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I’d dreamed of my first kiss for my whole life. I dreamed of it a million different ways, with a million different boys. Well, maybe not a million, but a few.

There was Jeremy, the boy that I’d had a crush on in second grade. He and I had gotten pretend married under the slide, but we hadn’t kissed. It didn’t even occur to either of us that we should. It was more of just a high five, and ta-da, we’re married.

And then there was Thomas, the boy I told everyone I liked to cover up my feelings for Sebastian.

Thomas was a safe crush. He was on the soccer team, he was my age, and he wasn’t friends with my brother.

I figured he was the kind of boy who would ask me if he could kiss me before he did it, and then he would be gentle and so sweet.

I knew that was what I should have wanted.

But the one that kept me awake at night imagining it was Sebastian.

With Thomas and Jeremy, I’d only had one or two fantasies—it was always them walking me home from a date and kissing me goodnight before I went inside.

But with Sebastian, I’d imagined so many different scenarios.

I imagined him sleeping over in Dean’s room and sneaking into mine when everyone else was asleep to tell me that he’d wanted me for years but didn’t know how to tell me.

Or if he won a soccer match and saw me on the bench—even though I’d never attended a soccer game in my life—and he would come running up to kiss me, telling me that I had been his good luck charm this whole time.

But my personal favorite had always been the fantasy that involved us dating.

Really dating, not just going on a date like I’d imagined with Thomas and Jeremy.

That fantasy wasn’t a first kiss or even one kiss at all, it was the millions of them that we could have over our lifetimes.

It was him driving me home after school every day, one hand on the wheel and the other holding mine while he played my favorite music, then leaning over to kiss me as soon as he pulled into his driveway.

I imagined him wrapping his arms around me, kissing me like his life depended on it.

I’d imagined it so many different ways, but I never imagined it like this.

It was obvious from the way he leaned in that he’d done this before.

He wasn’t a nervous wreck like me, wondering if my hands were supposed to stay by my side, if my breath tasted okay, and which way I was supposed to lean to avoid bumping noses.

I wondered briefly if he knew that I was new to it by how he seemed to take charge of the moment right away, barely giving me time to gasp in a breath before his lips were on mine.

This wasn’t a game anymore. It should have been. It was supposed to be. But the second his lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, something in my heart sliced open, letting in all the feelings I’d worked so hard to bottle up for the past five years.

With my eyes closed, I could almost picture we were somewhere else, just like in all my daydreams. I imagined us on the soccer field, me running into his arms after he won a game.

And when he shifted closer to me, his leg almost pressing between mine and his arm coming to a stop on my bare lower back, I stopped thinking at all.

It was like my body knew what to do when my mind didn’t and suddenly I was leaning into him too, threading my fingers through his hair and deepening the kiss that was probably meant to be over now.

Every one of my senses was overwhelmed by him , and I felt nothing but the deepest desire to keep going and never pull away.

I grabbed at his shirt with my hand, both tugging him closer and stopping him from pulling back before I was ready.

But he wasn’t giving any sign of pulling away.

If anything, he was only coming in closer, pushing me so hard against the counter that I was pretty sure I would have a bruise on my back for days.

But how could I even begin to care about that when Sebastian Novak was kissing me?

And when we finally broke apart, my lips tingling, my breath uneven, I knew—this was definitely more than just a bingo card for either of us. I giggled softly as I pulled my hands away from him, feeling almost giddy from whatever just happened.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I messed up your hair.”

He smiled, drawing my attention to how some of my tinted lip gloss had stained his lips.

“Trust me, Nellie,” he said, in that same deep tone as before that had my knees going weak and me imagining pulling his face down to mine again. “My hair is the least of my issues right now.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but whatever he was referring to made him step away from me, clearing his throat.

He glanced at Josh and raised his eyebrows, like he was asking if he got the photo.

Josh nodded and showed it to both of us.

He’d taken the photo from the side, but because of the way our faces were tilted and my hair fell, it was next to impossible to tell it was me.

Like Sebastian had said, someone would need to know the exact outfit and hair I had right now to tell me apart.

I just had to hope Dean hadn’t paid much attention to me after I took off my coat earlier.

Or, better yet, that Sebastian made sure he never saw the photos.

He wasn’t just saving my skin—he was saving himself too.

Because if Dean found out about this, we were both dead.

Was it worth it? For that brief moment of heaven? To feel Sebastian’s hands on my waist, his lips on mine, to finally have a memory to go with the daydreams?

I was barely breathing as I watched him walk away with Josh, looking over his card for the next bingo prompt. Then, without even thinking, I brushed my fingers over my lips.

Yes, it was worth it.

Even if it could never happen again.