He’s wearing black jeans, a burgundy T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Damn it, I love a dude in a leather jacket.

“I’m headed to my new job…” He squints at me. “Didn’t you have shorter hair yesterday?”

“We didn’t talk yesterday.” Now I sound weirdly defensive.

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t see you around,” he adds with a tinge of confusion.

I look up at his cozy brown eyes. “Dude.” I gesture around limply with my free hand. “You were supposed to be gone, and I was supposed to be gone, and we were never going to see each other again.”

Zarar’s head tilts. “You sound like Jamie. What is it with you two and never wanting to see people again?”

I bark a laugh. It took him all of thirty seconds to sense that. “Do you want to know a secret?”

The train screeches to a stop and an onslaught of people floods out around us.

He shrugs. “… Sure.”

I wait for the doors to close. We rattle forward again.

“This is gonna sound weird,” I start. “… I am Jamie.” The second the word leaves my mouth, I have to sneeze. It’s loud, it’s obnoxious, and it’s right in Zarar’s face.

I smack a hand over my mouth. An oof sound escapes Zarar’s lips as he stumbles back with closed eyes. He drifts sideways now that he’s not holding the pole, and oh eff, his face is covered in a spattering of glitter.

“Shit, Z! I am so sorry. I did not feel that coming.” I loose a sad little laugh as he wipes his face with his arm. When he blinks and looks up at me a moment later, his eyes bulge, and he pitches backward again, caching himself against a free vertical railing near the door.

I cock my head, smiling now. “What, is there a horrifying snot on my face?”

“What the—what … what happened?” he sputters.

“Yeah … I sneezed on you, I’m really sorry.” An array of panicked emotions passes through his eyes. I walk over to where he’s now leaning against the side of the train. “Dude, you’re freaking me out a little.”

Zarar’s looking at me like I’m a new species of tree that just materialized out of thin air. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell just happened?” he bleats again.

“I mean, how else can I explain this … I sneezed. I got some shit on your face and I’m real sorry about it. It was very unsexy.” I resist the urge to reach up and wipe at the glitter still spackled across his cheeks with my sweatshirt.

“What are you doing in New York?” he demands.

I huff a laugh. “Um, it’s a long story—sorry, do you, are you referring to me as Jamie now? You actually believe I’m Jamie?”