Chapter 13
PENN
A few months back, Harry Styles—Ally’s cat—hopped up on the kitchen counter and fell into a sink full of soapy water.
Ally ran to fish him out and then she wrapped him in a towel so his bedraggled, wet face was the only thing peeking out as she snuggled the startled animal.
I felt bad for the guy, I really did, but his expression was totally hilarious: frozen in wide-eyed, horrified shock.
Tonight, when Hazel comes back from the bathroom wearing one of my T-shirts and sees me lying in my bed, her face takes on the same wide-eyed, horrified expression.
I have to laugh, because while this scenario might sound like something conjured straight out of my fantasies—a beautiful girl I enjoy spending time with about to get into bed with me—the reality is a lot less sexy, and a lot more startled cat-like than I would have dreamt it.
“Stop laughing!” Hazel shuts the door and then her hands immediately go to the hem of my T-shirt, tugging it in an attempt to make it longer, even though it already hangs to her mid-thigh. Hazel’s tall, but I’m taller.
“I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” I tell her through a chuckle. “It’s just—you look like Ally’s cat after it fell in the sink…” I trail off into laughter again, and Hazel frowns.
“I look like a wet cat?!” she demands, putting her hands on her hips—until the action has the shirt creeping higher on her thighs and she remembers what she’s wearing and hurriedly grabs the hem again, tugging it back down.
She looks cute this way, more undone without her usual loafers and plaid skirt.
I like it.
“No, no.” I shake my head, trying to stop my laughter. “You just looked really spooked when you walked in here.”
“Because I wasn’t expecting to come back from the bathroom and find you naked!”
“What?” I prop myself up on my hands so I’m sitting up in bed, then pull the comforter down, showing my lower half. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Bubbles. I’m wearing pajama pants. Obviously.”
Hazel eyes my bare chest warily before she glances down quickly to see my pants for herself. A flush creeps over her neck. “I just saw you not wearing a shirt and assumed you didn’t have pants on, either.”
“I can always lose the pants if you prefer,” I say with a smirk, remembering how gentle teasing seems to relax her and make her feel more comfortable.
“Keep them on, Playboy,” she orders huffily, but I can tell she wants to smile—which means I’ve hopefully succeeded in easing some of her worries.
“I run hot,” I explain now that she seems more relaxed. “I usually just sleep in my boxers, but I wore pants tonight because you’re here. I can put a shirt on too if that would make you more comfortable.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay…” Her eyes linger on me for another moment, roaming over my shoulders and pecs. “You have a lot of ink.”
“I do,” I say, amused and intrigued by her eyes on me.
“Anyway,” she says, blinking suddenly like she just realized she was staring. “How does this usually work?”
“Sleeping?” I shoot her a grin, “Well, I’m not sure how you do it, but I usually lie down, turn out the light, and close my eyes…”
“Shut it, you smart-aleck.” She picks up a pillow from my armchair and throws it at me. “I meant, like, do you have a side of the bed you sleep on, do you sleep with a noise machine, do you have a nightlight or any ambient lighting that you—”
“Hey, Hazel?” I interrupt her.
“Yes?”
“Don’t overthink it.” I pat the bed next to me. “It’s just a regular old sleepover between a fake boyfriend and girlfriend. And I know you already nixed any funny business, as you call it, but I’m open to any other kinds of business.” I wink at her. “Or pleasure.”
“You’re relentless,” Hazel says with a groan, but I don’t miss the way her lips twitch as she walks around to the side of the bed and pulls back the covers. “All we are going to do tonight is sleep.”
She slides into the bed next to me, and lies on her side so we’re looking at each other.
Her curls spill over the pillow, and I can smell the scent of her sweet shampoo.
A stray ringlet falls over her forehead, and without thinking, I reach over and push it out of her eyes.
My fingertips graze the soft skin on her forehead as I do, and she inhales sharply.
The sound stirs something in me that should definitely not be stirring right now, and I shift backwards towards the edge of the bed to give her as much room as possible.
“You okay?” I ask, fixing my eyes on hers. “Are you comfortable?”
I’m not talking about how comfy the bed is, and she knows it.
“I am.” She nods. “Thank you.”
“Good. Sweet dreams, Bubbles,” I say in response as I reach out to flip off the light.
“Goodnight, Playboy,” she says into the darkness, her voice a little breathy as she adds, “I cannot believe I am in your bed right now.”
I smile up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, her breathing begins to slow, but I lie awake for a while. My mind replays that sexy little sound she made when I touched her over and over until I finally fall asleep and dream of soft, freckled skin and chestnut curls twisted in my hands.
I wake up to a weight on my chest and an ache radiating through my torso.
“Mmph,” I moan as my eyes reluctantly crack open, putting an abrupt end to a dream I was thoroughly enjoying.
Morning light filters through the blinds, and I look down in surprise to see that the weight on my chest is Hazel—at some point in the night, we must have shifted around in our sleep and found each other, because she’s draped over me…
and the ache is courtesy of a very sharp, bony elbow that's currently digging into my ribs.
I reach over her and gently attempt to nudge her elbow out of the way.
When that doesn’t work, I push a little harder.
She lets out a big sigh in her sleep and her arm jerks straight out and then falls over me, curling around my shoulder.
I breathe out a sigh of relief, happy her stabby elbow isn’t impaling my ribs anymore, but then she moves again.
“Mmm,” Hazel murmurs sleepily, snuggling her face into my chest. Her hair fans out behind her, tickling my skin, and I freeze, unsure what to do. I don’t want to wake her, but I also don’t want her to think I was taking advantage of her by letting her cuddle up to me in her sleep.
Luckily, I’m saved by Fisher, who pounds on my door. “Matthews, get your butt out of bed! We gotta leave in ten!” he hollers. Then, he chuckles. “Oh, and good morning, Hazel. Hope you slept well…or not at all.”
At the mention of her name, Hazel startles awake and tries to sit up, but her arm is still draped across my chest. She looks down, sees how close we are, and her eyes go wide.
Quickly, she scurries as far away from me as she can get.
As Fisher’s footsteps and laughter fade down the hallway, I yawn and stretch, feigning like him banging on the door woke me up, too.
“Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” I ask, all casual. Like she wasn’t just lying on top of me.
Hazel rubs her eyes, then looks at her phone and startles. “Ohmygosh! It’s seven a.m.?”
I wince. “Sorry for the early wakeup call; we gotta be on the ice by eight sharp.”
“No, no, it’s just—I’m usually up at five-thirty. I start every morning with an hour of yoga. I can’t believe I didn’t wake earlier.”
I shift and roll out of bed, willing myself to think of anything that’s not Hazel doing downward dog position in tight yoga pants. “Well, clearly my bed worked its magic, and you had the best night of your life,” I say as I open my dresser to grab clean sweats.
Her breath hitches at my words. She looks over at me, all messy bedhead and heady-lidded eyes, and holy hell what I wouldn’t give right now for the opportunity to give her the best night of her life for real.
“You mean the best night’s sleep of my life,” Hazel corrects primly.
“Obviously.” I smirk as I open my closet and slide a Lions hoodie off a hanger.
I can feel the way her eyes track my movements.
“Do you want to hang out here while I’m at practice?
You’ve got your books and laptop, right?
Ally usually goes to the gym for an early run, so you’d have the place to yourself. You could study in peace.”
Hazel frowns down at her phone. “Chadwick texted a few minutes ago, he’s back already. I should probably go downstairs and get my new key from him before he disappears again.”
I almost tell her she can just sleep here again if that happens, but I bite back the words. She obviously needs to go to her own place, where all her stuff is, at some point. Even if that douche is hanging out there like a bad smell you can’t get rid of.
“Okay. I’ll walk you down there on my way out.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Our eyes meet, and Hazel smiles. A smile that makes something in my stomach unexpectedly flip.
It’s fake, I remind myself. She’s awesome, and pretty, and surprisingly fun to hang out with…
as a friend. That’s what we are now, I think.
Friends who share a common enemy. I’m attracted to her—very much so—and I’m pretty sure she’s attracted to me, too, but that’s where it ends.
I live to flirt and tease, but that’s it.
I’m no longer interested in casual hookups, but that doesn’t change the fact I don’t do relationships.
Even if I did, it’s not like I’d be prime potential boyfriend material for a beautiful PhD candidate who’s nearly four years older than me.
Especially not if guys like Weatherby are her usual type—all slick and smooth while I’m jagged edges.
So instead of smiling back, I smirk and nod down at the clothes in my hands. “Now, can you please stop checking me out so I can get changed for practice.”
Hazel rolls her eyes and sighs as she looks away. “That ego of yours is going to need its own zip code soon.”
I quickly shrug off my pajamas and change into sweats and hoodie. As I do so, I spot her clothes from yesterday, neatly folded on the armchair. “Hey, do you want some of my sweats to wear home?”
She begins to shake her head but then stops and nods. “I was going to say no, but actually, yes. Chadwick will hate me coming back wearing your clothes.”
“Hazel Palmer, look at you! You’re mastering this fake dating to piss off your ex thing. Such a fast learner.”
“I have a good teacher.”
“That, you do,” I reply. My voice is light, but the fact that she’s thinking about Chad-dick at all right now serves as a much-needed reminder that Hazel’s just out of a relationship.
She was with him for a year; I’m sure there are still some lingering feelings there—otherwise she wouldn’t be going through all this trouble to make him jealous.
Awful as Chadwick might be, there’s always a chance she could go running back to him if those lingering feelings for him grow.
I don’t know much about love—it’s not like I grew up surrounded by good examples of it—but I do know it isn’t always logical, and it can make you do things you’d otherwise be too smart to do.
I pass Hazel a turquoise Lions hoodie—the color of our team’s home jerseys, just so Chadwick definitely won’t mistake what she’s wearing for a single second—and one of my favorite pairs of sweatpants, a soft old gray pair that are almost threadbare.
“Well, I’d say that was a successful first sleepover.”
“First? That’s presumptuous.”
“Nope, it’s accurate. Next sleepover’s gonna be at your place. Little bit of light torture for Chad-dick to punish him for locking you out last night.”
Our eyes meet, and this slow, almost wicked smile spreads over Hazel’s face. “I think I might like that idea.”
“Me too,” I reply with a grin of my own. “Maybe I can sleep over after our game tonight and make it two sleepovers in a row? We don’t have practice until tomorrow afternoon, so there will be plenty of time for you to show me your fancy yoga moves in the morning.”
“Not a chance.”
“Agree to disagree.” I worry my teeth into my lower lip, suddenly a little nervous to ask my next question.
“Hey, um, are you still…coming to the game?” I ask, my voice way more hesitant than I want it to be.
I almost feel like a kid again; that kid who was always one step away from rejection, so he tried to never get his hopes up.
“I got you a ticket to sit with Ally,” I add stupidly.
I’ve never asked a girl to come to one of my NHL games before. Never asked a girl to come to one of my college games, either. While I know Hazel isn’t actually my girlfriend, I care about her opinion of me, so wanting her to see me play is more important than I realized.
“Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it,” Hazel replies, which makes me weirdly happy.
Too happy, probably, but what the hell.
I should take my own advice, the advice I gave Hazel last night and not overthink things. So what if I want to impress her?
There might be an expiration date on this fake dating agreement between us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it while it lasts.