“Kiss because you’re young, because you want to, because you can, because you love him, because you don’t.”
So, that shit that they teach you about him making the first move? Fuck that. Turn around on the dance floor and catch both sides of his face in your palms. Brush back your hair behind your ears while sitting side-by-side in a sticky booth on South University and slide towards him. Accept your too expensive drink order from him and lean over the counter like you’re exchanging secrets. Walk towards the door like you aren’t coming back and then turn around and catch him. Press him to the wall, bite his lip, control his mouth with yours.
Kiss him after you’ve finished your second cup of coffee and your hair is messily falling out of its bun from last night and the salty aftertaste of coffee still stings your lips. Kiss him before your third glass of wine. Kiss him after you’ve finished writing your psych essay. Shut your…
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