Page 27 of The Love Rematch
She’d never snuck out of the house before, never gone to any parties, never broken any rules. That was Sam’s MO. Emily was the good girl. She was happier spending the night with her sketchbook than watching her sister flirt with any number of imbecile boys not worth the dirt on her shoe. At least, she had been until Jake. He made her want more—more for her life, more for her future, more for her heart. And when his pickup truck drove by, headlights off, not stopping until he reached the neighbor’s house, she had this feeling as if everything was going to be different. As if all her life she’d been half-asleep, and now suddenly, she was alive.
His camera was rolling before she even opened the door.
“Emily Ann Peters, I’d like the first official interview before you’re a huge fashion megastar. When you arrive in New York next fall, what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”
She rolled her eyes and hopped into the passenger seat, then stuck out her tongue. “Call my boyfriend, of course.”
“Good answer. What next?”
“Hmm…” She settled her head back and lifted her feet onto the dash, grinning when she noticed his focus go right to her legs. The miniskirt had been a good call. “Real answer?”
“Real answer.”
“I’m going to go sit in Bryant Park with a slice of dollar pizza and my sketchbook and dream.”
He put the camera down and slid his hand behind her neck to tease her hair with his fingers. The gentle massage shot lightning down her spine. It sounded cliché but his eyes were glowing as he took her in, happiness and pride a force within his gaze. They hadn’t been dating for very long, but it didn’t matter. When he looked at her like that, she could see their entire future mapped out in perfect color. She’d go to New York to study fashion. He’d go to Los Angeles to make movies. They’d talk on the phone every day. They’d visit as much as possible. They’d find a way to make it work. Their dreams might have been pulling them in opposite directions, but their hearts were tied, bound, smushed together somewhere in the middle, inseparable.
“Congrats, Em.”
She ducked her head, embarrassed. He trailed his fingers down her arm, barely touching her, yet somehow the path felt drawn by fire. Then he took her hand, lifted it to his lips, and started the engine. He didn’t let go until they reached their destination. At this time of night, the beach parking lot was barren, so Jake didn’t try to hide anything. As they got out, he pulled a bottle of champagne and two plastic cups from his back seat. She giggled nervously.
“Where’d you get that?”
“My mom.” He shrugged. “You planning to report me?”
“If my dad knew I was here, we’d have much bigger problems than underage drinking.” She snorted. “But, um…”
He sensed her hesitation. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just, um, you know I don’t usually drink, and—”
“Em.”He put the bottle on the ground. “I’m not trying to make something happen tonight. All I want to do is celebrate with you.”
“I know, Jake. I know.”
“Listen.”He cupped her face and stroked her cheekbone with his wide thumb. The gentle scrape of rough skin left her tingling. “Nothing is going to happen tonight, or any night when you have a drink. Okay? I don’t want to be someone you wake up in the morning and regret. I’d never forgive myself.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” He waited a moment to make sure she believed him, then grinned and stepped closer. “But seeing as we haven’t even opened the bottle yet…”
He put his arms on either side of her, caging her against the truck, then captured her mouth in his. She couldn’t say how much time passed. Nothing mattered outside of her hands on his back, and his hands in her hair. At some point, she lifted her leg around his waist to urge him closer. His fingers found her thigh, then slid up, up, up, under the hem of her skirt and to the edge of her panties, before—
“Jesus, Em.”He pulled away panting. “You’re going to kill me.”
She tried to tug him back. “Jake.”
“No. No…” The secondnosounded more for his benefit. He held his hands up while backing away and grabbed the bottle. “We have celebrating to do. Come on.”
They went to the beach, and while yes, they made out on the towel a few more times, he was true to his word. She got drunk, and he got drunk off her getting drunk. They splashed in the surf. They stared at the stars. They sang and talked and he took a few more videos, until finally, a torrential downpour forced them back to the truck. She was shivering and soaked. He grabbed an extra T-shirt from the back seat before averting his eyes—though she did catch him taking a peek in the rearview mirror while her back was turned. He simply grinned as she playfully shoved him around. Then he dropped her off at home and waited until she crawled back through her window before driving away—a perfect gentleman.
She slept in his shirt every night for a week, the smell of the salt and sand and him too inviting to resist. He never asked for it back, so she never gave it back. Then he left, and she shoved it into the far reaches of her closet with all the other things that reminded her of him that she couldn’t bear to look at anymore.
When she came home from New York, she threw most of those things away—most, but not all. The shirt reminded her of him, yes. But more importantly, it reminded her of a night when anything seemed possible, and that felt better than all the hurt his memory might have caused. She washed it twenty times in a row to get any lingering bits of his smell out, damned if she was going to give up her favorite shirt and the memory of one of her favorite nights because she got dumped. Plus, all that washing only made it softer and more comfortable.
Take that, Jake, she thinks as she finishes cinching the towel around her waist and looks up. There’s a question in his downturned eyes, his pouted lips, his furrowed brow. The memory of that night plays as clearly in his gaze as it did in her mind, and there’s no doubt as to what he’s asking.
Do you regret me?
