Jace:
I didn't kiss her. That was the first thing I told myself. As if not doing something somehow meant it hadn't almost happened. I drove Calla home with both hands on the steering wheel and my eyes firmly on the road. Mostly. She sat beside me in my flannel, hair still damp from the river, her bare feet tucked beneath her. The radio played quietly. Neither of us said much. Which was probably a good thing. Because every time I looked at her, I remembered the bridge. Her hand in mine. The way she'd looked at me before I leaned in. The way she hadn't moved away. I rubbed my hand over my chest.
Calla noticed. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The hand thing."
I glanced at her. "What hand thing?"
She mimicked me, pressing her palm against her chest. I laug
