Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,43
You tell people that you’re together. You plan on sticking together.”
A smile curves Max’s mouth. “Fuck, yeah. I’m not stupid.”
“Hazel and I are just using each other for sex until we find someone else. It’s not a real relationship.” That doesn’t sound good, now that I say it out loud. “I’m not her boyfriend. She doesn’t want me like that.”
“It’s your business. I’m just trying to understand whether or not Maple and I have to keep pretending we don’t know the two of you are having kinky sex every time you think the rest of us aren’t looking. And what’s the plan when one of you decides to date someone else?”
“It’s not dating. And it’ll be fine.” My brain conjures up a mental image of Hazel on a real date, the kind that involves a great restaurant, wine and roses. Hazel kissing Nameless Guy good-night on the doorstep and then inviting him in. Naked Hazel in bed with some nameless, faceless, spineless dick. “We’ll work it out.”
Do I want Hazel to end things between us? Not a chance. But that was the deal we had, right? We’d have sex temporarily until one of us found a better long-term bet. Even though she complains about her family giving her shit, Hazel wants that and I’m not capable of giving it to her. Plus, she’s never indicated that she sees me as forever material, anyhow. She’d probably run screaming if I suggested it. Which I’m not going to do.
Maple and Hazel are haggling now with a guy in a pottery stall. They’re surrounded by stacks of blue-and-white-print vases, sugar bowls and pitchers on the wooden shelves. A faintly musty smell fills the air, as if everything has gotten wet more than once despite us being surrounded by desert. Sunlight pours in the entrance and the heat bakes down on me. There’s an entire toilet done in colorful tiles—tank, base, seat and lid. It’s a miracle of either engineering or superglue.
Max eyes me. “So how does it work?”
“How does what work?” I ask impatiently.
“Looking for someone else when you’re having sex with your friend.” Max frowns. “Is this one of those open relationships? Do you have three-ways?”
“No.”
Hazel wraps up the purchase with a sharkish smile. The vendor looks halfway to being in love with her, even though he’s practically paying her to haul away a sink made out of brightly colored tile. Apparently Hazel’s decided to remodel her mountain cabin. I make a mental note to ask the concierge about shipping because there’s no way that fits in the overhead compartment on the flight home.
“No?” Max isn’t going to let it drop. “So you’re both dating other people?”
“No,” I repeat.
I mean, we don’t really have any kind of a future together. I’m not making the same mistakes I made with Molly, and I don’t know what Hazel wants, but I assume she hasn’t changed her mind. So is it fair for me to keep sleeping with her and distracting her from the quest for a perfect man? Is awesome sex really enough? No matter how much she bitches about it, part of her wants that tiny house in the Coleman compound. She wants to fit in there all the way and sleeping with me in secret isn’t really getting her any closer to that goal.
Maple dances back to Max, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him for a kiss. He fists her ponytail, angling her head so he can kiss her deeper and harder. They don’t care who’s watching. She manages to make him look graceful as he lifts her up so he can devour her mouth. I look over at Hazel.
Hazel grins at me. “You don’t want anything?”
I want you.
I want to kiss you like nothing matters more.
She waves a T-shirt at me—it’s the same one Max showed me.
“Not from the market.” I tuck her arm in mine. Max and Maple are practically climbing each other now, so odds are good we’re headed back to the resort soon.
Which is good. Alone with Hazel is exactly where I want to be.
* * *
As soon as we get back to the resort, however, Hazel kicks me out of our casita, citing “girl maintenance.” That means I’m not getting inside her anytime soon. I honestly don’t care about her bikini line, but it clearly matters to her so I make a bar run because a pitcher of margaritas seems like a good investment.
When she flip-flops her way across our pool deck toward