![]() ![]() I smooth my sweaty palms down my jean-covered thighs. Today I’m wearing shiny gloss that tastes like cotton candy-my hope is that Darren likes the flavor and will want to kiss it off more than once. It took a week before they finally stopped peeling. We kissed like teenagers until my lips were raw. I went in for a goodnight kiss that turned into an epic make-out session. He was gentlemanly and sweet, offering to walk me back to my room. I introduced myself to Darren when I went with my best friend, Violet, to an away game. ![]() She’s preparing for all possible scenarios. ![]() I’ve already changed my panties once in the past half hour. My palms are sweaty, and my panties are inappropriately damp as I wander around my kitchen. I’m excited to get to know the man behind the intense, stoic mask. His dating history is unclear and based mostly on speculation and conjecture. The Darren Westinghouse, Chicago’s NHL right wing and the most mysterious man in the league. The burst of mint makes my eyes water, so I have to dab at the corners with my sleeve and breathe through my nose to avoid making it worse.ĭarren Westinghouse is picking me up for a coffee date. I crunch down and spread the fiery-cold bits over my tongue. I brushed my teeth less than ten minutes ago, but I pop two Altoids anyway. I breathe into my palm to check for freshness. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |