Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,25

I’m too scary, too blunt, or too successful. Sometimes D—all of the above.”

“They’re stupid.” It’s not the most articulate assessment of my life, but it’s accurate.

Hazel nods in agreement. “Absolutely. So I wouldn’t want to have their babies, anyhow. Imagine the gene pool.”

There’s nothing I can say to that, so I lose myself in the car. I love driving as much as Hazel hates it, and my BMW is fucking amazing. I downshift into a curve, slowing as we start up the mountain. The road to her place is a serpentine delight of curves and hairpin turns and steep, tree-covered drop-offs. The kind of person who lives here doesn’t want to see or hear from neighbors, so even though the houses here come in all shapes, sizes and stages of dilapidation, the one thing they have in common is an enormous amount of tree-covered space. And since there are no streetlights, I have plenty of time to admire each and every branch as I ease forward.

“You should live on the beach like a civilized person,” I tell her.

She sticks her tongue out at me. “And when the tsunami hits, you’ll be begging to stay with me.”

“The odds of a tsunami in California are low. It’s the earthquakes you have to watch out for.”

Hazel not only lives in the mountains, but she also has an honest-to-goodness log cabin for a house. Laura Ingalls would be jealous. Two stories of rough-cut goodness, a shit ton of windows and French doors, and closer proximity to the woods and its resident wildlife than I’m strictly comfortable with. While most of the snakes in Santa Cruz are either of the harmless or Silicon Valley variety, Hazel has spotted more than one rattlesnake swanning its way around her property. It is not a feature as far as I’m concerned.

“If you lived at the beach, you could have a moat,” I point out. I pull into her driveway, easing to a stop. A barrage of security lights go on.

“True, but then I’d have to fend off all the surfers and riffraff. Nobody comes up here.” She says that as if it’s a selling point.

I put the car in Park as Hazel hops out at warp speed. I follow as quickly as I can just in case bears or other wild animals put in an appearance. Hazel makes a face. She’s pointed out before that she has yet to get lost, mauled or otherwise injured on her way to her front door. As always, I ignore her because insurance never hurts.

“So. Hold this.” She shoves her bag into my hand and proceeds to rummage inside for her keys. Hazel’s bag is the disorganized disaster her life is not. “Next steps, Viking man. Invite a new girl out.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to date.”

“Of course you are. You just need practice.”

“We practiced. What do you think?”

She winks at me. “How’s your kissing?”

“There’s no safe answer to that.”

“Dating’s not low risk, either.” Hazel’s key disappears into the lock and there’s a quiet snick as the tumblers turn over. “But if you can’t charm the lady with your dinner-table wit, I’d suggest making her panties melt.”

I shouldn’t ask, but... “Is that really a thing?”

Hazel grins. “Do you really want me to explain it? Hint: it’s directly related to your kissing skills.”

I need to stop thinking about Hazel and panties.

“Do you want me to show you?” I brace an arm over her head. If she opens the door now, I’ll crash-land in her living room, but it’s worth it for the comical look on her face. As if no guy in recent memory has gotten too close on her doorstep and gone in for a good-night kiss. Apparently I also can’t stop thinking about her offer to be my friend with benefits. I need help. An intervention. Possibly a two-by-four to the head.

Because that’s my voice still talking and digging a ginormous, dirty hole. “You’re the one who said I needed practice. Practice with me?”

Hazel blinks, her eyes widening as her gaze moves over my face and then lower. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip and I’m lost. I’ve been lost for some time, if I’m honest. Every nerve in my body seems to be on fire, starting with where my fingers just brush her hair and our legs almost touch. I think I close that not-quite distance. Or she does. But somehow our bodies meet, erasing all the space I’ve worked so hard to keep between us.

I feel