Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating - Christina Lauren Page 0,28
course this sucks, then never speak to me again. Oh my God, Josh. Your face. I’m kidding!”
“Definitely not crazy,” I mumble, moving to let Winnie back inside before clapping my hands. “Let’s go.”
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Hazel’s friend Cali—an admin at the school where she used to work—plans to meet us at the bar, so we pile into my car, with Adam crammed into the front and Hazel in the back seat, poking her head between us.
She leans farther forward to see out the windshield when we park. “Isn’t it great?” she says, halfway in my lap. “I didn’t even know this place existed until Google sent a message to my soul.”
Out on the street, I look up at the flashing marquee that announces it’s trivia night. The other businesses in the area are glass and modern, or retro hipster and painted in glaring colors. They bear no resemblance at all to the dark brown building in front of us, its A-frame roof lined in humming neon lights.
The sidewalk leading to the entrance is faded and cracked but bordered by buckets of glossy ferns and bright purple flowers. The sounds of Elvis Presley and steel guitars can be heard from outside. Hazel nearly skips to the door.
“We can always go somewhere else,” I hedge, and reach for her hand to reel her in, pulling her back toward me.
“Are you kidding?” She points to a string of umbrella lights and fake roof thatching tacked just above a pair of glass doors. “I mean, look at this place.”
“Oh . . . I’m looking.”
She gives me a playful poke to the stomach before tugging me forward. “Come on. Cali is already here and I promise you’ll be impressed. She does yoga,” she adds, and wiggles her brows suggestively.
I pay our entry fee at the door and follow her inside the dimly lit bar. It’s early but the place is already packed. The main room is reflected in a smoked mirror that serves as backdrop to a small stage. Paper lanterns sway overhead and waitresses in grass skirts wind their way between crowded tables, trays held aloft and filled with everything from bottles of lime-corked Corona to tiki-shaped glasses with colored smoke rising above the rims.
Hazel and Cali spot each other from opposite sides of the bar and Cali waves us over to where she’s been saving a table.
Hazel must see the way my eyes widen, because she pushes up on her toes and whispers, “Told you.”
Adam leads the way, with Hazel and I close behind. “I know you did,” I say, leaning down to talk above the noise, “but you also described her as an avid knitter with a great personality and three cats. Forgive me for being cautiously optimistic.”
Cali is about Hazel’s height with strawberry-blond hair and light eyes. When she stands to hug Hazel, I’m treated to a view of long legs in a pair of little red shorts, and curves in all the right places. I catch Adam noticing, too.
Hazel makes the introductions and nearly as soon as we sit, our waitress materializes, tossing coasters down in front of us.
“Game’s about to start,” she says, pulling a pencil from her hair and pressing it to a lined notepad. “Anything I can get you beforehand?”
We place a drink order, select a mix of different appetizers, and she leaves us with our scorecards.
“So how do you two know each other?” Cali motions between me and Hazel.
“The short version is that we knew each other in college,” Hazel says, “and then met up again recently. I’m friends with his sister.”
“You dated in college?” Cali asks.
I’m not sure which of us jumps to correct her first, but there’s a lot of head shaking and at one point Hazel is doing a comedic reenactment of someone choking. “More like casual acquaintances,” I say evenly.
Cali points to Adam and dials up her smile. “And how do you know Josh?”
“We met at a youth sports event.”
Her interest is definitely enhanced. “Are you an athlete?”
“Football.” He gives her a proud smile that’s all straight white teeth and just a trace of dimple. It’s an all-American smile, the type you expect to see on cereal boxes and stadium jumbotrons. Unfortunately I’ve seen that smile at least a dozen times before, only usually it’s directed at cheerleaders and groupies at after-game parties. My eyes flash to Hazel and only now does it occur to me that I’ve set her up with Adam the Panty Dropper, and she’s staying at my place.