“No, it didn’t.”
I lift my eyes.
His are on me, dark and steady.
I wish he would make a joke.
I wish he would not.
“I mean,” I say carefully, “I feel guilty. I do. Jeremy is still my husband legally. August is in the middle of this. You and I are pretending. I had bourbon. I was upset. It was a lot.”
“Yeah.”
“But I don’t feel bad that I wanted to kiss you.” My voice drops. “I feel bad that I don’t feel bad enough.”
There.
The truth.
Ugly and warm and sitting between us like a lit match.
Derby exhales slowly.
“I’m the wrong man to ask about guilt,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because most of mine shows up late and poorly dressed.”
A tiny laugh escapes me.
He doesn’t smile.
“I don’t feel guilty for wanting you,” he says.
My heart jumps.
“But I would feel guilty if I took advantage of the mess you’re in.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “Is wanting you part of the mess?”
“Probably.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s honest.”
I look toward the hallway. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You said that last night.”
“I keep hoping it will stop being true.”
“It won’t by tomorrow.”
My mouth curves despite everything. “Comforting.”
“I’m a natural.”