So I had to move from the state. It happens. I thought Hazel would understand. I wanted her to come along. We could live together — my mother has always liked her — and she would study and become the baker she always wanted to be.
If she didn’t want to move, that would be fine too. I could come down once a month, and we’d talk every day. We’d text each other, I’d send her letters, and we’d keep in touch.
Fuck, wouldn’t that be hard? I remember thinking I wouldn’t make it through a month without seeing her every day. So I wanted to convince her. Make her come live with me. She had her friends, yeah, but her relationship with her family was not that good, anyway.
The day I told her, she reacted fine. She seemed thoughtful. She wanted to raise every pro and con. But she loved me so much I knew she wouldn’t want to stay apart.
Then she stopped answering me.
She didn’t pick my calls, she blocked my number, and she hasn’t answered a single letter I sent these past years.
Hazel moved on. But I didn’t. I can’t. How could I when she’s the love of my life?
I was a freshman in college, my heart broken, and I rejected every single flirty girl that came my way. Fuck, I haven’t slept with anyone in five years. I haven’t kissed anyone. There are no lips I want to taste but Hazel’s.
I have lived the life of a priest for her.
With my diploma and a job that lets me work from home, I packed my bags and moved back. Mom’s still there, but she knows it. She knows I need to find Hazel. To learn what happened.
There’s no biggest regret than having lost her.
I’ve been back in town for two days and I’m going mad. I visited her old house and called in, and her mother claims she doesn’t want to see me. The woman seemed distraught when she learned I was back in town. Next on my list, I’m visiting every bakery opened in the last five years.
Tonight I’m in the venue we used to come.
She might hate me for moving. She might not even care for what we had back then.
But my heart tells me the story’s different. I know she felt the same way I did back then. And her body will react the same way mine does around her. She’s my drug, and I’m dying to have another fix.
From the way my skin is prickling, I know I got it right. I’ve stalked the possible places, and I nailed it. She’s here.
Fuck. My cock hardens just from thinking I’m in the same room as she is. How does she look now? We were so young, and the sight of hers made me drool. I don’t think I’m quite ready to see her again. Maybe my body will implode.
Whirling around on my heels, I search over the crowd for her. Like an internal radar, I feel for her presence. My heartbeat kicks up, my mouth waters. I need to see her. How is she keeping her hair? Has she changed much?
Throughout these five years, all I had was a single picture. Mom’s the one who found it, bless her heart. It had Hazel and two of her closest friends from high school in some kind of event. Mom saw it in a gossip magazine. I cared not for a thing but Hazel’s pouty lips. She stared into the camera as if she could see right through it, straight to me.
This photo is three years old, but it’s the only thing I have. It’s all crumpled and its color has faded, but I still carry it around. It’s the one picture I used to jerk off. I imagine her kneeling between my legs, taking my cock between those smooth lips. She would look up and give me that smoldering look she has in the picture.
It’s an immediate hard-on. Her. Her face, the memory of her voice.
Abandoning the bar, I pace around the place, bumping shoulders and muttering excuse-mes as I search for her. She has to be here. And I can’t wait to have her with me again.
“Come on, where are you?” I mutter under my breath as the music spikes. The opening band plays something I don’t care to pay attention to. Not when she might be so close.
The light changes, growing dimmer. A spotlight dances over the crowd. I turn as it shines over her.
Glinting, shimmering over her cheeks and bright eyes and dancing around her dark, short strands.
My entire body goes rigid, my spine shooting straight. My hands curling in fists, I meet her gaze. She’s standing to one side, pressed to a column. Her eyes glint as they meet mine and widen.
For a moment, the world disappears.
Then I notice the man. He’s leaning with an arm propped above her head, caging her, talking to her. His face is too fucking close to hers for my liking.
Hazel’s lips drop half-open as she watches my every move. As I shoulder the crowd, approach her, and curl my fingers around the douche’s shoulder.
“Leave,” I roar. It’s loud enough to be heard over the music.
Hazel shivers, but she doesn’t say a thing.
The man turns to me, but I’m ignoring him. I can’t take my eyes off her now that we’ve finally met.
“What? Who do you—”
“Leave,” I shoot him a glance as I roar again, and this time he understands it. He understands how close I am from breaking his neck if he keeps talking to her. He turns and scurries away.
Then it’s the two of us.
We stare for what feels like an eternity. Hazel is… more beautiful than my wildest dreams could have conceived. Her curves are mouthwatering, from the slopes of her heavy breasts to her round hips. Her hair is shorter than when we dated, tips brushing along her exposed shoulders.
Fuck, this dress she’s wearing should be illegal. It hugs her form so snug it fattens my cock. She’s perfect. From the hairs on her head to the tip of her boots. How could I stand this torture? How could I have lived without her for so long?
“Hazel,” her name escapes me, and it’s a song to my heart. Her name makes me feel like home.
She shudders again, goosebumps covering her flesh. That’s how I know she feels the same. The same connection, the same call. Her body calls for mine, and for a moment I forget we’re here, in a public space, and not alone.
Hazel clears her throat, her gaze locked with mine. “Vincent. It’s been a long time.”
The pitch of her voice is a stab to my heart. It’s dry, sharp. She’s mad. She’s still mad.
“It has.” I press a hand to the column next to her head to keep my balance. My body vibrates next to her. “You look fantastic.”
She cocks her head, her eyes giving me a once-over. “You too.” Her pupils flicker as she gulps. And though her words say she’s not interested, her body leans to mine, responds to mine. A flush covers her cheeks in the dim light and I want to kiss it away. “What have you been up to?”
“College.” I shrug because I don’t matter. My life doesn’t matter here, I only want to hear how she’s been living, what she’s been doing. “You?”
“Same. Culinary Institute. I have the bakery now.” She licks her lips and my heart skips a beat. “What a coincidence, meeting you here. I thought you had moved.”
“I did. Moved back.”
“Oh? When?”
“Yesterday.”
She shoots me a tilted, forced smile. “Did you hurry this way to catch the band?”
My guts tell me I shouldn’t tell her the truth — that I’m here for her. That I want her back, that I’ve been dying to touch, and kiss, and fuck her.