Josh and Hazel's Guide to Not Dating - Christina Lauren Page 0,32
“Isn’t he, like, nineteen?”
“You might be right.” She turns to Hazel. “Haze, do you have a problem with younger men?”
Hazel burps before answering. “Nope.”
“Joshy, what about you?”
“I think younger men are fine but I’d prefer a woman. And at least old enough to vote, please.”
David’s eyes light up. “What if we made them dating profiles on Grindr or eharmony or one of those?”
Emily’s brows come together. “I don’t think Grindr is the right one. Let me Google it.”
Hazel leans against my shoulder, staring at them. “They don’t even need us here for this.”
I take a sip of wine. “I think you’re right.”
“You know . . . my hairstylist is pretty cute,” Hazel says thoughtfully. “And funny, too. You might like her.”
“Really?”
She looks up at me. She’s so close, her whiskey eyes seem lighter tonight. “Mm-hm. She likes to fish. Do you like to fish?”
“I do.”
“I have an appointment next week.” With one hand, she pulls her hair up on top of her head. “Maybe I’ll talk to her?”
“But what about you?” I ask. “If we’re going to do this, I still want to do it together.” Hazel opens her mouth to answer, but stops. I follow her gaze to where Emily and Dave are both watching us. “What?”
“Nothing.” Emily bends to write something down, and I’m guessing it’s just a scribble because we’ve caught her ogling us. “You’re just cute together.”
Hazel sits up, preening. “That’s because we’re both insanely attractive.” She looks back at me. “I think Josh might like my hairdresser, though. But he can’t screw it up because I really love my hair right now.”
I lift my glass. “Scout’s honor.”
Dave reaches for Emily’s arm. “You know that barista at Heavenly Brews? The one you think is always flirting with you?”
Emily holds up her hands in defense. “All I’m saying is he never charges me for a double shot.”
“Anyway, I could talk to him about Hazel.” In Hazel’s direction he adds, “He’s pretty cute—as far as guys go. Dark hair, athletic. No obvious psychotic tendencies that I’ve noticed, and he makes a kick-ass cappuccino. I think he’s in graduate school or something.”
Hazel tilts her head side to side. “I’m interested. Baristas tend to like the peculiar girls.”
Something pulses in me when I hear her describe herself that way.
“So we have a plan then?” Emily asks. “Hazel will talk to her stylist and Dave can talk to the hot barista. We’ll meet back here to finalize the details?”
Hazel offers a hand and I reach over to shake it. This is all becoming very . . . communal. I just hope no one gets invested in someone for me before I do.
NINE
* * *
HAZEL
Unfortunately, I spend the Saturday morning after date number two searching for a new stylist.
I’m scrolling through Yelp reviews when Winnie starts to bark, her wet nose pressed against the front room window. Poor Josh and his once-spotless glass.
Winnie can barely contain herself and races back and forth, tail wagging furiously and feet slipping along the wood floors. There are only two people who get that kind of reaction. One of them woke up with a headache and has gone back to bed, and the other is my mom.
“Calm down,” I say, pulling her back by her collar so I can open the door. “You’d think nobody pays attention to you.”
“There she is,” my mom croons. “There’s my pretty, good girl.”
I’m shocked—shocked, I say—to find that she’s not speaking to me.
Winnie dances around Mom’s legs as she comes inside, and I close the door behind her. “I’m so happy to see you, too, Mom!”
“You hush,” she says, and hands me a white paper bag that smells suspiciously like blueberry muffins. All is forgiven. Doing a quick glance toward the kitchen she adds, “I see you haven’t burned the place down.”
I deliver a thumbs-up over my shoulder. “So far so good!”
Thank God my apartment should finally be ready soon. I’m excited to be back in my space with my rabbit and bird and fish. Still, I’ll admit I’m going to miss cohabitating with my new best friend.
Winnie follows Mom as she crosses the room, settling comfortably at her feet beneath the kitchen table. “Where’s that captivating boy?” Mom asks.
I pull a couple of plates from the dishwasher and put a muffin on each one. “You know, most moms would have more to say about their daughter living with a random dude than how captivating he is.”