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Jade never spends the night. Every time she goes out and feels the thrill and pull and ache of a new connection she thinks it will be different. But the regret always seeps into her bones when their slick bodies still against one another, and she’s restless until she can make some excuse or another to leave: she’s too hot, against his chest; she has to get up early; or she doesn’t have her toothbrush and her breath is bad. “What does love mean to you?” a date asks one night. She plays coy and blushes and pretends she doesn’t know: love is wanting to stay.