A chaste brush of lips is what I offer but it’s not good enough for Nick. He dives in for more, swallowing my half-hearted protest, gripping the back of my neck to hold me in place as he peppers sloppy, drunk kisses all over my face until I’m squealing and giggling like a silly, besotted girl. “Jesus Christ.” Someone, or possibly everyone, cackles. “And they’re surprised everyone knows.”
