His eyes shine like silver coins. “How can you think I don’t care?” he says, holding my hand flat to his chest, atop his racing heart. “I care so much it hurts, right here, all the time.”

And then he’s kissing me, rashly, feverishly, insistently.

We stumble across my room until we’re a knot of limbs before my bed. He kicks off his shoes and falls onto my mattress, pulling me down beside him. Our kisses build, deep and eager, until he breaks away to pull his shirt off. I run my hands along the plane of his stomach, and across his strong shoulders. He hovers above me, working my top up and over my head, and I arch my back to help. His touch, his muffled sounds, the way his skin tastes equally salty and sweet—he’s all I can think about, all I can focus on.