“Why you haven’t kissed me yet.” Dusty froze, but his gray eyes gleamed. “Do you want me to kiss you, Ash?” There it was—the nickname. I had recently folded one of my English papers in a way that cut off the latter half of my last name so it would fit inside my notebook. Dusty saw it on my desk and started calling me Ash. He’d finally found his nickname for me, the one that made him feel special. I didn’t tell him that he already was. “Yeah,” I said in a tone that I hoped communicated that was a stupid question. When he was quiet for a second, I quickly said, “But, like, only if you want to.”
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