Chapter 11
1156 Words
HAZEL’S POV
Just like Simon had wanted, I went out to inform Aurora that things were even between me and her father, only then did she dig into her meal.
Until I slid into my room, I could still feel Simon’s gaze on me. He had been staring since I turned towards the stairs.
I hated that I couldn’t get him out of my head no matter how much I tried.
Simon Veneti, my brooding, impossible, infuriating stepbrother was everywhere. He was in my thoughts, my bloodstream and my dreams.
And the fact that we lived under the same damn roof didn't help a bit.
It was stupid, so stupid.
After everything, after the way he made me feel like a leftover he couldn’t decide whether to toss or hoard, I still wanted him.
It was sick, no I was the one who was sick.
With my hands spread apart, I fell on my bed, my knees bent and pressed together as I stared up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me.
A breeze floated through the opened window, brushing against my bare legs, making a little sigh escape my lips.
Maybe if I just gave myself one little indulgence, I would feel better.
With this thought ringing in my head, I rolled to my side, running my fingers down my inner thigh as my eyes fluttered shut.
And there he was again, in my head.
He was staring at me with his dark, unreadable gaze, those rough hands and that deep voice that could shatter me every single time he called my name resounded in my ears.
I imagined his hands replacing mine. His mouth on my neck, his fingers trailing slowly down my spine and his weight above me.
My breath caught in my throat.
The brewing tension coiled tightly in my belly. I bit my lip, imagining him pressing into me, whispering things he would never say in the light of day, things I craved hearing in the dead of night.
I was right on the edge of that delicious cliff when my phone decided to interrupt my moment.
I was going to ignore it but the caller wasn't going to give up.
Groaning in frustration, I sat up, looking like a teenager that has been caught being naughty by her mom.
Reaching for my phone, I saw Annika’s name dancing on my screen.
“Hey,” I said the moment the lines connected, smoothing my top which was now rumpled.
“Hey, slut. You sound breathless. Were you just—?”
“I swear to God, Annika…”
“Relax, I’m not judging.” She laughed. "You probably needed it. I would need that release too if I lived with a man like Simon.”
She was teasing my obsession with Simon, “Don’t remind me.” I snapped.
“Fine, I surrender." I could visualize her smiling as she raised her hand above her head in mock surrender.
“So, how’s house hunting going?”
“Terrible,” I grumbled. “Apparently in this city, you need a trust fund or a sugar daddy just to afford a shoebox with running water.”
Annika clicked her tongue, “So you’re still stuck there, huh?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I rubbed my forehead. “And to make it worse, I’m still thinking about him. After everything, I still want him.”
“Of course you do,” she said without missing a beat. “You’ve had a thing for that man since you were nineteen.”
“Don’t remind me.” I warned again, this time clenching my fists on my thigh.
“Honey, you need a distraction. Actually, scratch that, you need a new man that will drive you crazy.”
“Easier said than done.” I huffed, only to let out a low chuckle.
“Which is why I already did it for you.”
“Did what? What are you talking about?”
“I got you a date.”
“Excuse me?” I sat up, raising my brow.
“I’m not letting you rot in that house fantasizing about a man who doesn’t deserve a second of your attention. You need to get out, see someone new, kiss someone new and let someone else look at you like a woman.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready.” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. I had tried hooking up with men several times but it never worked.
My obsession with Simon wasn't helping a bit cause each time I was with one, I found myself thinking about him.
“Hazel, you’re ready. It’s not like I’m asking you to marry the guy. Just go and get dressed for this new guy.”
Shifting my gaze to the mirror in my room, I stared at my reflection. My hair was tied up in a messy bun, I was wearing an old T-shirt and had dark circles under my eyes.
Maybe she was right.
“Fine,” I whispered. “Set it up.”
“That’s my girl, I’ll text you the details.” She sounded more excited than me.
By 7:00 p.m., I was standing in front of my closet in a towel. My hair was freshly washed and my heart was pounding in anticipation.
I hadn’t been on a date in almost three years. And even then, it wasn’t anything worth remembering.
I chose a black satin dress with a slit high enough to feel daring and heels that added just the right level of “don’t mess with me unless you’re worth it.”
I curled my hair into soft waves, dabbed a warm tone of lipstick across my lips, and added a subtle touch of perfume behind my ears.
When I looked in the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself.
I looked confident, maybe even dangerous and I liked it.
Grabbing my purse, I made my way towards the door, my heart thudding with every step.
But fate being a wicked, twisted little thing had other plans.
As I descended down the staircase, heels clicking softly on the polished wood, I saw him.
He was standing in the kitchen, shirtless with a pair of gray joggers slung low on his hips, and a mug in his hand.
He looked up the moment he heard me.
Locking eyes with me for a few seconds, he asked, “Going somewhere?” His voice was low and rough.
“Out,” I said, keeping my chin high.
“To meet someone?”
I shrugged before I spat out, “A date.”
I saw the way his jaw ticked in response.
“You look…” he trailed off, his eyes burning into me, “different.”
“Hell yeah, if you don't mind, I'm running late."
I had barely taken a step when he said, “You aren't going anywhere, young lady."
- Writer
