A little over a day ago, my thoughts were consumed with Callum, wanting to be this close to him. Closer, even. Why am I suddenly feeling like my own skin is too tight? Why doesn’t it feel the way I thought it would to have him hold me close? Callum’s fingertips begin to slide along my hip, the slightest movement, but it has the subtlety of a blowtorch. I’m hot all over, and not in the good way. It’s panic, or maybe I’m on the verge of heatstroke in this completely unbreathable fabric. I try to think Ice Princess thoughts and regulate my body temperature. I should want this. I should want
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