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“I’m on board with whatever.” Bryan claps me on the shoulder with a smile, white teeth flashing. “Girl knows her stuff. Even if she did stay on the team, who cares if you’re mixing business with pleasure? This is your career, your team. Do whatever you want.”

I nod, some of the tension draining out of me. “Let’s not speak of this again, please. And I’ll consider your advice,” I tell Murray.

When I get to the parking lot, the car is running, “Dancing in the Moonlight” faintly playing on the radio. Hazel is on the phone, talking to someone. I gently place the notebook she left behind in her lap and she gives me a brief glance, her free hand curling around the spiral.

I click my seatbelt into place and drive the half hour back to my house. She tells whoever is on the line—her dad, I assume—all about the course in New York and how excited she is about being on the team.

A weight sinks into my stomach. No wonder she was upset about my fuckup. She genuinely wants to be the best at everything she does. And all I’ve done so far is fantasize about her and cause others to see her in a poor light.

Maybe waiting until after the U.S. Open to pursue anything with Hazel is not a bad idea. If she’ll even want anything to do with me by then.

I want to say something else, to assure her that no one on the team will judge her, but by the time we arrive back home, she’s still on the phone. She waves at me with a quiet “Good night” and heads to her room.

I stare after her from the hallway and run a hand through my hair. Gus walks past me, briefly brushing against my leg. I look down at him, startled, as he follows the sound of Hazel’s voice. He scratches at her door and she opens it, letting him in, then closing it again.

My shoulders droop and I head to my bedroom. Petunia senses my mood and comes to me, purring. “I’m okay,” I mumble, stroking her back. I keep repeating the words as I get ready for bed. As I stare up at the ceiling. As I turn from one side of the bed to the other.

“I’m okay.”

I don’t sleep nearly as much as I should, tossing and turning all night. There’s an acute pain in my right shoulder as I wake. I hiss and rotate it, adding some pressure, but it doesn’t seem to do anything.

There’s a scream from downstairs and I bolt upright, taking the stairs down two at a time, my heart pounding in my chest. Did something happen? Voices sound from the guest bedroom and I rush to it.

“Hazel? Is everything okay?” I call out as I run.

The sight of Roxana holding up a broom and pointing it menacingly at Hazel is not at all what I expect. Especially not since Hazel is in nothing but her towel, water still dripping from her hair.

Gus is between them, fur standing on ends, his tail rod straight and poofed out.

I sigh and raise both my hands in a placating gesture.

Roxana says something in Russian and Hazel looks at me with wide eyes, both her hands clutching the too-short towel that barely covers her. There’s a drop of water running down her thigh and the scratch mark she still sports courtesy of Gussy. I gulp and pointedly avert my eyes from her legs.

With an internal groan, I step between the two of them, facing Roxana. “What’s going on?” I ask softly but sternly.

“You have an intruder,” she says, wildly gesticulating at the mostly naked woman behind me.

Hazel chokes back a gasp of offense and I kick myself for yet another thing I forgot to update her on.

“No, Roxana. Hazel is my—” I press my lips together. My what? Coworker? Crush? Woman I’d very much like to date? “She’s my friend,” I land on.

“You don’t have friends,” she says, dark red eyebrows furrowing.

Ouch. Can’t say that didn’t sting. Especially as she so casually said it in front of Hazel. “I do. There’s Ezra,” I say, trailing off.

“Where is Ezra? And where did she come from?” she asks, pointing at Hazel behind me.

“Hazel is staying here for a while,” I say, lowering my hands. “I forgot to tell you,” I add, sneaking a glance over my shoulder.

Hazel looks pissed.

Rightfully so.

How do I keep fucking up with her?

“All right,” Roxana says doubtfully, but she lowers the broom. “Apologies, Hazel, I did not mean to startle you.”

Hazel chuckles nervously and clutches her towel tighter. “That’s all right. I’d just appreciate it if my room remained off-limits,” she says, glaring at me.