“Hazel,” mom sighs and I halt before I leave. “I wish you could at least try. Lose some weight. Dress like a lady.”
My face blooms with heat. “Mom, there’s nothing wrong with my weight and you know that. I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Yes, but men nowadays like skinny girls. Maybe if you stopped… I don’t know, eating so often?” She passes me and strides to the couch. “I have been reading about some diets. You could try some, you would just need to be disciplined, you know? You can’t eat carbs, and you can’t eat every day, but if you drink this green juice to detox…”
“Mom,” I cut her before she reaches for the magazine. “I’m not interested. I value my health, and I’d die before I reduce my carbs. I mean, I’m a baker.” I try to smile and ease the atmosphere, but it’s difficult. She straightens her spine and looks up at me with desolate disappointment across her features. “I have to go. Hope you like the cake.”
“Oh, yes, thanks. I’ll tell Narcissa she doesn’t need to bring one. Her cakes are always so… substantial you could use them as clubs and knock someone out.” She chuckles as we walk to the door.
I laugh with her, wishing we were like this more often. Since dad’s gone, it’s only been the two of us. I moved out right after my eighteenth birthday, and she never asked me to move back in. She abhors my “vulgar” hobbies of dating so much, and would have a heart attack the moment I brought a guy in.
Once more, the memory of Vincent crosses my mind’s eye. I don’t know why he’s coming up this often. It’s usually just when I’m about to sleep, thinking about life, that he shows up. In that dark blond hair of his, sharp jaw and soft eyes. His tall frame and the way his arms would cling to me when we were together.
We used to be insufferable back in school. Always hand-in-hand, making out in a corner during breaks, partnering for school projects. He made me laugh and made me believe in myself. Unlike my parents, he admired my dreams and wanted to help me.
It’s in these moments, right before I fall asleep, that I let myself wish. Wish things had trailed a different path. Wish he hadn’t abandoned me.
But I can’t change people. People don’t usually change, period.
It doesn’t stop me from wondering how he is. After all these years, and so many flings, the times he loved me were the only times I truly let my walls drop. Sex with other guys has been… all right. At the most. Sometimes uncomfortable.
It has never felt like the nuclear explosion Vincent’s fingers and lips and cock brought me. And God, I used to love his cock. I have never met a cock that held a candle to his.
But no more Vincent. I can’t allow memories to consume me as I go to the club and dance and find someone to spend the night with me. He doesn’t mean a thing anymore. Nothing but the whisper of a memory.
Mom opens the door for me and I slide out after kissing her goodbye. But before I walk onto the sidewalk, I turn and meet her eyes.
“When you left me waiting, I tried to call you but the line was busy.”
She looks away, then back at me. Her face gains a strange expression. “Yeah, I was on the phone.”
“It was quite a lengthy call. Couldn’t you ask the person to wait for a second to open the door for me?”
The corner of her mouth twists, and she looks away again. “It was a telemarketer. One of those that won’t let you go, you know? Such a bother.” Her eyes lock with mine again, and she waves her hands. “But never mind about that. Be safe at the event thing.”
And she slams the door shut.
Wow. My mother’s lying to me. Straight to my face. I don’t know why, but the call she’s received hasn’t made her happy. A million options cross my mind, one worse than the next. I hope she’s not sick. I hope it’s not something she’s keeping from me so I won’t worry.
I squint at the door, the porch light turning on as the stars up above glitter. Should I knock again and insist? Should I tell her I won’t leave until she spills the beans?
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she’s having a problem with one of her girlfriends and doesn’t want to share.
More importantly, maybe she’ll be pissed off I’m sticking my nose in it. She’s always complained about my curiosity (adding that husbands don’t appreciate curious women).
Picking up my phone, I request an Uber. I’ll ask her again tomorrow, smoothly, just to be sure she’s fine. I just need her to be safe. And healthy.
As I slip inside the cab, I message my best friends on our group chat, telling them where I’m going. Christine asks me about the latest guy. She’s always had trouble keeping count.
I can’t blame her. None of them mattered anyway.
None but Vincent.
Scowling, I shake my head, letting the subject drop. I’ll tell them about the latest dick tomorrow. Open my Instagram to distract myself, I search for Jason Momoa’s profile to keep my mind busy. Even so, chocolate eyes and soft memories worm their way into my brain. I force myself not to think about Vincent. I am forbidden of so.
Tonight is about having fun, not about the what-ifs, and missing an ex. An ex that disappeared out of thin air five years ago. He never even tried to contact me.
But as I walk into the venue and weave my way through the crowd, I’m amazed at how my brain hates me. Because I must be hallucinating.
Standing close to the bar, there’s the most handsome man I’ve seen in a while. He looks disturbingly like Vincent. From the shade of his hair to the sharp angle of his jaw. He’s taller and stronger than the Vincent who left me behind, his beard fuller, but…
I choke. Impossible. He can’t be here.
As an adult woman who has totally gotten over him, I do the only plausible thing.
I duck and hide behind a pillar. Real or not, I’m not facing him. My body couldn’t handle it. Goosebumps already crawl the back of my neck as the usual response to his proximity. The usual response I used to have five years ago.
I’m so not ready for this.
VINCENT
She’s here. I can feel it.
Hazel. My woman.
Every hair on my body has stood on end a moment ago. My entire being feels her presence.
It’s been years — five years, two months, thirteen days — since I last saw her. Yeah, I’m counting. Of course I am. We met in high school and I have been obsessed with her ever since.
Fuck, I had no idea how much of a lucky fucker I was back then. To be her first kiss. Her first fuck.
But life failed me on what I wanted the most — to be her first and only. All that’s left is for me to focus on being her last.
I will be her last. I will find her and we will start from the place we left of. Five years don’t matter. It doesn’t matter that she’s been ignoring me ever since. That she might have been hurt because of my move and she’s avoiding me.
It’s not like I wanted to move. My mother was transferred, and I had been accepted into a local college. I wanted to stay, I did. But to stay, I’d have to abandon the sweet dream of higher education and work my ass off. I almost broke my mother’s heart when I suggested it. She sobbed until I promised her I wouldn’t do it. How could I disappoint my mother like so? When she had sacrificed so much for me?