Chapter 8Hazel
Chapter 8
Hazel
I just enjoyed the best kiss of my life.
I’m pretty sure that the air around me is vibrating. I’m seeing stars. My body is singing with an aliveness I haven’t felt in years.
No, scratch that…
I have never felt this alive.
This happy.
This excited.
And that might be because I have never kissed a drop-dead-gorgeous man under the moon and stars on an island.
A beautiful island.
Hawaii, I love you, I think, as I mentally calculate my chances of moving here permanently. Maybe Stunt Devil could move here, too, and we could live in one of these bungalows.
We could swim with the dolphins.
We could wake up to views of sunshine and fairy-dusted, sunlight-sprinkled aquamarine surf. We could kiss like that every single day. In those rare times when our lips aren’t locked, we could watch unicorns frolic.
I mean, there must be unicorns on this island. This place is magical.
It takes me a moment to notice that Stunt Devil has adopted an odd expression. His grin fades. One corner of his perfect mouth tips down.
“Excuse me… what did you say?” he mutters.
“My name.”
“Yeah, but… what was it? I think I misheard you.”
“Hazel Thorpe,” I repeat, a little louder this time.
He looks as though he’s just sipped sour milk. “Wait—really? That’s weird.”
A laugh ripples through me because I’m in too good of a mood to be offended by his reaction.
Also, I’m still floating. He just turned my world upside down with that passionate kiss, and my feet still haven’t hit the ground.
I can’t control my dreamy smile. I hear it in my own voice when I speak. “You think my name is weird? Ha. Well, that’s new to me, but I guess it is a little unusual. What’s yours?”
I lean against the doorframe because if I don’t, I might fall. My knees are still weak from our kiss.
“Jack Morgan,” he grunts.
I pinch my eyebrows together.
As I study him, he studies me.
“No way…” I whisper.
He nods. “Yep.”
“You’re—you mean…?”
“Yes, and… yes. It seems so.”
“We just—and you’re…” I cringe. “Oh my gosh .”
He coughs and then steps back again so his feet are planted on the sandy walk instead of my bungalow’s front stoop. “I think I better get going.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I push my hair back up off my face and suck air into my lungs for a new reason. I have to try to get oxygen to my brain cells if I’m going to figure out how the heck I screwed up this badly.
Not only that, but I have to figure out what I’m going to do about it.
I shuffle back into my bungalow, close the door firmly, then spin and rest my back against it.
It’s the same door I let myself fall against when he kissed me moments ago.
On the other side of this door, I was a woman in the throes of the most romantic and passionate encounter of her life.
But now… on this side of the door… I am an idiot.
A total ditz who is paying her coworker—no, worse: her least-favorite coworker—to play fake boyfriend.
I hired my coworker.
I posed for a photo with him.
And then… we kissed.
Not a peck on the cheek, either. Not a polite goodnight kiss.
That kiss was no-holds-barred, anything goes, me pulling him in like my life depended on it.
I have embarrassed myself, even worse than when I posted that rum-inspired ad on Craigslist.
More than when I passed out in the hot tub earlier today.
I shamelessly invited that kiss with my eyes.
All I had to do was look away, but I didn’t. And then, when he placed his lips on mine, I became some Venus Fly Trap, a wonder of nature. I had a live one in my grip, and I refused to let him go.
I have been dealing with Jack Morgan for nearly a year. His emails never fail to annoy me. He’s more than just my least favorite coworker. That’s putting it too mildly.
That’s typical of me, too. Sugar-coating things to make them less threatening. More palatable.
But right now, I have to try—at least try —to be honest with myself.
He’s my rival.
My nemesis.
A major thorn in my side.
Devina is difficult to deal with, but Jack is impossible.
For months and months, I’ve done my best to be professional in my interactions with Jack Morgan. But every time I see his name or work email, I clench my teeth.
When I interact with him on work platforms, I think the same things: He’s reckless, dumb, and too confident for his own good.
It bugs me to no end that he promises big things to clients without a clue how to deliver. Bravado and swagger make for a good salesperson, but they make for a pretty lame person as a whole.
I figured Jack Morgan was a nightmare in real life: cocky, suave, a real ladies’ man.
I knock the back of my head gently against the door.
Shoot .
Did I fall under his spell today because of all those things?
I mean, I was attracted to his confidence right away. I liked how he looked me directly in the eyes. I lapped up his compliments. He literally swept me up in his arms, and I swooned like a damsel in distress.
The whole evening, I was like the typical wallflower at a school dance, getting wooed by the talkative Prom King. Blossoming in his presence. I opened up to him.
It felt like a dream come true, but now I see it from a new perspective.
Wallflowers don’t end up with Prom Kings. That’s just not how the story goes.
Jack Morgan charmed me. I let it happen… and chalked it up to good luck.
Welp.
It was not good luck. This is awful .
I can’t believe I let this happen. I should have figured out who he was at some point between the hot tub and our goodnight smooch.
I mean… we talked.
A lot.
Didn’t work come up?
I know it did. I mentioned how I work from home. I’m pretty sure I made some stupid joke about how, most days, I don’t get dressed until the afternoon. He said he works remotely, too, but can’t stand sitting at a desk. “I cruise around in my truck all day, on the phone for most of it.”
We traded stories about poor management and the ups and downs of working for big companies… and then moved on.
There’s the problem. We never said exactly what each of us was doing—me from my desk, him from his truck.
And we never brought up company names.
Or… name .
We’re both employed by the same company: Buzzy Digital Marketing. We have the same manager. The same pool of clients. I have exchanged hundreds of emails with Jack Morgan, and if the pattern continues, as patterns tend to do, my future holds hundreds more.
How the heck am I supposed to ever deal with him about work stuff again after what we just did?
The thought of forging forward in my professional life after this big of a blunder makes me want to crawl under a rock and stay there for a couple of years. Not to mention the fact that going out to a lovey-dovey dinner that ends with a kiss is definitely against company rules.
What have I done?
I bury my head in my hands and just wait as a wave of shame and embarrassment washes over me.
In this darkness, I’m seeing it all again: how I batted my lashes at him. Pouted my lips. I remember the feel of my hand sliding up the cotton of his Hawaiian shirt, running over all those long, taut back muscles of his.
Ugh .
I just had the best kiss of my life… And it was with a man I can’t stand.
I’m going to have to deal with the repercussions of this.
That kiss will haunt me.
Slowly, sadly, I peel myself off the door.
I need a shower and my comfy pajamas. A bed, a pillow, and a life that doesn’t include deep shame over a stupidly passionate, moonlit kiss.