“Your shirt,” I tell him, trying to take a steadying breath and immediately regretting that decision, seeing as it forces my breasts to brush against his chest. “I’m sorry about ruining your shirt. This one . . . and the last one . . . and your pants.”

An almost smile tugs at his mouth. “That’s all right. I came prepared.”

“Very Boy Scout of you.”

“You’re looking at one.” His tone is as serious as ever, but there’s a faint sparkle in his eyes that’s new, a warmth that matches the kindness he’s just shown me.

It makes me wonder what might have been if we’d seen this side of each other first, if we hadn’t started off so catastrophically. Looking at him now, I experience an odd, absurd hope that in some parallel universe, where the timing wasn’t all wrong, Alternate Bea and Alternate Jamie got it right and are hidden in a little broom closet for the right reasons.

Silence fills the tight space, and it feels like the world spins as our gazes lock for a brief, suspended moment. Jamie’s expression softens. The sharp furrow in his brow fades. The hard, flat line of his mouth surrenders to a faint lopsided tilt. But it’s those eyes I can’t stop staring at. His hazel eyes are a September night—bonfire-smoke rims, irises the color of golden firelight dancing on the last green leaves of summer. They are unfairly lovely.

This is so strange. I’m wedged into a broom closet with the guy I’ve done nothing but clash with all night. And he’s holding me pinned against him. He’s given me comfort.

I wonder if I’ve swapped bodies. If I’m now in that parallel universe, if we’re Alternate Bea and Alternate Jamie, because I’m leaning into him, my hands sliding up his chest, as Jamie exhales slowly—a concerted, steady breath, grappling for control that heats me from head to toe. His grip is tight on my waist, tucking me close.

I have the epiphany amid the lusty haze that Jamie might not just be prickly but maybe a little promising, too. Maybe he’s like my pet hedgehog, Cornelius. I just need to run him a bubble bath, then watch him unfurl and turn cuddly.

Shit. My brain is scrambled now, my legs noodly, picturing that.

Jamie’s nose grazes my hair, and he breathes in like he can’t breathe me in enough. I glance up as he glances down, and our mouths almost brush. Our eyes lock. Are we going to kiss? We’re not going to kiss.

Oh God. Are we?

My gaze shifts to his mouth. His hand slips lower down my back and pins our hips together. He groans right as I whimper.