Kissing Prince Charming

The badboy wants in ♥

The thing about this story is that I plan on keeping Prince Charming identity a mystery till the very end. That way, none of you have any pre-judge ideas on who you want it to be. I want all of you to fall in love with each individual character. That way, you all can put your own hopes out there like Grace on who you want her Prince Charming to be.

Oh and I planned on this story being a single person pov. BUT, I was thinking of adding Prince Charming's pov in the next chapter. IF you guys want that, let me know in the comments. If you just want Grace and only Grace, than I can keep that also. Though please know that you will be getting no names in the Prince pov. Yeah I wouldn't make it that easy(; 

Much love, Nickymb ♥

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I press my fingers into my forehead, the beginning of a headache starting to form. Jessie sits across from me, her own cup of hot chocolate steaming from a cute pink mug. My own cup that contains hot chocolate and coffee, lies abandoned next to me.

 This all doesn’t matter because my bestfriend is talking crazy. Well, crazier than usual. Sighing, I lift my gaze from the table to her. She chews on her bottom lip, a now worried look on her face.

It’s not as much as worried as contemplating. I drop my hands from my forehead and bring them to my coffee mug instead. Anything to keep them from shaking the intelligence back into her.

 “A keg?” I venture, taking a small sip of my chocolate deliciousness. “How the hell are you going to get a keg?”

 I’ve repeated the same question in my five minutes of being here about a hundred times. The truth is, I’m not worried about her getting a keg. In all actuality, being eighteen isn’t so much as a bummer as it should be when you hang with the crowd Jessie and I do.

When guys like Jacks, who are the most famous football players that this side of EastHill has seen, beer isn’t really a problem.

The problem lies with the fact that Jessie being drunk is not a pretty thing. Actually, scratch that. The only thing uglier than Jessie drunk is me wasted.

I think the both of us are on a equal playing field, and as long as I have to kiss Jacks at this party, there is a high percentage that I will be getting drunk.

Jessie looks at me over her mug as she lifts it up.

“If I have to watch you tousle tongues with Jacks, you best believe that I am going to get obliviated. There is no way in hell I can watch my best friend make out with the lowest scumbag of all of hell and not get drunk.”

 “That’s comforting,” I mutter, setting my own drink down and looking around.

 “I try my best.” She quips, like bashing on Jacks is the best compliment anyone can give her. And I guess, to her, it is.

 Since it’s almost close to ten, a lot of people weren’t at Mugs. I only know a few people cluttering the high top tables and couches. The rest are old people and workers.

Mugs is, in all sense, cute. 

With it’s clean white tables, pink couches, and adorable coffee sayings on the chic wallpaper, it’s the kind of place you could see yourself actually coming to.

Soft music plays from speakers on the wall and instead of it being young and hip, it’s all classic.

 So when a Beatles song comes on, I try to hide my smile. Jessie must see my struggle because she draws her eyebrows down.