Excerpt My So-Called Love Life

Hazel

It's weird how, in this city of nearly 1.7 million, you can run into the same people all the time. But Manhattan's more like a collection of small towns. Axel returned to New York a month ago, and I've bumped into him twice. First time was at the arcade three weeks ago when I was hanging out with my sister and her fiancé, Milo. The last person I wanted to see then was Axel. But he's friends with Milo so I didn't have a choice.

Some days, it's downright claustrophobic here.

I also think New York, with its twisted sense of humor, loves to play chicken. Well, Manhattan, I won't back down from this challenge you're throwing at me in the form of my once-upon-a-time writing partner sharing a table for two with me.

Oh, New York, you don't know who you're dealing with.

"So, your next book," I continue, crossing my arms, gaze locked on the man I used to call a dear friend. "Is it? More scintillating? More suspenseful?"

Axel hums, marinating the question, taking his sweet time with it. "As a matter of fact, Hazel," he says, lingering on my name, overemphasizing it like he always does with names. I know why he does it, but I won't let that soften me. "Scintillating and suspenseful is exactly how the New York Press referred to A Perfect Lie."

Somehow, I manage not to roll my eyes as I give him an almost-real smile. "That's sweet," I say as if I mean it.

With a cocky glint in his eyes, Axel shrugs, accepting the comment at face value. "Thank you. That one meant a lot to me," he says.

I stifle a huge laugh. Of course he loves reviews from pompous news outlets.

"I'm sure it did." I lick my lips and go for the kill, "It's sweet that you're still as obsessed with reviews as ever."

His expression falters, blue eyes flickering with what might be embarrassment. I've hit a sore spot. Good. But then his face goes blank like he's rearranging his thoughts to hide them from me. "I'm not obsessed," he says, defensively.

"Don't you know by now? You can't make everyone happy with a story." I fight off a smile. Hell, it's hard not to grin when I can bust him on the thing he loses sleep over—what everyone else thinks of his words. I tried to help him with this, once upon a time. Look where that got me.

Axel nods slowly, like he's letting my comments sink in. "True, Hazel. That's so true. And you'd know better than anyone. You can't please everyone even if you stuff all the quirky pets in the world into your rom-coms," he says, grabbing his own rusty knife and shoving it into me. I simmer as he taps the Lucite frame that holds the QR code. "Want to order, sweetheart? Or are you ready to walk out?"

I burn brighter, hotter. I stare hard at him. "No, Axel. That's your style."

Without acknowledging my comment, he asks, "So you're leaving then?" His gaze drifts toward the door. He looks so hopeful.

Boo-fucking-hoo. I lean forward. "As if I'd give you the satisfaction."

He laughs. "You're going to stay just to vex me? You'll willingly irritate yourself just to irritate me?"

I stare at him, pot-kettle style. "Sound like anyone you know?"

He shoots me a well-played nod. "Fair enough. Then, may the most irritating one win." He picks up the frame, then looks back at me, gaze shrewd. "Or do you have more arrows in that quiver of yours to shoot my way?" He sits up straighter, almost spreading out his stupidly firm chest. "Go ahead. Hit me with it. I can handle it. Get out all your anger, sweetheart."

I clench my jaw, inhaling sharply.

This man.

I can't believe he used to be my confidante. My close friend. My writing partner.

But I won't let him see my hurt. I have to do better. It's only a meal and maybe it'll be good practice for the reader expo we're scheduled to helm this weekend.

"I'm all good," I say as lightly as I can. "And yes, let's order."

I grab my phone, scan the code, then check out the menu, grateful for something else to focus on besides him.

He does the same, scoffing a few seconds later. Haughtily scoffing.

I take the bait. "Don't see anything you like?"

His eyes dart around the restaurant, then he lasers in on me, lowering his voice. "No. I just wish I didn't have to use my phone to order," he grumbles. "I already have to use it for everything else."

I get that. I'm a little phone-weary at the end of the day too. "Why can't a menu just be a menu?" I ask, without any vitriol or irritation, just a little same page-ness that surprises me.

"Is it so much to ask to have my phone off during a meal? But nope. They make us use it."

"Evidently it's too much to ask," I say, agreeing as I read the dinner options. They're limited, but surprisingly…inventive. "I didn't think a place like Menuwould have roasted beets with pistachios on a bed of pea shoots."

"Did you think it would be steak and potatoes?" he asks, a little derisively.

And…that detente didn't last long at all.

"No, obviously I wasn't expecting that, Axel," I say, overemphasizing his name, like he does to me. "I just thought it would be minimalist food too. And as stark as the decor."

"Or the company?" he asks, but it's not biting. He sounds truly curious.

I don't give in though. "Your words," I point out.

"They are indeed."

He flips his phone so the screen's facedown, pushing it to the side of the table. I tuck mine into my purse as a man in a tailored shirt and sports coat swings by, flashing a barely there smile.

"Welcome to Menu. I'm the restaurateur. We hope you enjoy the experience of dining here and making new friends just as much as we intend to enjoy serving you," he says, like a robot. "Can I start you out with some wine? We have a Shiraz from Uruguay. The grapes are harvested under a full moon."

I blink. Is he for real? Also, who says restaurateur?

"I'll have a beer, please," Axel says.

"A martini for me," I say. "Thanks."

The man's brow furrows. We've flummoxed him. "Are you sure? I mean, the full moon."

Axel smiles. "And what does the full moon do for the wine?"

I knew he wouldn't be able to resist asking. Truth be told, I was gearing up to inquire too.

"It's how the grapes are harvested," the owner answers, speaking in a circle. "And what about food?"

"Is it harvested under a full moon?" Axel asks, and I snort, wanting to kick him to shut him up but wanting him to keep going too.

"No. It's foraged. My chief forager does it himself."

"Ah, of course," Axel says, then looks to me. "Ladies first."

I wait for Axel to pull the rug of the comment out from under me with a barb about how I'm no lady. But he doesn't, so I give the owner my order—the beets and the mushroom risotto, while Axel opts for seared salmon with rosemary and asparagus.

"Thank you. And may I wish you the best interaction with the real world."

He turns and goes.

I cock my head, watching him, trying to get a read on the guy.

Axel stares too, then turns back to me. "Do you get the sense they're trying too hard?"

"Just a little bit. I mean, foraged food?"

"And restaurateur?" he asks with an eye roll.

"Not to mention full moon grapes."

"Also, does this restaurant not know what the other hand is doing?"

"Right?" I say, enthused he keyed in on that too. "On the one hand, it's all let's be digital and read the menu online, and on the other hand, it's let's go forage and experience people."

"It wants you to love its quirks, even though they make no sense. I knew this was going to be a mistake." Axel leans back in his chair, huffing, but also giving me a view of his annoyingly handsome face.

Why are jerks so hot?

Seriously? Who decided that sexy jerks could ever be good-looking? With freshly fucked hair, and undress-me eyes, and those goddamn black glasses that get me every time, Axel Huxley is the sexiest jerk of all.

The worst part? When I see hints of the man I used to know in his clever remarks, his sly observations.

The way we once got along.

But I won't be fooled again. Hurt me once, shame on you.

Hurt me twice, and I'm going to write my own damn name in Sharpie at the top of my whiteboard list of people who've pissed me off that week.

I've made my own shit list plenty of times.

I put my self-protection back on, so I'm not fooled by the banter. "So, what's the story with you kicking the tires here tonight, Huxley? Is this how the Nefarious Ned hires a hitman to take down Brooks Dean?"

The corner of his lips curves into a grin. "You know my new hero's name."

I roll my eyes. "Obviously I know who Brooks Dean is." Only the former-lawyer-turned-avenging-bounty-hunter-for-hire who traipses around Europe, solving heists and retrieving precious stolen goods as he falls in love. "You did mention twenty million times he'd be your next hero," I remind him.

"If you say so," he says.

"Oh my god, what do you think I do? Read your publisher's blurbs that far in advance before the book comes out?"

He smirks, then points at me. "Don't you? You can't resist keeping tabs on me."

I scoff. "You wish."

"But Nefarious Ned? C'mon, Hazel. Give me credit. My villains have better names than that."

I wiggle my fingers. "All right. Serve it up. Your next villain. What's his name?"

Axel's grin turns wicked. More wicked than I've ever seen from him. "Hazel. Her name is Hazel."

Damn it. I walked right into that one.

But I'm saved by the restaurateur. The man in the sports coat returns with our drinks, depositing the beer in front of Axel, and the martini in front of me. Then he frowns. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. We're all out of beets tonight. Pea shoots too."

Bummer. I do love a good pea shoot dish. "No big deal. I'll skip the apps. Just mushroom risotto then?"

He winces. "Apologies. Our chief forager canceled the dish. The mushrooms made him mad. We have chicken with kale picked from our rooftop garden though."

"She doesn't eat meat," Axel cuts in. "What do you have for vegetarians?"

The man's eyes pop. "Um…I could bring you the kale and some pistachios on the side?"

Gee, that sounds filling. But I can eat edamame at home later. "I'll just have the drink. Thanks."

Another cringe. "Sorry. We can't let you sit here with just a drink."

I blink. "Really?"

"Truly. It's a rule," he says, apologetic, even though he's likely the one who made that punitive rule.

But even though he and his chief forager ran out of beets and pea shoots, I'm not going to bolt. I won't let Axel have the satisfaction. I'm about to ask the owner to bring me the kale when Axel says, "Can't you make her something with vegetables? You don't want to be one of those places that discriminates against someone for their beliefs, do you?"

The restaurateur gulps. "No, of course not, sir," he says, then scurries off.

I look at Axel, begrudgingly appreciative. "Beliefs? Are we allowed to do that?"

"Sweetheart, it's a fucking pretentious restaurant. And the lawyer in me could argue it's a belief with full conviction."

The lawyer in him could argue anything.

But is his vegetable defense an argument for an argument's sake? Or does he want me to sit here with him? That would make no sense. I study Axel, trying to figure him out. "All right. What's your deal, Huxley? Why are you trying to get me to stay? That was a perfect chance for you to let me walk away and have the table all to yourself."

"Ah, but what fun would that be? Especially when I have to see you on Sunday. This is like a little unexpected dress rehearsal."

Ah yes, I'm a game. Got it. "Thanks for the reminder. I'd tried to erase that from my head."

"Same here. But the more you shoot arrows at me, the tougher my villain will be."

This time I don't walk into the comment. I march straight through it. "And that'll make it more satisfying when your hero kills her."

He grins, slow and devilish. "He won't kill her. He'll just tie her up and turn her in to the authorities."

I lean back in the chair. Yup. I'm not leaving.