For ninety-nine-point-nine nine percent of twenty-five-year-old women, this whole concept would be a no-brainer. Kissing Logan Barnes would be a fantasy happily lived out. Unless you’re me. Don’t get me wrong—kissing Logan is absolutely a fantasy of mine. One I’ve had for more years than is healthy. The issue is that up to this point, kissing anyone at all has remained a fantasy. And only a fantasy. Because I haven’t kissed anyone. Ever. Not a peck. Not more than a peck. Zero making out at all on my relationship resume.
