“Thirty-eight.” Her face falls, and her mouth drops into that incredibly sexy “O” shape again, and for some reason I can’t helppicturing it and how pretty it would look wrapped around my cock.
No.
“Oh God, I kissed an old man,” she mutters to herself, as she picks up her bag I didn’t notice she had been carrying, and heads out the door, still talking away. Jesus, I’m notthatold. Her words irritate me more than they should, but I can’t help but watch as this spitfire storms from the building like a woman scorned.
“See ya tomorrow, Gramps.” She throws up a peace sign and slams the door shut.
What the fuck just happened?
CHAPTER FOUR
I HATE THAT IT’S TRUE
HAZEL
Walking to my car, I can’t help but have that entire encounter replaying in my brain, because what thefuckwas that? I hop into my car and take a deep breath, clearing my head as I try to process everything that just happened. I flip down the visor and look at the extremely visible hickey that has bloomed on my neck. “Bitch.” The word is a whisper that escapes my lips as I gently press on the blotch that is rapidly turning purple.That’s gonna be fun to explain.I watch as Zack walks out of the bathroom and pays me no mind as he makes his way back to his bike.
I catch myself licking my lips. He doesn’t glance my way, but the veins on his extremely fit and tattooed arms bulge as he gets on his bike. I shouldn’t be objectifying this man I just met, butmyGODhe’s truly a specimen. I am honestly in awe this man exists.
It hit me as I was walking back to my car that I knew him before—this wasn’t our first time meeting. Was that how Cameron knew Zack? Was it from group? My mind snaps back to what just happened, and the guilt begins to settle in. My best friend is barely in the ground, and I’ve already made out with her boyfriend’s best friend in a park bathroom. And though I know absolutely nothing about the man, I really fucking want to do it again.
No.
Finally working up the courage to drive away, I blast some Gigi Perez and get all in my feels, though my body still feels like it’s vibrating. My phone buzzes, and I almost immediately think it’s gonna be Leyla, sending me her daily text message—but that won’t happen again.Sailor Songblasts through my car's speakers, and my tires squeal as my car peels out of the parking lot as I head toward my place. I’m so damn tired, and I’m almost positive I could sleep for days and not be bothered. My stomach growls, and I realize I haven’t really eaten recently. So, I decide to stop at the diner and pick something up to take back.
I drive down Main Street, the colors passing by in a blur, and I can’t help but wonder what Leyla would be doing right now if she were still here. If she was still…alive. I park in front of the old diner, the vintage, fluorescent neonOpensign greeting me. As I walk in, an old woman whom I can only describe as the crypt keeper's wife peeks her head out the kitchen door.“Evening, sweetie, I’ll be right with ya.” I nod and head toward the turquoise-and-white-glittered vinyl stools lined up along the counter. Taking a seat, I let my mind wander to Leyla for only a moment when the woman hobbles over with a toothy smile.
“What can I get you, girlie?” The woman, who I now see is Winnie, stands in front of me with her pad of paper.
“Oh, I’ll take a chicken wrap and some fries, please.” A soft yet forced smile sits on my face, and I can only hope it comes across as genuine.
“Of course, sweetie.” Winnie looks at me, her bright blue eyeshadow crinkling above her eyes as she looks at me.
“You were at Leyla’s funeral, weren’t ya?” Winnie’s voice goes what I can only assume is uncharacteristically soft for this woman.
“Yeah, I was. She’s my best friend.” A lump forms in my throat, and I just don’t know how to properly explain to people what’s going on in my head. “Did you know her?” I ask.Dumbass. Of course she did if she’s asking about her.
“I’m real sorry to hear about what happened to them both. Leyla spent a lot of time in here, and she really seemed happy when she was with Cameron. I’m real sorry again,” she exclaims. “Ope, your food! Lemme scoot past ya and grab that, and I’ll be right out.”
I watch the woman as she heads into the kitchen to check on my food. I can't help but laugh at my line of questioning, because of course she knew Leyla. And now Leyla is laughing at me from wherever the hell she is, 'cause I don't think she's dead. I do hope she's happy wherever she ended up, though I doubt it's heaven. But as long as she's with the love of her life, I know she's happy. I feel pressure building behind my eyes, and I have to blink rapidly to fight back the pain and tears."
God, I miss her.
I quickly eat my food and listen as Winnie tells me about her sixth ex-husband and how he was murdered; somehow, hearing her stories make my stuff seem so small. I finish up and head out—I hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten. I pull into my apartment and head inside, completely dead from the day. How is it that it’s only been eighteen hours since the funeral? I make the stupid decision right then and there.
Hazel: You really think they’re not dead.
Z: I’m almost certain they’re not.
Hazel: Then I’m in.
Z: I’ll pick you up.
Hazel: No, it’s okay, I’ll be fine to drive.
Z: Fine.
What the hell am I doing?
