Nick Fulham is kissing me. And I am kissing him back.
My hands are still gripping the back of his neck when he pulls away, a lopsided smile gracing his chiseled face. My lips are slightly damp, and the kiss was more passionate than I had expected. However, there are no butterflies in my stomach, no fuzzy feeling in the tips of my fingers, nothing. I touch my fingers to my lips hoping to ignite some kind of reaction but there isn’t any and its not like the kiss was a bad kiss, if anything it was pretty damn good.
But if it was so great why can I only think of a certain sloppy bathroom kiss right now?
“We might have to do this more often, Hall,” he leans in and whispers in my ear, “everyone is loving it.”
I pull away and look past him and the entirety of the cheerleaders are sneering a
