The Prospect (Crawfield Football Club #3)

18. H A Z E L

EIGHTEEN

H A Z E L

“So…what do you think?” Amira holds two dresses up against her body and surveys herself up and down in the reflection of the mirror. “I like the black one because it’s the safe option. It’s classic, sleek, and compliments my figure, perfectly. And as for the red one, well , it’s?—”

“Amira, you realize that they're the exact same dress. Right?” I can’t help but sarcastically remark as I carefully guide some eyeliner along my lash line. “Just pick a color. Who cares?” I shrug. “You already know it’ll look amazing regardless.”

“ Hazel Jane Collins !” Amira’s use of my full name forces me to jump back in surprise and screw up my eyeliner— yet again . “How could you say something like that?”

I groan, reaching for a makeup wipe to wipe away this catastrophe. You’d think, as an artist, I’d be a master at this, but no one tells you that oftentimes, the hardest canvas to perfect is your own face. This is a mess.

“Say something like what? What did I say?”

“That colors don’t matter!” she reminds me. “How could you say something like that when you once spent an hour explaining the intricacies of color theory to me? So enlighten me, Hazel. How do colors not matter?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek as Amira pulls up a chair and plants herself in front of me, awaiting my response.

I say nothing and it’s a response in itself as she flashes me a confident smirk.

“That’s what I thought…” Amira snatches both the eyeliner and makeup wipe away from my grasp and pouts her lips. “Now, let’s make a deal. You help me decide which color dress to go for, and I’ll save you the trouble of having to buy another eyeliner pen. Seriously, the amount of times you’ve applied this thing and taken it off…” She stares down at it in her palm. “I’m surprised you even have any left.”

I sigh in defeat. She knows she’s backed me into a corner here, so much so that before I can even agree to her plan, Amira takes the liberty to start wiping away the residual makeup around my eyes and start all over.

“So,” she begins. “What color dress do you think I should go with? Black or red? Give me all the details.”

“Well, if you go for the black, you’re right. There’s a sense of elegance and sophistication associated with that color and sometimes…” I recite my infinite knowledge of color theory from the top of my head, “a little bit of mystery .”

Amira tilts my chin to the right so that she can work on my other eye. “‘Mystery’?” she repeats, eyes full of delight. “Hmm, I like that, it’s giving sexy. It's giving scandalous. But what about red?” she prompts me to go on. “What does red mean, again?”

“Well, red,” I explain, “is quite simplistic. Red symbolizes passion. It’s the complete poster child for all those deep emotions that live inside of us, most especially….love.” I almost have a hard time saying the word out loud. “Red means love.”

Amira finishes with my other eye in record time as she leans back proudly into her chair. “Love, huh?” She stands, walking back over to where she discarded the dresses, and, little to my surprise, reaches for the red one. “Thank you for that lesson, Professor Hazel,” she jokes. “Or dare I say, color master.”

“You helped me, I helped you. It was a win-win.” I scour for some lipstick within my makeup bag. My selection is quite literally the epitome of slim picking.

“Here. Use this.” Amira tosses me her own from across the room. I barely scramble to catch it, only when I do and pop off the lid, I can see that the color she’s selected perfectly matches her dress.

Red.

I cock a brow. “Don’t you, uh—want to wear this?” I can’t help but wonder. “I mean, it only makes sense. It matches.”

“Nah, you take it,” she urges me. “I mean, all this talk of love, Hazel, it only makes sense that you wear a little bit of it too.” She flashes me a wink. “Besides,” she continues, ready to escape into the bathroom, “I figured that whatever I have on my lips will be wiped off by the end of the night anyway, and if I know one thing about red, it leaves a stain…”

I stare off into the empty space that remains as Amira disappears into the bathroom before eventually, I turn back to face the mirror, toying with the thought of will I or won’t I apply this shade when in reality, the answer is obvious.

Love is all I’ve ever wanted in my life.

Love has been the number one thing that has brought me joy, passion, and happiness over the years. It only makes sense to wear this shade. To invite this emotion in with Hart. But as I stare down at my lips, waiting to apply the product, a conflicting pang strikes through my stomach. It’s one I’ve felt in the days leading up to tonight.

The party.

Whenever I look at my lips I can’t help but be reminded of the kiss that Green and I shared. It’s left me trapped in my mind as the memory continually comes back to haunt me time and time again.

Is haunt even the right word?

I have no clue.

Perhaps applying this pigment will serve as a mask? Help me to forget the feeling of Green and urge the ache that is Hart. He’s been a gem, seriously. I think he’s more excited for tonight than me, which, if I’m being honest, isn’t all that hard.

It’s taken a lot for me to combat the voice in my mind that never fails to remind me that going out tonight could be a recipe for disaster, but that’s my past talking. There’s nothing I can say or do tonight that will surmount the truth I once exposed to Amira many years ago.

The fact is, as long as I keep my mouth shut, my drinking to a minimum, and stick by Hart’s side, I should be good.

Right?

If I think about it, Green and I are in a better place now. We were able to get over whatever hurdle of emotions we seemed to be combating earlier in the week, and now, we share a mutual level of understanding.

Clearly, he’s happy that I’m with Hart.

And I’m happy he’s with Amira…

The plan is progressing, just like we wanted and after tonight, hopefully, we’ll be past the halfway mark.

I don’t know if that fact scares or excites me, all I know is I don’t have enough time to debate it as Amira theatrically steps out from the bathroom and raises her arms into the air.

“Ready to get this show on the road?” She does a 360 spin so that I can take in her dress from every angle.

She’s perfection if perfection were a person, and with that thought, I quickly swipe the lipstick along my lips before securing the cap back on and rising to my feet.

“Ready,” I tell her, reaching for my purse. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Perfect.” Amira grasps a hold of my hand as she uses the other to twist the doorknob and swing it open. “Then let’s allow the fun to begin, shall we?”

GREEN

“Listen to me, Hart. You better make sure that you keep an eye on her tonight. Hazel’s not a big fan of crowds.”

“‘Not a big fan of crowds’?” Hart looks over at me skeptically, just like he’s done with most of my simple requests regarding Hazel tonight. “What about our matches?” he debates. “There’s thousands upon thousands of people there. She always seemed perfectly fine to me.”

“Games are different,” I protest in her defense. “Hazel’s comfortable at the stadium. I’ve made sure of that over the years. You wanna know what she’s not comfortable with? Parties .”

Hart momentarily peels his eyes away from the road so that he can roll them in distrust. “Are you sure it’s Hazel that’s not comfortable, Green? ‘Cause it kinda sounds like it’s you…”

I huff out in frustration. This is not some flip-the-switch, reverse psychology shit. This is the truth. Boy, is he painful to speak to.

“Can you, for once, try and listen to me, Hart?” I plead, growing fearful that he’s not taking everything I’m saying seriously. “I know what I’m talking about here. Believe me!”

“And why’s that?” Hart pulls up alongside the curb, shifting the gear into park. “How do you know all of this about Hazel, huh?”

“Because!” I turn in my chair so that I’m directly facing him. “Not only is Hazel my best friend, Hart, but I’ve known her for almost my whole life. So, trust what I say is true.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Hart opens up his car door and steps out, leaning against the roof as we continue the conversation. “But I seriously don’t think that you’ve needed to lecture me for the past thirty minutes about everything. It’s not necessary, Green. Don’t you think these are details about Hazel that I should get to know about myself? Isn’t that the whole objective of getting to know someone?”

Hart’s got a point— for once . I’ll admit, I have spent the entire car ride over here explicitly outlining every detail that I can think of when it pertains to Hazel, especially in relation to this party. I feel like I had no other choice. It’s always my job to look out for her, whether she realizes it or not, and like everything in my life, I take my job seriously…

For example, Hart doesn’t know that when Hazel drinks, she gets extremely dehydrated. How can I trust that she’s going to be okay if he isn’t aware of this?

Or what if Hazel says, “This is my favorite song,” and starts to bob her head along to the music? Hart should know that isn’t an automatic invitation to dance. I bet Hart doesn’t even know Hazel hates dancing almost as much as she hates when people push her too.

Christ, he should consider himself lucky right now. If anything, I’m looking out for him as much as I’m looking out for her. He should be on his knees thanking me for this great advice. Instead, he’s grumbling as he tucks his keys into his back pocket and says, “Listen, Green, I get that you’re looking out for Hazel, but give it a rest, will ya? How about you focus on your birdie instead, alright, mate?”

His remark irks me beyond belief. It’s one thing to tell someone to stay in their own lane, which, with full-respect, I get. I wouldn’t particularly like it if Hart was lecturing me on Amira right now, but it’s another to say something like that to someone when you’re referring to the closest person in their life.

I’ve tried my best to let go of the animosity I felt toward Hart earlier last week—his gloating about the photo, his affection, his use of my nickname. Hazel had a way of ridding my mind free from those thoughts and reminding me that no matter what, we’re irreplaceable, but still, I can’t deny this lingering sense of distaste I feel…

Not so deep down I want Hazel to be happy with Hart, I do, yet a part of me can't help but fixate on the fact that tonight is the night—step three.

The kiss.

I won’t lie. I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss Amira from the very moment I first laid eyes on her. I’d be a fool not to have wondered what she tastes like, but with that passing thought comes another, that at any given moment as my lips touch Amira’s, Hazel’s could press into Hart’s.

I don’t shudder at the thought, but my chest tightens with it, so much so that I roll my shoulders back to ease the tension.

Why am I feeling this way?

I shrug it off.

There’s a reason why I urged Hart to be the DD tonight. A sober Hart means a less handsy Hart. Trust me when I say that. We’ve been to a few clubs together over the years, and the last thing I want to see tonight is him all over Hazel. It’s not that I don’t think I can handle it. It’s that I don’t know how I’m going to react if I do…

I really don’t.

“Are they on their way?” Hart asks as we approach the front of the house, side-stepping around the crowds of people who are already stumbling over themselves.

It’s only nine.

The girls decided to make their own way here tonight, which, if I’m reading into it, was just an excuse for some more time to get ready.

As I peer down at my phone, I can see a few missed messages from Amira. I’ve been slow to respond to her all night. At first, I was caught up in getting ready myself and then once Hart swung by to pick me up, I suppose I got sidetracked on my rant about Hazel...

The truth is, I’m looking forward to seeing Amira, I am, and as much as it pains me to admit it, Hart’s right. I do need to focus on her tonight. I know Hazel can stand her ground. Her cahoots with Hart should be the least of my concerns—not the only thing circling through my mind.

“They’re nearly here,” I relay Amira’s message to Hart, quickly responding to say we’ve arrived.

She immediately follows up with, “Meet us outside.”

I urge Hart with a nod of my head to follow me back down the front steps, where, within a matter of seconds, I see them.

Hazel and Amira.