JOSH

We set the date for a Friday night, almost four weeks from our original deal, and agree to spend the evening at the Rumrunner’s Tree House, a kitschy little bar Hazel found downtown. The location should have been my first clue.

Adam—a defensive lineman for an arena football team—shows up at the house while Hazel is still getting ready. I let him in, keeping my face neutral as we both pretend not to hear the horrible sound of her singing from the other end of the house.

The repairs on Hazel’s apartment are taking longer than expected, but we’ve managed to find a happy medium between my need for order and the trail of chaos that follows her everywhere she goes. Since the house looks presentable for the first time in days, I lead Adam back to the kitchen for a beer.

He follows with Winnie right on his heels and takes a seat at the kitchen bar.

“The place is looking great.” He nods, glancing around. “I think the last time I was here you were just finishing the floors.”

“I did the floors in the spring, and just got the new window casings in. I’ll let you know the next time I have a barbecue. Zach would like to catch up.”

“Cool.”

I met Adam at a youth event we were both doing a couple of years ago. We had just started the practice, and Adam was there with the team he played on at the time. He’s a nice enough guy—I mean, obviously, or I wouldn’t have set him up with Hazel—and at six foot four and 235 pounds of muscle he’s definitely good-looking, but he’s a little on the quiet side. My first instinct was that it would be a nice contrast in personalities, but now I’m wondering whether Hurricane Hazel might eat him alive.

“So this is kind of weird, right?” he says, reaching down to scratch Winnie behind her ears. “I mean, picking her up here? The two of you living together? I wouldn’t want to …”

I follow his eyes back down the hall to where Hazel is belting out an operatic version of Quiet Riot’s “Cum On Feel the Noize” and realize what he means. “Oh no. No.” I hold my hands out in front of me. “Hazel and I have never been, and are not, together.”

“So you’re just roommates, then?”

“Temporary roommates,” I correct. “She has her own place, but they’re doing some work on the building and she needed somewhere to crash for a few weeks. Or months, I guess.”

“I wondered what was going on when you called because you’re the last person I expected to want a roommate.” He chuckles as he brings the bottle to his lips, pausing to add, “No offense, man.”

My smile is wry as I take a sip from my own bottle. I turn my attention to the dog. “Winnie? Potty?” She bolts to my side. Bending, I stage-whisper, “You stay away from him, okay? He’s a dick.”

Adam laughs, and Winnie barks in what I take as agreement before following me to the back door and bounding down the steps into the yard.

When I return to the kitchen, Adam is eyeing a drawing of a unicorn Hazel doodled while I cooked dinner last night. It has two horns, a purple mane, pink fur, and a giant yellow penis.

Adam looks up at me with his beer paused midway to his lips. “She’s not like … crazy or anything, is she?”

There’s a twinge in my gut at this, a protective aversion to that word, but I refrain from asking him to define crazy. I wave him off instead. “Definitely not crazy.”

Of course it’s this moment she decides to make an appearance, bursting into the kitchen in a bright yellow sundress. “Who’s crazy?”

“Winnie,” I say quickly. “She’s been chasing squirrels again.” Placing a hand on the small of her back, I usher her closer. “Hazel, this is my friend Adam. Adam, this is Hazel. You two might actually see each other this year because Hazel just got a job at Riverview, and Adam’s team participates in the youth program there.”

Adam stands to greet her, and I watch as her eyes widen and visibly travel the entire length of him. Subtle, Haze.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, vigorously shaking his hand. “Be sure to stop by and say hi if you’re ever in the school.” Leaning in, she puts a hand to the side of her mouth and adds conspiratorially, “Unless of course this sucks, then never speak to me again. Oh my God, Josh. Your face. I’m kidding!”

“Definitely not crazy,” I mumble, moving to let Winnie back inside before clapping my hands. “Let’s go.”

..........

Hazel’s friend Cali—an admin at the school where she used to work—plans to meet us at the bar, so we pile into my car, with Adam crammed into the front and Hazel in the back seat, poking her head between us.

She leans farther forward to see out the windshield when we park. “Isn’t it great?” she says, halfway in my lap. “I didn’t even know this place existed until Google sent a message to my soul.”

Out on the street, I look up at the flashing marquee that announces it’s trivia night. The other businesses in the area are glass and modern, or retro hipster and painted in glaring colors. They bear no resemblance at all to the dark brown building in front of us, its A-frame roof lined in humming neon lights.

The sidewalk leading to the entrance is faded and cracked but bordered by buckets of glossy ferns and bright purple flowers. The sounds of Elvis Presley and steel guitars can be heard from outside. Hazel nearly skips to the door.

“We can always go somewhere else,” I hedge, and reach for her hand to reel her in, pulling her back toward me.

“Are you kidding?” She points to a string of umbrella lights and fake roof thatching tacked just above a pair of glass doors. “I mean, look at this place.”

“Oh … I’m looking.”

She gives me a playful poke to the stomach before tugging me forward. “Come on. Cali is already here and I promise you’ll be impressed. She does yoga,” she adds, and wiggles her brows suggestively.

I pay our entry fee at the door and follow her inside the dimly lit bar. It’s early but the place is already packed. The main room is reflected in a smoked mirror that serves as backdrop to a small stage. Paper lanterns sway overhead and waitresses in grass skirts wind their way between crowded tables, trays held aloft and filled with everything from bottles of lime-corked Corona to tiki-shaped glasses with colored smoke rising above the rims.

Hazel and Cali spot each other from opposite sides of the bar and Cali waves us over to where she’s been saving a table.

Hazel must see the way my eyes widen, because she pushes up on her toes and whispers, “Told you.”

Adam leads the way, with Hazel and I close behind. “I know you did,” I say, leaning down to talk above the noise, “but you also described her as an avid knitter with a great personality and three cats. Forgive me for being cautiously optimistic.”

Cali is about Hazel’s height with strawberry-blond hair and light eyes. When she stands to hug Hazel, I’m treated to a view of long legs in a pair of little red shorts, and curves in all the right places. I catch Adam noticing, too.

Hazel makes the introductions and nearly as soon as we sit, our waitress materializes, tossing coasters down in front of us.

“Game’s about to start,” she says, pulling a pencil from her hair and pressing it to a lined notepad. “Anything I can get you beforehand?”

We place a drink order, select a mix of different appetizers, and she leaves us with our scorecards.

“So how do you two know each other?” Cali motions between me and Hazel.

“The short version is that we knew each other in college,” Hazel says, “and then met up again recently. I’m friends with his sister.”

“You dated in college?” Cali asks.

I’m not sure which of us jumps to correct her first, but there’s a lot of head shaking and at one point Hazel is doing a comedic reenactment of someone choking. “More like casual acquaintances,” I say evenly.

Cali points to Adam and dials up her smile. “And how do you know Josh?”

“We met at a youth sports event.”

Her interest is definitely enhanced. “Are you an athlete?”

“Football.” He gives her a proud smile that’s all straight white teeth and just a trace of dimple. It’s an all-American smile, the type you expect to see on cereal boxes and stadium jumbotrons. Unfortunately I’ve seen that smile at least a dozen times before, only usually it’s directed at cheerleaders and groupies at after-game parties. My eyes flash to Hazel and only now does it occur to me that I’ve set her up with Adam the Panty Dropper, and she’s staying at my place.

Brilliant move, Josh.

“I tore my PCL two winters ago,” he continues, “and Josh got me back on the field in time for spring training.”

The conversation slows when our waitress returns. Hazel’s drink is a literal fishbowl filled with some kind of blue alcohol and gummy fish. When Adam and Cali’s attention is drawn by a loud crash behind us, Hazel mimes that it’s my job to make sure her shirt stays on.

We dig into our appetizers just as a middle-aged guy in a blazer and jeans—our emcee for the night—steps out on the stage.

“Hello, everyone!” he shouts, to surprisingly lively applause. “Some of you may recognize me from Channel Four Weekend News. My name is Richard Stroker, and I am your host for tonight’s game.”

“Richard Stroker?” Hazel gapes at me from over the top of her drink. “His name is Dick Stroker? I knew tonight was going to be awesome.”

Adam blinks at her side, confused. “I don’t get it.”

There are about a hundred unsaid things in the look she gives me before she returns her attention to Dick.

“We’ll play seven rounds tonight,” Dick says. “Pop culture, music, math and science, world history, sports”—Adam does a little fist pump here—“wildlife, and grammar.” A collective boo moves through the crowd at the last one, but he continues. “You’ll notice several large television sets around the bar—courtesy of Bob’s Sports, thank you, Bob—where the questions will be displayed. Everyone should have seven scorecards, each one labeled with its respective category. We’ll score each category individually and then tally them for a cumulative winner at the end. Who wants to know what we’re playing for?”

I laugh when Hazel’s arm is the first to shoot up.

“Third place will receive a set of new steak knives from Kizer. Kizer: Because Chinese knives can be awesome, too. Our second-place team will win a year’s subscription to Omaha Steaks, valued at over three hundred dollars.” The room fills with the collective ring of ooohs and ahhhs. “Our last prize is the big one, folks. Because all the proceeds of tonight’s game go to the Children’s Cancer Fund, Budget Cruises has generously donated a three-day Pacific Coast cruise!”

While Cali and Adam are listening to the rules, Hazel leans across the table. “You have to be on my team.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” I remind her, “we’re supposed to be on dates. With other people. Play with Adam.” I straighten, but she reaches out, grabbing my shirt.

“I want that cruise, Josh, and you’re smarter.”

“Why do you think I’m smarter?”

“I saw Adam flexing in the windows outside the car. Call it a hunch.”

“Hazel, a normal cruise is bad enough. You really want an all-you-can-eat buffet on a budget cruise?”

“It’s free.”

“Diarrhea is never free.”

She drops back in her chair and I know I’m going to regret this.

“Fine,” I say. “But you owe me. Next time we do this, I pick what we do.”

She immediately perks up. “Next time?”

I quickly clarify. God, it’s been two seconds and she already looks smug. “If we do this again. Look, I can admit it’s been good to get out of the house. I was spending too much time at home and—”

“—wallowing.”

“No.”

“Playing with yourself because nobody else wants to?”

I give her a warning look. “It’s possible you were right—about the wallowing.”

“Possibly,” she says with a small smile.

“Plus—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—I just really like to win.”

“I knew it! I knew you were as competitive as me.” She points to my stomach. “I mean, a person doesn’t get abs like that without a lot of drive—”

“Everything okay?” Adam asks.

“Of course!” Hazel leans closer, reaching for his arm and lowering her voice, but I can still hear her. We can all still hear her. “Hey, would it be okay if I was on Josh’s team? He’s not very good at this kind of thing and I don’t want him to feel bad. Shaky confidence, you know.”

“I’m right here,” I deadpan.

“Of course,” Cali volunteers with a sympathetic nod. “Adam and I can team up!”

With that settled, a grinning Hazel hands out the cards. By the time I get mine, she’s already written our team name across the top: Stephen Hawking’s School of Religion.

The first round is pop culture, and at the opening question—The character Jar Jar Binks first appeared in which Star Wars movie?—she immediately scribbles down the correct answer.

The questions fly out, and by round five, we’ve somehow managed to get all of them right.

“Wow,” Cali says, looking across the table to our total, and then frowning down at their own. “Who knew you guys were so smart? Guess poor Josh didn’t need that much help after all …”

“What can I say, I’m an encyclopedia of useless information.” Hazel gives her an innocent shrug before quickly pointing to the stage. “Oh look, Dick is back.”

“Our next category—and judging by the number of Budweiser cans in the recycling bin, one a lot of you have been waiting for—sports!”

“Yes!” Adam slams a hand on the table, knocking over his beer just as Cali groans. “Fucking finally.”

“Now, this one’s a little tough,” Dick says, looking out over the room.

“Bring it!” Adam yells, full of confidence and beer.

“ESPN analyst Lee Corso played football in college. He attended Florida State in the midfifties and roomed with another player who would eventually go on to find further success on the silver screen. Who was Lee Corso’s soon-to-be-famous roomie?”

Adam looks absolutely stumped. Cali looks about two seconds away from walking out. I have zero idea who Onetime Football Player Turned ESPN College Football Analyst’s Eventually Famous Roommate could be, but when I glance at Hazel, her eyes are wide, glazed over with what I’m beginning to understand is recognition.

“I know this …” she mumbles.

“How could you possibly know that?” Cali asks. “You don’t even like sports.”

Leaning across the table again, Hazel pulls me close. “My dad loved Dolly Parton and any time she was on TV, he’d record it. He used to watch reruns of her show.”

I wait, confident she’s leading us somewhere useful. “Okay?”

“The answer is Burt Reynolds. I know it.”

I sit back in my chair. Burt Reynolds played halfback at Florida State University. She’s fucking right. Hazel Bradford is a genius.

By the time we get to the last round I can’t believe how much fun I’m having. Adam is talking to a girl at the next table and I have a pang of guilt when Cali starts playing on her phone, but Hazel and I are practically on the edge of our seats. According to the scoreboard—and with the final card to be tallied—the top two teams are tied and we need the next question to win. I’ve never wanted a terrible cruise more.

Dick has taken off his sports jacket, and shuffles a set of notecards in front of him, building up the suspense as he prepares to ask the final question.

“All right,” he says, speaking solemnly into the microphone. “This is it. It’s sudden death so we’re going to do this one a little differently. When you have completed your answer, please send a team captain to the stage so we can see if you’re correct and, indeed, the winner. Good luck, everyone.” He takes a deep breath before dropping his eyes to the card.

“The term pronoun covers many words in the English language. For the final question, name eight types of pronouns.”

Hazel puts her pencil to the paper and hesitates for only a beat.

“I only know two,” I whisper, but she’s already writing. A second later, she tears off her sheet, stands from the table, and races up onto the stage.

“Okay, okay.” Dick takes the paper from her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Hazel,” she squawks breathlessly into the microphone. She waves to the crowd and I shake my head, laughing.

“Okay, Hazel, captain of …”—he squints at our card—“Stephen Hawking’s School of Religion? Read me your answer.”

“So, Dick—can I call you Dick?”

“Many women do,” he says with a lecherous wink.

“You see, Dick, I’m an elementary school teacher, but I also have a really crummy memory.”

“That’s gotta be rough, Hazel.”

“You’re telling me. Because of this I’m always looking for ways to trick my brain.” Hazel holds up a finger and counts off as she recites, “Getting Pretty Panties Ripped Requires Real Damn Initiative. Or—general, personal, possessive, reflexive, reciprocal, relative, demonstrative, and interrogative!”

Dick pauses to check the answer before taking Hazel’s hand and lifting it over her head in victory. “What a correct, and yet totally inappropriate, response! Hazel the elementary school teacher and her partner win! We have a winner!”

..........

“I don’t know how you did it.” Emily walks into the living room with a bowl of popcorn in one arm and a bottle of wine in the other. “Not only did you get my brother to a dive bar for a blind date, but you won a shitty cruise, and he had a good time. Clearly you’re the Prude Whisperer.”

“Hey.” I glare in my sister’s direction.

“Actually, I didn’t talk him into anything.”

I turn to where Hazel is curled up on the couch behind me and smile. Hazel: defending my honor like good friends do.

“I didn’t even have to. His competitive nature made manipulating him far easier than I’d have guessed.”

“Hey.” I glare at Hazel now.

Emily barks out a laugh, which in turn makes Winnie bark from where she’s lying across my feet.

“You too?” I ask the dog, bending to ruffle her fur. She’s as bad as her owner, a total nuisance, and yet … somehow endearing.

“My fussy brother on a budget cruise. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh, don’t start worrying about him yet.” Hazel stretches her long legs just enough to encroach into my space. “The cruise isn’t until next spring. I’m sure he’ll figure a way to weasel out of it by then.”

With the movie set to play, I toss the remote to the table and turn to face her. “With that attitude, good luck asking me to send you Imodium from the mainland.”

Dave joins us in the living room. “Are you two sure you’re not married?”

Hazel scrunches up her face before lobbing a piece of popcorn at him. Winnie immediately wolfs it down.

“The only person I bicker that comfortably with is my wife,” he says, “and it’s a skill that’s taken years to perfect.” Rounding the couch, he drops down onto the cushion next to my sister. They look so easy together. It’s hard not to wonder whether I’ll ever have that. Judging by my results with Cali, it does not look good.

Fortunately, I get little time to wallow because Hazel shoves her foot into my kidney, attempting to make room for Winnie under the blanket. I push her foot away. “You know there’s another side to this couch, right?”

Dave looks at us, smug. “See?”

“David, gross.” Hazel pulls up the blanket. “We just ate.”

Emily reaches for a handful of popcorn and sits back against the couch. “So, back to the double date of doom, what happened to those two? I assume they don’t want to see either of you again since you were basically trivia nerd besties who plan to never get laid.”

“Oh, we haven’t told you the best part—” I start, but Hazel interrupts me.

“The cruise is the best part, Jimin.”

I push her off the edge of the cushion and continue. “They went home together.”

Emily’s mouth falls open. “They did not.”

“They did.” Hazel nods happily from where she’s landed on the floor, as if she’s thrilled for them. “I stopped by my old school to drop off a box of supplies yesterday and saw Cali in the faculty room touching up the concealer on a giant hickey. Who gives hickeys anymore? Honestly.”

“But you are going to do it again, right?” Emily asks, watching as Hazel climbs back onto the couch, roughly inserting herself into my space again. “Please don’t let my brother go back to the sweatpants.”

Hazel tosses a piece of popcorn in her mouth and gives me a little shrug. “I don’t know, what do you think?”

“Off the top of my head,” I say, “I can’t think of any friends I want to alienate. But I’m not opposed to trying.”

Hazel considers this. “Yeah, nobody else at my new or former place of employment—I have to maintain my thin veneer of a professional demeanor. And most of my friends are married or gay, or even weirder than I am.”

I frown at her. “That’s hard to believe.”

“We know tons of people!” Emily chimes in, scooting to the edge of the cushion and turning to face her husband. “What about that adorable girl at your chiropractor?”

Dave searches his memory for a face. “The redhead? She’s a lesbian.”

“There’s no way Josh is getting lucky anytime soon,” Hazel says, “so that won’t matter.”

Emily straightens. “Oh! What about your brother? He’d have so much fun with Hazel.”

“My brother is engaged.”

Emily levels him with a flat look. “David, we all know that’s not going to last.”

“We might want to let it run its course regardless.”

Hazel reaches for the bottle of wine and mutters to me, “I think we’re going to need this.”

“What about that guy at the dentist’s office,” Dave says, “the one who does the scheduling?” He looks around the couch. “We should find a not to write all these down.”

Emily rummages through an end table drawer and I hold up my glass for Hazel to refill.

Pencil in hand, Emily starts making notes. “The guy who does your lawn is always playing with Winnie, Josh. And he’s really cute.”

Dave looks at her from where he’s reaching for a cookie. “Isn’t he, like, nineteen?”

“You might be right.” She turns to Hazel. “Haze, do you have a problem with younger men?”

Hazel burps before answering. “Nope.”

“Joshy, what about you?”

“I think younger men are fine but I’d prefer a woman. And at least old enough to vote, please.”

David’s eyes light up. “What if we made them dating profiles on Grindr or eharmony or one of those?”

Emily’s brows come together. “I don’t think Grindr is the right one. Let me Google it.”

Hazel leans against my shoulder, staring at them. “They don’t even need us here for this.”

I take a sip of wine. “I think you’re right.”

“You know … my hairstylist is pretty cute,” Hazel says thoughtfully. “And funny, too. You might like her.”

“Really?”

She looks up at me. She’s so close, her whiskey eyes seem lighter tonight. “Mm-hm. She likes to fish. Do you like to fish?”

“I do.”

“I have an appointment next week.” With one hand, she pulls her hair up on top of her head. “Maybe I’ll talk to her?”

“But what about you?” I ask. “If we’re going to do this, I still want to do it together.” Hazel opens her mouth to answer, but stops. I follow her gaze to where Emily and Dave are both watching us. “What?”

“Nothing.” Emily bends to write something down, and I’m guessing it’s just a scribble because we’ve caught her ogling us. “You’re just cute together.”

Hazel sits up, preening. “That’s because we’re both insanely attractive.” She looks back at me. “I think Josh might like my hairdresser, though. But he can’t screw it up because I really love my hair right now.”

I lift my glass. “Scout’s honor.”

Dave reaches for Emily’s arm. “You know that barista at Heavenly Brews? The one you think is always flirting with you?”

Emily holds up her hands in defense. “All I’m saying is he never charges me for a double shot.”

“Anyway, I could talk to him about Hazel.” In Hazel’s direction he adds, “He’s pretty cute—as far as guys go. Dark hair, athletic. No obvious psychotic tendencies that I’ve noticed, and he makes a kick-ass cappuccino. I think he’s in graduate school or something.”

Hazel tilts her head side to side. “I’m interested. Baristas tend to like the peculiar girls.”

Something pulses in me when I hear her describe herself that way.

“So we have a plan then?” Emily asks. “Hazel will talk to her stylist and Dave can talk to the hot barista. We’ll meet back here to finalize the details?”

Hazel offers a hand and I reach over to shake it. This is all becoming very … communal. I just hope no one gets invested in someone for me before I do.