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Wash swallowed roughly, throat dry from lack of water and the punishing sun. “How did Maine feel about me?”
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“A kissing booth,” North stated, nearly invisible blonde eyebrow raised, voice creeping towards disbelief. “You want me to help you run a kissing booth for the school fundraiser?”
York nodded, placing a hand on North’s shoulder, channeling every ounce of drama he had in him. “It’s life or death.”
“It’s a kissing booth, York.”
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You know you’re doomed to get too close and fall—You already are closer to him than you’d like—but you think that you’re fine with that. For he’s the sun, bright, glowing, beautiful, and you? You’re just an Icarus.
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The worst is yet to come.
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Maine shoved Wash against the wall of the elevator and kissed him roughly. “What—“ Wash started. Maine kissed him again.