His fingers wind into my hair, clutching me closer to him, like I’m not the only one who’s wasted hours imagining raking my hands through his hair and down to his neck. I’m holding on to the back of his letterman jacket for dear life. Caleb is still moving with the momentum of walking to me—so quick and decisive—that we nearly tip over. One of his arms leaves my head to wrap around my torso, catching me, and I melt. That’s it. If I wasn’t a goner before, I sure as hell am now. Minutes pass. Seconds. Entire centuries. It’s impossible to tell.
