The lost boyfriend, p.1
The Lost Boyfriend, page 1
The Lost Boyfriend
Christina Benjamin
Crown Atlantic Publishing
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 2019 by Christina Benjamin
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crown Atlantic Publishing
Version 1.1
July 2019
To those brave enough to take the road less traveled.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
Also by Christina Benjamin
About the Author
Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Hazel
Field Journal Entry:
It’s called the rule of three. We can survive three weeks without food, three days without water, three minutes without air . . . but how long can we last without our hearts?
I’m living by a new rule of three. Three seconds to change my life.
That’s how long it took for me to make up my mind when James showed up at my door the day after graduation with his heart on his sleeve and a question I already knew the answer to.
But I’m getting ahead of myself . . . let’s start at the beginning.
1
Hazel
“Hey kiddo, how’s it going out there?”
Hazel gripped the steering wheel harder. She hated lying to her dad. “It’s fine,” she said into her cellphone.
“Just fine?”
“It’s a college pre-class, Dad, not exactly spring breakers gone wild.”
He chuckled. “I know. I’m just proud of ya, kid. Going to college is a big deal. You’re a trailblazer, gonna be the first one in our family to get a degree.”
Hazel bit down on her shame. She didn’t need to be reminded of how selfish she was being. “I don’t have a degree yet, Dad.” Talking about college degrees was a bit premature considering Hazel still had a few more weeks of her senior year of high school to finish out.
“Just a matter of time,” her dad mused. “Did you meet up with Jenny yet?”
Another lie. Hazel swallowed hard. “I’m actually just about to.”
“Good. I’m glad you’ll have a familiar face out there. Tell her to come visit once in a while, will ya? Vegas isn’t that far from Lovelock.”
Hazel laughed. Vegas was eight hours from her little hole-in-the-wall town, but it might as well be on another planet.
Not wanting to burst her dad’s bubble and tell him no one who lived in Vegas would ever want to visit Lovelock, she changed the subject. “How’s Lu, are you giving him attention like you promised?”
“Lugnut is fine, Hazel.”
“He hates that name, Dad.”
Hazel’s grandpa had named the junkyard dog that awful name when he found him, but she affectionately called the adorable Jack Russel, Lu, for short. He looked more like a Lu anyway.
Hazel was only ten when Gramps brought the puppy home and that was it; love at first sight. Her heart hurt just thinking about spending ten days away from him. It was sad, but that damn dog was her best friend—and who wanted to call their best friend Lugnut?
“Lu, Lugnut, does it really matter?” her dad grumbled. “He’s a dog.”
“Yes, he’s a very intelligent dog that will pee in your shoes if you piss him off. Pun intended,” she replied. “Don’t forget to keep him out of Gramps’s room. And you have to put Lu’s sweater on at night. He hates to be cold.”
Hazel heard her dad give a good-humored huff. “Just like someone else I know.”
She smiled, the irony not lost on her as she looked at the snowcapped mountains in the distance. Montana was only a few states away from her home in Lovelock, Nevada, but the landscape couldn’t be more different. Towering evergreens and mountains sprouted up from every direction—a big change from Lovelock’s flat, brown dust bowl.
Even with the heater cranked in her old Scout, Hazel still felt the chill in her bones. Most of it from the crisp March air, but she knew some of her discomfort was from guilt.
Hazel had never lied to her dad before—but how could she tell him the truth when she knew how bad it would hurt him?
She was so busy worrying about her guilty conscience that she almost didn’t see the person crossing the street right in front of her.
“Shit!” she hissed, slamming the brakes a split second too late.
“Hazel?”
She shifted the Scout into park. “I gotta go, Dad.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just ran into someone.” Literally!
Hazel hung up the phone and jumped out of her car.
James
Seriously! James scowled up at the sky, cursing the universe. Could there be more signs that I don’t belong here?
He’d been in Montana less than an hour and had almost been killed twice. First landing on that sketchy excuse for a runway and now this.
He glowered at the emblem on the grill of the metallic blue death machine that almost turned him into roadkill. He’d never seen this make before. What the hell is an International?
He’d barely had time to jump out of its way, his long arms reflexively shoving him away from the hood as it screeched to a stop. James shook his head, climbing to his feet slowly to make sure he was still in one piece. Fortunately, he was. Or maybe unfortunately . . .
He really didn’t want to be here. Would it be so bad if someone offs me before this fresh hell begins?
What a nightmare. James looked back at the antique SUV that had nearly crippled him. It looked like a tank. Is this really what passed as a vehicle in this part of the country? James shook his head. He was so out of his depth here.
Hillbilly Camp hadn’t even started yet and James already wished he was back in his room in Boston surrounded by his computers and camera equipment more than ever.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
James turned to see the tiniest girl ever running toward him. He couldn’t believe she’d been driving that tank. No wonder she hit him, she probably couldn’t see over the steering wheel.
“Yeah, I’m . . .” His eyes traveled from her espresso-colored hair to her caramel eyes. She had a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her button nose that reminded him of the cinnamon that dusted the top of a latte. He forgot what he was saying as his eyes traveled down her body, snagging on her feet. “Did I hit my head or are your boots actually hot pink?”
She pulled herself up to her full height, which was comical considering she was five-foot nothing, and crossed her arms, color flushing her cheeks. “Yes, they’re pink. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, it’s just . . . they don’t really fit the whole vibe you’ve got going on here,” he said gesturing to the torn jeans that hugged her curves like a second skin and the layer of edgy tees, leather jacket and military vest. Not to mention the death machine she’d been driving. Everything about her looked dangerous—except the pink boots.
They screamed bubble gum and Barbie dolls, while the rest of her said . . . well, the opposite.
“And what vibe would that be?” she asked, her tone as harsh as her glare.
James squinted and playfully cocked his head. “Mad Max?”
Apparently, it was the wrong answer because the pint-sized girl scowled at him.
This was why he didn’t talk to girls. He was digging himself a grave—and much faster than usual.
Flustered, James changed tactics and extended his hand. “Ignore me, I think I’m still in shock. Ya know, from almost becoming road pizza. I’m Jamie-ur-I mean-James.”
Her soft cocoa eyebrows arched. “Which is it? James or Jamie?”
“It’s James Forrester, but I prefer Jamie.”
“Then introduce yourself as
He smirked. If only it were that simple. “Right. And you are?”
“I’m Hazel. Sorry I almost hit you, but you should probably look both ways before you cross the street.”
He laughed. This girl had balls. I like that in a girl, Hazel. “I think I might’ve heard that before . . .”
She cracked a smile and it was like a fist clamped around his heart. Is there such a thing as hit-and-run love?
“Well, if you’re sure you’re okay . . .” she said starting to back toward her car.
“Yeah, uh, I’m good. Nice, uh, running into you.” He cringed at his own bad joke, but Hazel was smiling at him as he picked up his backpack and started to make his way out of the street, shaking his head as he went.
Fate, you cruel bastard.
It figured the first interesting girl James had met in years would live somewhere that would make it impossible to see her again.
“Wait,” Hazel called, scooping something up off the ground and jogging after him.
Hazel
Hazel stared at the hat in her hand. She’d been about to hand it back to Jamie when she recognized the logo stitched onto the front of the brand new ball cap—a silhouette of three mountain peaks, capped in white. What are the chances?
“No way!” she exclaimed, pulling a brochure from her back pocket and holding the matching logo up to Jamie’s hat. “You’re heading to Wander Mountain, too?”
James
James blinked at Hazel in shock.
I take it back, Fate. Maybe you’ve redeemed yourself.
2
Hazel
“You can relax,” Hazel said, keeping her eyes on the GPS leading her to Wander Mountain’s base camp. “I can’t run you over when you’re inside the car.”
Jamie smirked. “I’d still be more comfortable if I was behind the wheel.”
“Why? Because I’m a girl?”
“No, because you need to sit on a phonebook to drive. Are you sure you’re even old enough to have a license?” he teased.
She could tell he was joking because his sky-blue eyes sparkled mischievously, and the corner of his mouth twitched with an itch to smile.
He was appallingly handsome. His striking good-looks almost made Hazel want to ignore him completely, but his comment still bothered her. She’d never been good at keeping her opinions to herself. Her grandpa always told her she had a mule’s mouth: too stubborn and loud for her own good.
But in this case, Hazel couldn’t help it. Jamie had hit a nerve. She had a chip on her shoulder when it came to being the fairer sex and it didn’t help that she was barely five-one.
Hazel scowled at him. “I’m eighteen thank you very much, and I’ve probably been driving longer than you’ve been on the planet.”
He laughed. “Since I’m also eighteen that seems unlikely.”
“Well, I’ve still been driving longer,” she countered.
“How’s that?”
“My dad owns a repair shop. I grew up fixing cars.”
“Oh, cool. Are you fixing this one up or something?”
Hazel’s mouth fell open. “Did you just insult my ride?”
“Uh . . . did I?”
“This is a 1964 International Scout, bub. They don’t make cars like this anymore. Bernie is perfect exactly the way she is.”
“Bernie?”
“That’s her name,” Hazel boasted, affectionately patting the dash. “Technically, Bernadette, but Bernie for short.”
Jamie blinked at her like she’d just grown another head.
She huffed. “You do know cars need names, right?”
“Yeah . . . sure.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah right, your car doesn’t have a name. You probably drive a Prius or something with no character, don’t you?”
“Tesla, actually. And its name is Ted.”
Hazel burst out laughing. “You did not name your car Ted.”
“How do you know?”
“First off, you’re a guy, your car needs to be named after a woman.”
“Says who?”
She shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. Unless . . . if you’re into guys, then I guess—”
“I’m not into guys!” he blurted out.
“Okay, it’s not a big deal if you are though.”
“I know, but I’m not and I just feel like I should make that clear. I like girls. Women.”
Hazel bit back her grin as she watched Jamie’s cheeks flush scarlet. The color crept up from his neck all the way to his ears. He may be cripplingly gorgeous, but apparently even beautiful people suffer from teenage awkwardness.
She decided to take mercy on him—she had almost run him over. “Did you really name your car Ted?”
He met her eyes, his mouth slipping into a crooked grin. “Nah. You were right, it doesn’t have a name.”
She laughed. “I knew it! Okay, gun to your head, name your Tesla.”
He frowned and looked out the window, silent for a moment. “Jane.”
Hazel raised her eyebrows but nodded. “Solid name. Is she your girlfriend or something?”
Jamie was still looking out the window when he replied. “No. My mother.”
“You’re naming your car after your mom?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”
Hazel shook her head. “Nothing.” Can you say mommy issues? Though Hazel didn’t have room to talk in that department.
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Oh, whatever, Pink Boots.”
That shut Hazel up quickly.
She hated how self-conscious the stupid Pepto-colored footwear made her. She’d gotten more than a few strange looks when she picked up her camp packet at Sinclair’s Outpost. But when embarking on a two-week wilderness adventure, one needs a good pair of boots. And it’s not like Hazel had the means to buy brand new gear.
She got what she could find at the Lovelock Goodwill, which unfortunately happened to be a tragic pair of hot pink hiking boots. Despite their misfortunate color, they were too good a deal to pass up; five dollars and brand new; still had the tags on them.
Of course they still had the tags on them. Who the hell wears hot pink hiking boots? Especially in Lovelock.
Hazel wished she’d taken the time to at least scuff them up a bit. They practically glowed like some kind of neon billboard that said, ‘look at me; cute, flirty, hiker-girl’.
But that statement couldn’t be further from the truth.
Jamie had been right; Hazel was way more Mad Max than her boots gave her credit for. She was a tomboy and proud of it.
Hazel knew her way around an engine block better than a makeup counter and she felt more comfortable with grease under her fingernails than getting a manicure. And flirting? It was more foreign to her than a second language.
She didn’t have time for boys or even friends, really. Besides, that’s not why she’d come here. She came to Wander Mountain because she wanted to gain as much life experience as she could. So, as intriguing and handsome as Jamie was, Hazel didn’t plan on getting wrapped up in him or anyone else for that matter. This trip was about her.
Hazel had expected to meet people with the same mindset at this camp, but all the girls waiting for the camp bus at Sinclair’s looked more like they belonged in her pink boots than she did. And when they’d seen Jamie they’d practically swooned. Honestly, some of the guys swooned too.
