A walk to the door is a guaranteed make-out session, or at least it gives you the go-ahead for a little peck. Either way, butterflies are fluttering. And not because I haven’t kissed him already. You and I both know his lips have touched mine, but that’s not what’s making little butterflies flutter in my stomach from the prospect of Jack walking to my door. It’s the fact that the man who will be walking me to my door, the one who will possibly kiss me tonight isn’t just Jack. He’s NY152. And that’s a big freaking deal.
