Perfect for Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Thirty-Three

Hazel

“You can love two people at the same time, but not in the same way.” — Harrison Everhart.

The pinchin my heart comes first. Then I spot him. Scott is watching from the courtyard door. My lungs collapse as he nods once and walks away. A wave of pain engulfs my body.

I look at Elliot, and the confusion continues to wallop me on the head. His kisses, his touch. They’re so familiar. As our mouths pressed together moving in a perfect dance, my body remembered us and wanted more.

But what about Scott?

“We can make…” Elliot mumbles something, but his voice sounds far away.

I can’t think of him when I saw Scott walking away from me. Hurt. Sad. My heart deflates at the memory of his fallen face.

“Hazel?”

“Sorry, I have to fix my mess.”

I want to finish the conversation.

I want Elliot.

But Scott.

I want him too.

Picking up my dress and taking off my heels, I hurry toward the door. Fitz waits by the tables. His eyes are shooting darts.

“Am I too late?”

He nods, crossing his arms. “What did you do to him?”

I shake my head.

“He’s pissed.” Fitz turns toward the door. “He paid for everything and left.”

My stomach hardens, knowing Scott is in pain. Heat and anger rush along with my blood. I hate when he hurts, and I wounded him. That’s the last thing I want to do.

“Where?”

He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “Maybe he’s riding along the Pacific Coast until he gets tired?”

His eyes flash with anger. “You should know. No one knows him better than you.”

I close my eyes, summoning a deep breath, and hold it in. “He shouldn’t be alone,” I whisper.

“Well then, we should go home,” Fitz suggests.

“I can drive her.” Elliot steps closer to me.

Fitz shakes his head. “I brought her. She’s leaving with me.” He glares at me. “Unless you’re sure you want to go with him.”

What do I want? To stay, and leave, and disappear. How can I choose what to do next?

“Thank you for joining me tonight,” I say, turning my attention to Elliot.

I shrug his jacket off and hand it to him.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” His voice has an urgency that makes my entire body tense.

“Call me,” I suggest because I’m having trouble thinking about what I want to do next.

Elliot leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I wish we could end the night on a different note. It’s impossible when my mind is split into two. Tomorrow, I’ll call in sick to work, and I’ll hide under the bed

“Time to go home, Fitzy.” By home, I mean my apartment in New York where I can hide for a couple of days under my blankets and keep reality away with a book.

“Where to?” Fitz asks.

The airport?

“My apartment. I have to change and think about Scott’s whereabouts,” I respond.

“Thank you.”I kiss Fitz’s cheek when he parks in front of my building. “For everything, and for not lecturing me.”

“Hey, I’m hashtag-team-Hazel.”

“You’re ridiculous and angry with me.”

“Of course, I’m upset.” He cracks his knuckles. “We paid a lot of money for stuff no one will use.”

“And Scott is hurt,” I add.

“That’s on him. Scott is losing the girl because he’s an idiot. The other guy isn’t much better.” He winks at me.

“I’m so confused.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to look for my brother?” He doesn’t give me any advice.

“If we were in New York, I’d know where he’s at.” I shake my head. “This is a new place for both of us.”

“Scott loves driving and riding his bike,” Fitz suggests.

Or sitting on the roof of a tall building or a bridge, enjoying the view. We both like to put things into perspective. How small we are compared to canyons, mountains, cities…the entire universe.

“He might be at the Golden Gate Bridge,” I offer, searching for my phone.

Hazel: Where are you?

The text isn’t delivered, and I’m at a loss. I replay the scene of what happened, the ache I felt, his back collapsing. He left without a word, defeated.

Did he give up on us?

If that’s the case, why am I not relieved?

“The bridge?” Fitz’s voice matches my convoluted brain.

“He loves bridges…he can’t be riding since he doesn’t have a bike.”

“Scott could buy one.” His gaze narrows. “Nah, I doubt he knows enough people here to do it this late at night. Does he?”

“Scott isn’t an impulsive buyer. That’s Hunter,” I remind him. “Harrison sometimes, but never Scott. He has to compare, analyze, and make sure that’s what he wanted to begin with, and nothing better will come along for the time being.”

“Dad used to do that. Make a list of pros and cons for every purchase, vacation... Mom hated it. Scott has Mom’s spontaneity, but Dad’s meticulous manners too.”

His gaze is lost. His fingers drumming against the wheel.

“That’s why Hunt and I are closer to him than Harrison. We have our fix of our parents when he’s around.”

Fitz tilts his head, giving me a sad smile. “This situation between the two of you is messy. I’d hate being you.”

“I hate being myself,” I confirm.

There should be a guide about what to do when your heart wants more than your mind can handle. My body is lusting for two men, and I know I have feelings for them both, but are they the same emotion?

“If I go out to search for him, I’ll call you. Text me if you find him in the hotel suite.”

“You got it, boss.” He salutes me.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue, Fitz.”

I give him a quick hug and leave the car, wondering where Scott has gone. The city has many places to shelter him while he cools down.

Pulling out my phone, I call Scott, but his voicemail picks up immediately. While dragging every step that leads me toward my apartment, I consider where he could’ve gone this late at night. I wish he hadn’t turned off his cell phone.

Why is everything so complicated? It all comes down to making choices. Fear runs through me, slashing every cell on my body, chopping my soul and my heart into tiny, jagged pieces that can’t be put back together.

If I choose Elliot, everything will be comfortable and predictable. My heart remembers him, our life.

With Scott…work is the only constant thing. Everything else between us is a roller coaster. Each moment with him is an experience. Nothing is ever the same: not our kisses, our adventures, nor our lovemaking.

When Scott is around, my heart beats fast with anticipation. Nevertheless, I crave the excitement that comes from being with him.

“We didn’t dance.”

My heart restarts when I hear his voice. Scott sits at the top of the stairs. His arms rest on his thighs. His gaze is looking forward. It only takes seconds for those aquamarine eyes to beam just like his bright smile.

“The music wasn’t inviting,” I reply, scrunching my nose. Modern jazz played through the entire event. It was good, catchy, but not something we’d dance to.

“It wasn’t us, my dear two-hundred-and-twenty-three.” He raises an eyebrow.

“That’s a strange nickname,” I reply, feigning ignorance. “I like Mistress Hazel, in case you’re wondering.”

“You bought too many useless trips and baskets that we have no use for.” A head shake follows the mocking chuckle. “Why are you so distracted?”

Because of life, and Elliot, and you.

Especially you.

I look at him once again. Scott is here. I’m feeling lighter, less concerned about him. He came to me.

“You’re here,” I whisper.

He nods, standing and taking my shoes. “Where else would I be?”

“Who knows. You just left.” I shrug.

“I’m always right beside you,” he answers his question. “Next to you.”

“But I couldn’t reach you.” I show him my phone. “And these days, I have no idea what you’re thinking.”

“You owe me a dance. I owe you an explanation.” His gaze lowers as if that should’ve clued me into his reasoning. “But I had to leave. I’m not a masochist. I hope it’s not too late for us.”

“Late?”

His shoulders slump as he exhales. “For me to put all my cards on the table. It’s pretty clear you two were having a big moment.” His Adam’s apple moves up and down slowly. “You and Elliot were in the courtyard—”

Kissing, he doesn’t say.

Was it a big moment? I haven’t processed the kiss or Elliot’s words. Everything froze when I saw Scott watching us.

“It hurt like hell to see you in his arms.” He straightens his back, shifting his body toward my apartment.

Scott waits while I open the door. He locks it behind us after I turn on the lights. I go to my room to set my shoes inside their box while buying some time to think about tonight’s events.

Hazel: He’s with me.

Fitz: Good, he had me worried. Have a good night.

Stepping out of my room, I take a moment to study Scott. I lean against the doorframe, looking at the most contradictory man I’ve ever known. His brown hair tussles everywhere. Some red streaks can be seen since he’s right under the light. Those mesmerizing blue-green eyes concentrate on his phone while his long fingers caress the screen.

I miss his hands and the way they touch my skin. His touch goes so deep down he reaches my soul, soothing it. He sets the phone on the charging station, tapping it one last time. In seconds, the music plays through the wireless sound system.

“You’re a voyeur,” he calls out as he finishes setting up his phone.

“How do you know I’m watching you?”

“You love to watch people.” He turns around, taking a couple of steps toward me.

“That’s a crazy assumption. Perhaps it’s only you who I love to watch.”

He shakes his head. “No, you love to watch them and make up stories. But I like when you watch me. What’s my story?”

I laugh, crossing my arms. “You’re dressed in a tuxedo.” I squint, chewing on my lip. “A wedding, you just came back from a wedding. You’re the best man.”

“I snatched the maid of honor.” He winks at me.

“You’re a player?”

“Yes, and I like to tie beautiful women to my bed.”

I close my eyes, squeezing them tight and fighting the heat of my cheeks. It’s been a long time since we role played last—and since Scott tied me to a bed. Tonight would be a great night to do something naughty that would help me forget everything inside my head.

“May I have this dance?”

I open my eyes. He’s only a couple of feet away from me, extending his hand.

I push myself away from the doorframe, walking toward him. As my hand meets his, he pulls me to his hard body.

Suddenly, his features harden. “Did you dance with him?” The question comes out harsh.

“Why do I feel like it’d bother you more if I had danced with him than the kiss?”

“That’s us. Dancing. No matter what or when, we dance.” His lips press close to my ear. “I was your first. I taught you.”

He deflates, his shoulders slump briefly but straighten almost immediately. “But I confess, seeing you kiss him hurt.”

He rests his arms on my lower back, my hands entwined behind his head. We sway for a bit, embracing the music as it takes control of us.

“‘Winter,’” I say, recognizing the melody playing on the speakers.

That’s his favorite.

His mom loved Vivaldi. The Four Seasons was her favorite. Scott loves to dance to it, as much as he likes to sleep while the music plays at night.

“Your mom’s birthday is coming up soon. What do you want to do?”

For the past couple of years, we’ve gone to Belize and visited the church where his mom created a stained window when he was a kid. It’s a big expedition. His brothers, Willow, and Luna come along with us.

“We’ll have to check with my brothers.” He winks at me.

“I wish I had met your parents,” I whisper, closing my eyes and concentrating on his heartbeat.

“Mom would’ve loved you,” he states, kissing my temple. “Dad too.”

“Do you know the story of how they met?”

“Mom was just a sophomore in high school. Dad was a junior in college.” He kisses my cheek. His piercing eyes concentrate on me. “He was Aunt Terry’s fiancé.”

My eyes widen. “Wait, her sister?”

“They were together for a couple of years and got engaged. The breakup was messy. Mom and Dad kept in touch.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “Mom said falling in love with him was inevitable. Aunt Terry had been Dad’s first love. But she was his last, and that’s more important.”

He sighs, and we continue dancing for several songs.

“I’m not competing to be your first love,” he speaks, feathering kisses along my shoulders. “Elliot will always be that kid.”

“Kid?” I should remind him that there are only eight years of difference between him and Elliot. It doesn’t make him a kid, or Scott a senior citizen.

“Hazel, you were kids when you fell in love.” He nibbles my earlobe, making my whole body quiver.

“I understand that he was your first love.” He stares at me, holding me close, so close that his breath caresses my face.

His gaze holds mine. Our noses touch, and his lips are almost brushing mine. “I want to be your last love.”

He angles his head, and his mouth finishes its journey as it meets mine. He places his hands on either side of my face. Everything around us, even my own thoughts and the trying day I had dissolve.

Time stops.

My mind calms when his tongue grazes mine, setting my core on fire. This kiss wraps up everything I need in just one dose of love. It’s soft, desperate, loving, passionate, and possessive. This kiss jets me to blissful oblivion. My erratic heart skips more as he deepens it. My knees weaken, and I’m glad he’s holding me.

Only one thought remains as we continue the longest, most beautiful kiss I’ve experienced in my life. I want him to hold me for longer than just this moment, and I don’t want this kiss to end.

As my heart grows two sizes larger, he releases me, giving me a stern glare. Suddenly, my chest tightens with a fear that something is about to change.

I hate change.