Axel. I hope it leads you to an answer. And thank you.”

“For what?” Is he talking about the exchange we just had?

“For the books you write. For what they led to. They led to this tour. It led to your publisher hiring this amazing woman for the tour. It led to her entering my life. It led to me pondering but not for long.”

Amy laughs then squeezes his hand. “Thank god you didn’t ponder for long, Jay.”

“If you and Hazel weren’t on this tour, I might not ever have met my Amy,” he says.

Then he says goodnight and walks off with a woman he’s fallen in love with after only a few days on a train.

That lucky guy.

He makes it look so easy.





38





STUBBORN FOOL


Hazel

My mother’s words stay with me the next morning as I brush my teeth.

Or attack them.

I am hard on myself.

I do beat myself up, judging and berating all the time.

So today, I choose differently. I don’t have to be as hard on my heart as I am on my teeth. I ease up on the brushing, and perhaps I can learn to relent too, on the way I beat myself up over my past.

I finish, then get dressed to head out for the afternoon. I convinced Rachel to meet me for lunch. Once my blouse is buttoned and my hair dried, I quickly Google nearby brasseries.