“He squeezes my hand, and my heart punches against my ribs. It's just like pain, this pleasure.”

“When he laces his fingers through mine, my heart does its now familiar panicked flight, bumping painfully against my ribs. My shoulder twitches as if to pull my hand back, but my heart overrules it.”

“My heart is a protest that I let rally against my ribs.”

“I folded my hands back on my desk, and as I did, I saw Paul's slanted handwriting standing out against my blocky, square printing on my skin. He'd managed to find room to squeeze in the words females hurt my brain on my left hand. I raised an eyebrow at him and he gave me a look like, well it's true, isn't it?”

“You're not just doing that to impress her, are you?""Everything I do is to impress her. It's my mission in life," he said with a completely serious face, while he squeezed my knee under the table. Mom burst out laughing. "I like him," she said."Me too. I think I'll keep him," I said, taking his hand and twisting my fingers with his. "Good," he said, giving my hand a squeeze.”

“I took his hand, and suddely he yanked me―too roughly―right off the bed so that I thudded against his chest."Just in case," he muttered against my hair, crushing me in a bear hug that about to broke my ribs."Can't―breathe!" I gasped.”