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I force a hard swallow and shake out his jacket. I manage to slide it almost all the way up my arm, when I realize he was right. Definitely not going to fit. And yet he knew this, and still handed it to me…
Jeremy’s still not looking at me. From this angle, I can make out the steady ticking pulse in his smooth jaw.
He’s pissed. Hurt.
Rightfully so.
Easing the jacket off my arms, I wrap it around my shoulders instead, pinching the front flaps together over my neck. I dip my chin, half-burying my face in the soft material, inhaling?—
Cinnamon.
I did it to get warm, but now?—
My eyes slam closed, and all I see is Jeremy’s blurred face the moment I grabbed his shocked face, and told him to shut up, and?—
“I kissed you,” I whisper into his jacket.
If it wasn’t so quiet out here, with nothing but the distant hum and rush of passing cars along the bypass leading into town…
He probably wouldn’t have even heard me.
But it is that quiet.
And he did hear me.
“And you called me Izzy.”
My eyes fly open, and I straighten, lifting my face from the collar of his jacket.
I search his drawn features—those glassy, reddened amber eyes with the gold flecks that gleam like jewels in the night casting shadows down on us. His pursed lips. Those hollowed cheeks, like he’s sucking them in, chewing the insides. The soft, yet sharp angles that make up his smooth jawline. His narrow nose. The severe lines of his brow.
Beautiful. I’d found him beautiful that day.
I remember that now. Remember it vividly.
You were drunk, a voice reminds me.
And yet…
And yet.
“Jeremy,” I whisper, shaking my head.
“Not when we kissed,” he clarifies stiffly. “You didn’t say it then. But soon enough after, that I—” He abruptly cuts himself off, with a little shake of his head. Expelling a sharp breath, he mutters,“I’m an idiot.”
“What? No. That’s not—it’s not what you thin?—”
“What I think?” he growls with a surprising amount of venom, saving me from even more awkward stuttering. “You don’t wanna know what I’m thinking.”
Eyes stinging, I stare at him for a long moment. “I don’t know why I kissed you. I…I don’t know what happened.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire…
Shutupshutupshutup.
“But it wasn’t because I-I was so drunk, that I didn’t know who you were. That I—that I thought you were her, or was pretending you were her.”
Oh, God, does he really think that?
