Page 52 of The Do-Over

That made me smile, because he totally saw me in that moment. “I’ve been known to say it’sSchindler’s List, but it’s actuallyTitanic.”

“Oh, Emilie.” He looked horrified. “You are right to lie about that. Bury that confession deep, deep in your disgusting soul forever.”

I asked, “What’syourfavorite movie?”

He put the truck in gear and turned it off. “Snatch. Ever seen it?”

“I don’t watch porn.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he said, chastising me while his cerulean (thank you, DeVos) eyes squinted around a grin. “It’s Guy Ritchie and Brad Pitt, dumb-ass.”

When he came around to my side of the truck, I couldn’t help it—I beamed up at him like I was a three-year-old coming face-to-face with Elsa fromFrozen.

He frowned. “Why are you smiling like that?”

I shrugged. “Because I just kind of like you, I think.”

“Oh, youthink?” he drawled, giving me a teasing smirk that did wild things to my insides. “You drag me out of Chem and you’re not sure?”

I shrugged again. “Jury’s still out. I’ll let you know when I know.”

I started walking, pulling him behind me, but his hand tugged me to a stop. His breath clouded around his face as he grinned down at me. “You didn’t know to wear gloves or a coat in the middle of February in Nebraska—you don’t know shit, Emilie Hornby.”

Before I even realized what he was doing, he let go of my hand, pulled off his big gloves, and put them on my hands. They were ginormous on me, but warm inside. Then he reached around my head to yank up the hood of the coat I’d jacked from him.

“You’re a damn child,” he muttered, still smiling as his face hovered just over mine. “Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.”

“Y’know, if this was a movie, I would look at your mouth rightnow. Like this.” I let my eyes glance down to his lips. “And you would kiss me.”

“Is that right?” His voice was low and I felt his gaze in my stomach as he looked down at my lips.

“Yes,” I said, sounding a little breathless.

“Well, thank God we’re not in a movie, then.”

Ouch. I looked at that face and breathed, “You wouldn’t want to kiss me?”

He was quiet for a brief second, and the moment hovered as our collective breaths mingled and shared a cloud in front of our faces. His eyes were solemn, so serious, as he looked at me and said, “I wouldn’t want the complications that accompany kissing you.”

“Why are you so sad?” I asked.

I hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even realized it was on the tip of my tongue, but I’d never wanted anything more than to know the answer to that question at that moment.

His jaw flexed, unflexed, and his haunted eyes stayed on mine. I felt like he wanted to tell me as his entire being paused in response, but something about the way he swallowed made me want to protect him from his answer.

“Forget it—you don’t have to answer.” I tugged on his sleeve and we started walking again. “I’ve got a million other questions.”

“Wonderful.”

“So tell me your life story.” I needed to know every little bit of him that wasn’t sad. “Did you grow up here? Who’s your best friend? Brothers and sisters? Any pets? Well, other than Betty, that is.”

He gave me a weird look. “How do you know my dog’s name?”

Shit. “You told me when, um—I don’t remember, actually, but I remember you mentioning it sometime.”

Nice answer, you imbecile.

Thankfully he just said, “That’s our only animal. What about you?”

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