Chapter Twenty-Three ☽︎ A Never Ending Feeling

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IT WAS THE end of a home game

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IT WAS THE end of a home game. We'd won, and we were rejoicing in the locker rooms. And doing what College boys do, jumped, tell stupid jokes, talk about what girls we were going to bone next, what clothes they'd be wearing, how many rounds we were going to go, and so on.

I wasn't a part of it. I sat in one corner, half naked and all, quietly and moody as my mom would put it. I told Kimmie how I felt about her a couple of days ago, and she freaked out. And by freaked out I mean, she ran and has never spoken to me since. She's been ignoring my calls and texts, walking away from any classroom or hall she knows I might be in. I've been to her drama and art class and she's been skipping them, because she knows she'd see me.

Worst part, I'd been fucking terrified. What if she didn't feel the same way? What if she didn't want things to be like that? What if she just wanted to be friends? What if my fucked up reputation as "Ace" had driven her away? I felt fucked. I felt screwed up. I felt sad, heartbroken even. And I couldn't tell anyone, they'd just laugh at me and find me some chick to screw with. And I sure as hell didn't want that. I wanted one thing, one person, Kimberly Summers.

"Okay, everyone says you guys have incredible chemistry, and from the frozen four kiss on YouTube with over Two million views, I'm guessing this isn't going to be new for you guys, right?" Neil asks Kim and I, other crew members present, waiting for our answers.

Kim's tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip and she toys with her bracelet. Yeah, we both fucking nervous, been scratching my hair since I got here.

"Can I talk to Kim for a moment?" I ask Neil and Kim shoots me a look that says, "WHAT?" more shock than anger. I can't avoid her anymore, she's in my everything that the fucking moment.

"Yeah, yeah," Neil smiles as I guide Kim to one corner of the room, where no one can hear us.

"You're nervous," I state and she rubs her palms together, proving my point. "You weren't nervous last night," I raise a brow and her tongue peeks out, wetting her bottom lip. I gulp at the small movement.

"What are you doing? Your actions this morning made it clear that you don't want to talk to me, so what— what is this?" She throws her arms up, confusion clear on her face.

"Let's just do this and get it over with," I tell her. "I don't like the way your hands are shaking, Kimmie,"

"Then why don't you take your own advice? Frankly I've never had any problems kissing you in front of anyone," and with that, she storms off.

"We're ready," she tells Neil and the rest of the crew, her voice slightly shaken and my heart thundering in my chest. She's right. I'm the problem, not her.

I couldn't think about anything else that night. Just her. Visions of her lips clouded my vision so much that I couldn't move, I wouldn't move. The way she'd pout them when she needed something, how focused she'd be when she painted, the tiny paintbrushes and pencils she'd keep by her ear just so she'd be able to get them when she needed them and the way she'd smile when she got what she wanted on the paper. She was indeed perfect, the one I wanted, the one I needed. But did she feel the same way? That I didn't fucking know.

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