And if this were a movie he would kiss her again right there, grabbing her hands and pinning them above her head against the lockers behind her, and she’d groan something into his mouth and kiss him back, intense, hot and sweet and perfect just like the first time and some awesome song would play and the camera would back away at the speed of their hearts until it faded into black-and-white. And it would be perfect. But Ben Wyatt’s life is not a movie, and instead he just fiddles with the zipper on his sweatshirt and says nothing.
Hey, so, there’s a new chapter up for this thing. I call it “The Sad Montage Part.” It gets better next time, I swear.
But for now, go read! Sorry it’s taken me so long to update this thing, I have eighty million other projects I’m working on. But I know how I want to finish this one, so we’ll see how it goes.