Page 6 of Stuck

Chapter 2

Sam

“None of your business,”Hazel says, her eyes bright and challenging. “You started playing the game. I just took it to the next level. It’s a shame for both of us you couldn’t keep it there.”

I genuinely thought I’d never see this woman again.

I was not prepared for this evening on any level.

And yet.

Andyet, I can still feel it. The sizzle, the connection. The what-almost-was, the what-never-could-be. To be fair to the missed opportunity, none of that sizzle had existed for ninety-five percent of the time we knew each other.

She’d been Regan’s best friend, and no matter how complicated and childish the relationship I’d had with my college girlfriend had been, I’d only had eyes for her.

And cards.

But no other women.

After it ended badly, so completely my fault, Hazel hated me for having hurt Regan. Fair enough.

So it had surprised the hell out of both of us when one day, there it was.

Sizzle.

Spark.

A connection neither of us saw coming. A mocking tone turned into a lighthearted tease in the library, and bam, I suddenly saw Hazel McLaughlin in a whole new light.

It took her longer to admit it. Three weeks longer, precisely, until one night at the seedy club at the edge of campus, I tried to talk to her.

Hazel hadn’t wanted to talk. But she’d been willing to kiss—right up until she had second thoughts and pushed me away.

“This can’t happen, Sam. If you ever see me again, pretend you don’t know me.”

And she’d been right. It couldn’t happen. Not then.

When she sat down across from me tonight, I did my best to respect that decade-old request. I let her work in silence, only looking at her when her head was down.

Icouldpretend I didn’t know her. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her. From stealing hungry, consuming glances when it was safe to, when she was lost in her work. I had to absorb the shock of her reappearance—temporary, fleeting, precarious—in minuscule slices.

Her hair is longer. Darker, too. More mid-range honey blonde, with lots of brown underneath. She has heavy bangs now, which suit her. Everything about her seems right, as much as I can say that about a woman who didn’t want me anywhere in her life.

I shouldn’t have traced the lines of her body as she curled up across from me. She’d worn a light, puffy parka over yoga pants and a hoodie for the train, and every inch was soft and touchable—by someone other than me, so that trick with the ice cube was offside.

Living up to the fantasy role of an untamed beast.

I’m a beast, all right.

And Hazel…

We couldn’t be more different.

She seems, as she always did back in university, relentlessly real. She makes me feel like a fool for wearing business clothes on an evening train in the middle of a snowstorm.

She makes me feel like a fool because I’d forgotten how beautiful she is, exactly as she is—and now she’s so much more so than back in the day.

I want to get to know this woman. I want to know why she dreams of ice demons, and what else makes her shiver.

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