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He stares at me, brows furrowing.
I drop my gaze to the ground, shaking my head. “Fuck. What am I doing?”
“Mason…” He swallows with an audible click.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I mutter into my skin, “Stupid, so, so stupid.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but let me just take you home. Get Shawn, and?—”
I can’t say what comes over me. If someone asks me tomorrow or next week, or hell, years from now, how it happened, I’d tell them I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.
One second, we’re standing here, with three steps separating us.
And the next, I’m all in his space, and his face is clutched in my hands.
And he’s soft, so soft. But sharp too. Angular.
Boy, boy, boy.
Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy.
Wide, startled eyes stare back at me, and I’m vaguely aware of his arms falling at his sides, the bottle slipping from his grip. “What?—”
I yank his face to me?—
“Shut up. Just. Shut. Up.”
—and crush my mouth to his, smothering his gasp.
He tenses.
I tense.
And everything just…stops.
Time ceases.
The sleet pinging off the car and prickling our skin disappears.
The thoughts that were racing across my skull only seconds ago—too fast for me to make sense of—misfire all at once, falling away like stars. Leaving only one last remaining thought—a single word—no, a name.
Jeremy.
Fingers flex into my arms, digging with bruising pressure, not unlike the way our lips remained fastened and frozen against each other.
Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy.
What is this, what is this, what?—
My eyes fly open at the same time I release him with a gasp.
His lips, plush and pink, slacken with his own hitched gust of air.
His eyes are frozen wide—a sea of rippling amber. Something tells me he hasn’t even so much as blinked since I grabbed him.
Next to his head, my hands hover in the air, clawing at where I’d just been holding him. His hands do the same near my arms.
“Wh-what—” he says.
