And I’m seized by an impulse. Correction: a crazy impulse. “Wait!” Mac turns to me, and I hop up on tip toes and throw my arms around his neck. Then, without thinking twice, I kiss my pretend husband. Go, Brooke. Atta girl. Way to B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E. I’d only expected to give him a quick peck, but Mac wraps his arms around me and draws me in closer. His lips are so tender, brushing against mine, slowly drinking me in. My bones turn to liquid. I’m a puddle of milk. This isn’t just a kiss. We are actually kissing. With an ing. Oh my, Brooke. I should stop this. Instead we keep on
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