6
Anna
When I finally made it back to the table, the maid of honor was giving her speech so Zach could only lift a dark eyebrow at me in question. He wanted to ask me where I’d been, I knew, but it wasn’t the time to talk. Once we lowered our glasses from the toast, he leaned in, whispered, “Nice jacket.” He grinned, raised and lowered his eyebrows.
Oh God. I still had Nick’s jacket. I looked around the room, didn’t see him. Of course not. He’d left to go back to Scorch. I was wearing a jacket of a guy whose colleague was found dead in the trunk of a car. A bad guy. Why did a bad guy seem like a good guy? He didn’t act like a thug. He sure didn’t look like one. Were all bad guys drop-dead gorgeous with hair I wanted to touch, a body I wanted to learn and a mouth I so desperately wanted
