Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
PRESTON
The second I step out of Nonnie’s apartment, I dial back my swagger and let out a breath I’ve been holding since the moment Hazel walked in.
I officially have a date with the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met, and I have five days to avoid screwing it up.
That’s one hundred and twenty hours to somehow keep my cool, act like a grown-ass man, and not spiral into the kind of obsessive overthinking I make fun of my clients for.
I can still feel Hazel’s foot running up the inside of my leg, soft and sure and so lazy it almost killed me. Her eyes locked on mine, brown and full of mischief, like she knew exactly how close I was to losing it right there at her grandmother’s table.
My cock went from zero to diamond-hard in a single heartbeat, and I almost choked on my lemonade. If Nonnie hadn’t been sitting two feet away, I would have pulled Hazel into my lap, torn her little dress right off, and kissed her until she forgot her own name.
But Hazel just smirked and dragged her foot back down, slow as sin, like she was making damn sure I’d remember every second.
And I goddamn do. It’s playing on a continuous loop in my head.
I make it to the elevator, jab the button, and pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over Hazel’s number. Before I left, she grabbed my phone and added her address and phone number to my contacts. Then she texted herself from my phone so she’d have my number.
Should I text her tonight? Wait until morning? Wait until she texts first? Every move feels like a tactical negotiation, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Hazel falls hard for me, too.
Game on, Gorgeous Girl.
After two sleepless nights spent thinking about Hazel nonstop, I’m running on fumes. And no amount of caffeine can cure this. I make it twenty minutes into Tuesday morning’s project review before Jude leans over and asks, “Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”
I look up, and Jude’s looking at me like I lost my goddamn mind while all the interns stare at me, half bored and half afraid I’m about to assign them some torturous task.
“I eat Cheerios.” I take a deep breath and wipe the scowl off my face. Fuck. Lack of sleep is starting to turn me into a real asshole. “And they were just fine this morning. Let’s get this shit done so I can do something that actually makes us money.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jude takes over the meeting while I’m so wrapped up in memories of Hazel that my brain is basically useless. I glance down at my pad and realize I’ve unconsciously drawn her profile, complete with dimples and luscious pouty lips. Not exactly my best professional moment.
Jude leans over me to eye the drawing and says, “At least now I know what’s up with you. Never thought I’d see the day it happened, but we’re all wrong at least once in our lives.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble back. Not original, but it’s the most I can come up with. The truth is, I haven’t been this off-balance since grad school. I’m used to running the show, calling the shots, building the world I envision. This thing with Hazel has me completely unmoored.
I survive the meeting, but barely. After, I retreat to my office and stare at my phone. It’s time for me to make the next move.
I hit up Google and find a florist in downtown Worthington Hills that does one-hour deliveries.
Fucking perfect. I search the site and zero in on wildflowers because, from what I saw yesterday, Hazel isn’t a roses-and-baby’s-breath kind of girl.
No. She’s wildflowers, color and energy and beauty that punches you right in the chest. Then I come across the perfect bouquet of blue cornflowers and orange poppies, all tangled up with tiny white blossoms and curly green stems. Perfect.
I punch in the order, pay extra for the fastest delivery they offer, and type out my note.
Can’t stop thinking about you. Counting the days until Friday.
Preston
Forty-five minutes later, I get a text from Ever After Blooms, the florist, stating my flowers will be delivered shortly. About fucking time. I sit back at my desk and wait.
Gorgeous Girl
I can’t stop grinning. Thank you for the flowers! My coworkers are deeply jealous.
I read it four times, trying to memorize the way her words sound in my head. I imagine her in the library, surrounded by books and sunlight, smiling at the arrangement, and my chest gets tight. Fuck. I’ve lost my goddamn mind over her.
Me
I’m glad you like them. And the jealous coworkers are a bonus. See you Friday.
The little dots appear again. Then thirty seconds later, her reply comes in.
Gorgeous Girl
Counting down the hours :)
Me, too. Hell, at this point, I’m down to counting the goddamn seconds.
I’m useless for the rest of the day. At the gym, I nearly drop a dumbbell on my foot because I’m daydreaming about how Hazel’s curls would look fanned out on my pillow.
At dinner, I burn my leftover chili while Googling “best first date restaurants near me.” I go down a three-hour rabbit hole comparing menus, looking at photos of the interior spaces, even cross-referencing YELP reviews.
I’m putting more effort into this first date than I did into researching which college to attend. But fuck, Hazel is worth it.
I settle on the Old Towne Steakhouse. The restaurant strikes that perfect balance—dark wood and leather booths that whisper "special occasion,” but still warm and welcoming.
They offer dry-aged ribeyes and fancy craft cocktails garnished with things that smoke and smolder.
The kind of place where you can order a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine or just point at the beer list without judgment.
Not so fancy you need a tie, but fancy enough that the desserts arrive engulfed in blue flame. Perfect for what I’m planning.
I book the reservation for seven-thirty on Friday, then spend the next hour staring at the baseball game on TV while visions of Hazel run through my mind. Fuck. I couldn’t even tell you who’s playing. Before bed, I decide to run a few miles, hoping to exhaust myself.
I hit the gym downstairs, pounding out four miles at a punishing clip.
My entire body burns, sweat pouring off me, but it’s not enough.
I’m still hard as a fucking rock, all that pent-up energy ricocheting through every muscle.
Hazel is in my head, every second, every step.
By the time I get back up to my apartment, my skin is on fire, and my cock is straining against my shorts, desperate for relief.
I yank off my shirt and drop it on the floor before stripping out of my shorts.
Then I stalk straight for the shower. After stepping under the icy spray, my hand wraps around my cock, and I barely have to move before my fantasies kick into overdrive—me and Hazel tangled in my bed, her voice breaking as she begs for it.
Fuck. I grip harder, chasing the vision of her lips, parted and breathless, her curves pressed against me, and the way she looks at me, hungry, wild, like she wants to be ruined.
I can practically feel it, the want winding tight inside me, almost too much to take.
I pump faster. Every nerve ending sparks, and the pressure builds until my whole body locks up.
I groan her name, low and desperate, fist tight around my cock, because I can’t hold back.
The orgasm rips through me so hard I have to brace a hand on the shower wall, water pounding down my back as fireworks erupt behind my eyelids.
Fuck. I’m panting, forehead pressed to the tile, still shaking from the aftershocks. All that just from thinking about Hazel. Jesus Christ. I’m so far gone for this girl that it’s not even funny. I rinse off, shove my hand through my hair, and try to get my pulse back to normal.
It doesn’t work. I’m still hard for her. Still hungry. All my usual control is shot to hell.
After I towel off, I study myself in the bathroom mirror. I look like a man who’s barely clinging to civilization. Jaw tight, eyes too bright, mouth set in a hard line. I look like a man on the edge. Which, honestly, is pretty accurate.
I drop into my bed and grab my phone. I try to play it cool, but the truth is, I need some sort of contact with her, so I send a quick text.
Me
Goodnight, Gorgeous Girl. I’ll be dreaming about you.
Gorgeous Girl
Sweet dreams.
I’m a grown-ass man, yet my pulse leaps like a kid on prom night. I don’t want to push my luck too hard, so I leave it there. For now.
By morning, I can’t resist. I text her before I even brush my teeth.
Me
Morning, GG. Hope you have a great day.
Gorgeous Girl
You too.
And that’s how it goes for the next few days. I text her every morning and night. I’m a man obsessed. No, scratch that. Obsession doesn’t even touch it. Hazel is a goddamn chemical reaction in my blood. She’s in my veins, my brain, wrapped around every single nerve ending.
She always replies. Sometimes, it’s just a smiley, sometimes, a little sassy comeback that makes me want to drag her into my bed and see what other kinds of smart remarks she can make when she’s coming apart for me.
The week crawls by, glacial. Each day is a hellish cocktail of need, frustration, and the kind of anticipation that makes my skin itch from the inside out.
I can’t focus. Not on work, not on food, not even on the gym. Every time my mind drifts for a second, it’s Hazel. By Thursday night, I’m so strung out I can barely sit still.
Friday morning, I wake up hard and aching, with my first thought being of her. No, fuck it, my every thought is of her. I don’t even pretend to play it cool anymore. I text her at six-fifteen in the morning.
Me
Tonight’s the night, Gorgeous Girl.
Gorgeous Girl
For what?
Me
Ha-ha. Are you trying to give me a hard time?
Gorgeous Girl
Just making sure you’re awake.
Awake? I’m wide awake. Locked and loaded, ready for my girl.