29. The official Asshole Rating Scale
29
THE OFFICIAL ASSHOLE RATING SCALE
CAMPBELL
We should talk,” I said, shimmying back into my boxer briefs. My body felt loose-limbed and sated. My muscles were relaxed. My balls were empty. Mentally, I could feel myself tying up in knots.
“About what?” Hazel asked, shoving a dip-coated chip into her mouth. She was wearing my shirt and nothing else, which made it hard for me to concentrate.
We’d eventually made our naked way to her sitting room and given the brand-new couch a worthy breaking in. I’d come twice, so hard that I earned a charley horse in my hamstring for my trouble. She’d hit a trifecta and then begged for food, so now we were having a fucking snack picnic on her floor, watching a trash reality show on the TV that was still propped against its box.
I liberated a potato chip from the bag and gestured with it. “This.”
“You wanna talk about French onion dip?”
“Hazel.”
“Campbell.”
She was going to make me say all the stupid things that I’d rather she just intuitively understand. “I want to make sure we’re clear on where things stand.”
“And where do they stand?” She muted the TV.
“I’m not looking for…anything.” Anything besides more of what we’d just done. A lot more. But I didn’t want to sound like a sex-obsessed asshole.
Unconcerned, she steered another chip through the container of dip. “What kind of anything are you not looking for?”
“You know. The relationship kind.”
The chip paused halfway to her mouth. “Do you not remember the very formal agreement we signed before you put your dick in me on my desk?”
“We weren’t exactly thinking clearly at the time,” I pointed out.
“Oh my God. Are you seriously sitting here thinking that the sex was so good I’m automatically going to demand a committed relationship with you?”
Yes. But I was smart enough not to actually say it out loud.
“I just want to make sure we’re still on the same page,” I said hastily.
“The ego on you, Campbell Bishop. Let me put your mind at ease. You’re very good at sex. So good that I wouldn’t mind revisiting every flat surface in this house with you. However, you are not relationship material. You’re moody. Your communication skills are nonexistent. Half the time you act like it’s physically painful to be around other humans?—”
“Okay. All right. You can stop with the laundry list of flaws. You’re no peach yourself.”
She wielded a chip menacingly. “You automatically go on the attack instead of using your damn ears. I don’t want a relationship with you. You’d be way too much work, and I’ve already got enough irons in the fire. I don’t need to take on another project.”
Despite the fact that she was agreeing with me, I was offended. I opened my mouth to argue, but she stuffed a chip in it instead.
“Chew on this before you ruin everything.”
“There’s nothing for me to ruin,” I insisted.
Hazel rolled her eyes. “Listen. I’m gonna cut you some slack because it’s obvious you’re freaking out over how awesome I am naked. The bottom line is, I have no interest in pursuing anything but the physical side of things with you.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she just hurt my feelings.
“You want more sex,” I said slowly.
“You’re good at it, and you’re convenient.”
That was not exactly a ringing endorsement of my existence as a man. But it was exactly what I wanted. So why did I feel…whatever this weird, unsettled feeling was?
“But consent is important,” she continued. “So it’s up to you. I like sex. I really liked it with you. We both have a lot going on, and it sounds like the last thing either one of us wants or needs is a relationship. Ergo, we could continue our strings-free sex-having for the foreseeable future until we get tired of meaningless orgasms.”
I didn’t see how it was possible for anyone to get tired of the kind of orgasms I’d just experienced.
“We should think about it,” I decided. Maybe Hazel didn’t feel like her brain was sex-scrambled, but sitting next to her while she wore nothing but my shirt was messing with my judgment.
“That’s fair,” she agreed. “We’ll take a couple of days. Problem temporarily solved?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Hazel reached for the remote. But I stilled her hand with mine. “I don’t think we should tell anyone about this,” I blurted out, bracing for her reaction.
I knew exactly where I was landing on the official Asshole Rating Scale. First, I told her the only interest I had in her was her body and what it could do for me. Now I was asking her to keep it quiet, which made it sound like I was ashamed.
“Hard agree,” she said, pulling her hand free and turning the sound back on.
I sat there for nearly thirty seconds before muting the show again. “You don’t have a problem with that? You don’t think it seems like I’m embarrassed or ashamed or something?”
“Well, now I do,” she teased.
“I’m serious.”
She shifted toward me, eyes narrowing. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re freaking out.”
“I’m not freaking out,” I insisted. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Cam.” She settled a hand on my knee. My stupid cock stirred, apparently recovering faster than I thought possible.
“What?”
“We’re in complete agreement. I don’t want a relationship with you, and I don’t want to be the center of any more weird town gossip. From what I’ve learned about this place so far, whoever dates you would end up splashed across the Neighborly app every damn day. I’m here to write a story, not star in one. Besides, being in a secret sexcapade has got to be inspiring, right? I mean, I already outlined three scenes in my head while Breeony here talks about how hard it is being beautiful and rich,” she said, pointing to the pouty blond on the screen who was blinking back tears.
“What about Zoey? You two are close,” I said.
“I trust Zoey with my life. However, if you don’t want her to know, she won’t find out from me. Besides, if she found out, she’d probably corner you and threaten your life if she thought you were distracting me from writing.”
“That sounds like Zoey,” I admitted. “My brothers would be pains in the ass about it. When they found out we kissed?—”
“You told your brothers we kissed ?” Hazel repeated on a near shriek.
“Uh, no?”
“Campbell! Did they freak out on you? I bet they freaked out on you,” she predicted. “What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t really. They kept flirting with you and?—”
“They weren’t flirting with me! They were interacting with me like human beings do, Cam! So you thought you’d do what? Mark your territory?” She clapped her hands to her face.
“No.” Yes.
She groaned. “What did they say?”
“They weren’t exactly happy. They voiced some ‘concerns.’”
“No shit, Sherlock. Let me guess. They think starting something with me would endanger the remodel, which would in turn endanger your family business and, by extension, your actual family.”
“You’re weirdly good at this.”
“At what? Freaking out?” she demanded, throwing her head back against the seat of the couch.
“No, at understanding people.”
“I create and manipulate fictional ones all the time. It kind of translates.”
“I’m not going to tell them about…this,” I promised.
“Does it even matter at this point? They probably already think I’m basically paying you for physical affection. Instead of writing a check for the next deposit, I’ll just leave cash on your nightstand.”
“You’re not paying me for sex. And I won’t tell them about this. Especially not after they basically threatened my life to leave you the hell alone.”
She snorted. “And you had the gall to think I was going to demand a relationship with you.”
“I didn’t have the gall. I had the concern , and I communicated that concern,” I insisted.
She blew out a breath that had her bangs puffing up in the air. “Okay. What’s done is done. We can’t do anything about you and your big mouth or the fact that we just had a whole bunch of sex. What we can do is make sure no one finds out.”
“No one will,” I said with unfounded confidence. Secrets in Story Lake were like leftovers stored in a margarine container. They didn’t keep.
“Game faces when we’re around each other,” she said. “No lusty eyes or winking or long, lingering looks.”
“No staring at my crotch like you’re hungry.”
“No admiring my braless boobs.”
“No not wearing a bra when my brothers are in the house,” I countered.
“That’s an unfair standard. Instead of making me dress in a less distracting way, why don’t we insist men just learn to control where their eyes go?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay. Fine. How about until we develop a national gender-wide training program, I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t remind me how perfect your breasts are when we’re not alone?”
“Deal.”
I collapsed in relief against the couch. “We’re doing a hell of a lot of talking for just sex.”
“Agreed. Let’s not make it a habit. Hey, how do you feel about sandwiches?”
“Like I could kill half a pound of lunch meat right now.”
“Oh, thank God. This girl dinner isn’t cutting it. Let’s make some sandwiches and we’ll watch Breeony try to convince William she’s his dream girl.”
I should go. I should slip out the side door and sneak home in the shadows. But my fridge was empty. And I was maybe a little curious about whom William was going to choose for his Adventures in Amsterdam date.
“Deal.” I got to my feet and hauled her up.
“To the temporary kitchen,” Hazel said.
I gave her a playful slap on the ass and followed her into the dining room, ignoring the sinking feeling in my chest.
I’d gotten everything I wanted. So why did I feel unsettled?
We had just polished off our sandwiches and Breeony was begging for a second chance when there was a jaunty knock at the front door.
“Are you expecting someone?” I demanded.
“At ten thirty at night? No!” Hazel insisted.
The doorknob rattled.
“Open up, Haze!” Zoey called through the door.
“Shit,” Hazel whispered.
I was already on my feet, searching frantically for my pants.
“Uh, just a minute,” she called, sounding guilty as hell. “You need to hide.”
“Where?” I hissed.
“I don’t know. Behind the curtains?”
“So the entire neighborhood can see me in my underwear? Where are my fucking pants?”
“How should I know?” She ran around me into the foyer and opened up one of the coat closets. “Hide in here. I’ll distract her, and you can find your pants and sneak out.”
I was back to feeling like a teenager as she pushed me inside the closet and shut the door.
“Who’s the greatest agent in the world?” Zoey said when Hazel opened the door.
I put my forehead against the door in the dark.
“I’m guessing it’s you since it’s almost eleven o’clock at night and you’re willing to risk a raccoon sighting,” Hazel said.
“I just landed you a small profile in a medium-sized Pennsylvania magazine,” Zoey said.
“That’s definitely the most exciting thing that’s happened tonight,” Hazel said, unconvincingly bright. “Why don’t we go all the way back into the dining room and open a bottle of wine or something else that will take several minutes?”
Felicity: I’ll expect my groceries to be delivered for the next month or else I’ll be forced to mention that I spotted one of Story Lake’s most eligible bachelors sneaking out of Hazel Hart’s house in his underwear. #thepriceofsilence