You Think About Her All The Time

The realization punched through me harder than her tackle had. "Only because you're annoying," I spat, scrambling for any excuse that didn't sound like a confession. "You're like—like a mosquito buzzing in my ear I can't swat away!"

Sanah's smirk didn't waver. Instead, she hummed—*actually hummed*—like I'd said something adorable. "Mosquitoes bite," she mused, her fingers tightening in my shirt. "And they drink blood." Her gaze dropped pointedly to my neck, and my pulse kicked into overdrive.

I barely had time to process the threat before she ducked her head, her lips brushing the frantic flutter beneath my jaw. A shocked noise escaped me—half protest, half something mortifyingly close to a gasp—and Sanah pulled back just enough to watch my face crumple. "There it is," she murmured, victorious. "That look you always get when I catch you staring at me in chem."

I gritted my teeth, but she pressed closer, her knee shifting dangerously higher. "So tell me," she breathed, "what's it gonna take? Do I have to kiss you in front of the whole cafeteria? Hold your hand right in front of your dumb friends?" Her fingers trailed down my arm, slow and deliberate, until our palms touched. "Or do you just need me to say it first?"

My stomach flipped—no, rolled—no, betrayed me entirely. "You wouldn't dare," I hissed, but my voice cracked.

Sanah's grin widened. "Try me," she said, and suddenly her mouth was on mine—soft, warm, and moving before I could even process the contact. Her fingers curled around my wrist again, pressing my palm flat against the couch as she deepened the kiss with terrifying confidence. I tried to shove her off, but my hands froze halfway to her shoulders, my traitorous fingers twitching against the fabric of her hoodie instead. The taste of strawberry ChapStick flooded my senses, and I hated how familiar it was—how many times had I caught that scent when she'd leaned too close in the hallway?