Emma leaned her head against the car window, blind to the buildings and streetlights they passed. Her head was elsewhere, swirling with so many what-ifs that her eyes were starting to ache.
What if I’d stayed? What if I’d told Jess how I feel? What if he hadn’t come? What if I’d called Jess first before Ethan made the date? What if…
She could still feel his arms around her, their deceptive strength holding her close. And she could still smell the musky scent of his cologne, remembered the urge to lean in and bury her nose in his neck. And the worst of it all was, she could still see his eyes when she’d stepped back, that second between hopeful and crushed when he didn’t quite believe she was actually going away.
That one was a literal burn—in her eyes, in her gut—and Emma wanted nothing
