Emma was cold. She glanced down at herself, at her drenched clothes, and realized how much the cloth was sticking to her. She was wearing two tops, but both were thin and cotton, and had suddenly gone clingy when they got wet. They were sticking to her quite badly, Emma suddenly realized, and worse, Izzy seemed to be staring.
Izzy was staring at her chest, Emma realized, a little surprised.
And right then, just as Emma realized that, Izzy looked up and saw Emma watching.
Izzy looked horrified. “Shit,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Emma shrugged. She shrugged without thinking, and then realised what she’d just done.
Izzy glanced down. And then straight back up. And then looked mortified, and embarrassed. “Shit,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just… again.”
Emma hugged her arms against her chest. “Don’t worry,” Emma said. “They’re a bit…”
She stopped. She had no idea how to finish that sentence without embarrassing herself. Obvious, she supposed. Unavoidable. When she was cold and wet.
She stood where she was, silently, deciding whether to be embarrassed.
She wasn’t, she thought. She didn’t really care.