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Never Been Kissed

By:Kars, C.M

Never Been Kissed_ A Never Been Novel - Kars, C.M_


I’m Drew Barrymore.

Obviously I’m not really Drew Barrymore, but rather the character she played in the movie Never Been Kissed. So I’m Josie Geller.

Josie and I have the same little problem. Just like her, I’ve blown out all twenty-five candles of my birthday cake and still have never been kissed. That’s where the similarities end, I swear.

Fine, I don’t have that awful blonde-bleached hair, and while I do have her pudgy demeanor which I blame on my love of food and that exercise is really, really hard, I think our personalities are way different.

For one, I don’t really care if your English is off. While Josie will tell you that you are feeling nauseated instead of nauseous, I think there are more important things to think about – like how in hell did Sherlock survive the fall? I might have to punch you in the throat if you say irregardless. That word doesn’t exist. Stop saying it.

Second, I’m not overly shy like Josie is throughout the flashbacks in her high school days. Obviously I’m not going to let on how much of a book and movie nerd I am with people I just met. And no one ever gets the words on my nerdy t-shirts, so I end up keeping quiet at social gatherings. Doesn’t mean I’m shy.

Third. No guy experience, and I mean none. Josie got a date to prom, even if it ended badly for her. And! Josie got Mr. Coulson in the end (not Agent) whereas I have never even held a guy’s hand. The whole palm-to-palm contact thing freaks me out. What if mine gets sweaty and I’m forever known as Sweaty-Palmed Sally?I might as well have a love life in another dimension ‘cause there’s nothing happening here.

Shit. Maybe we are more alike than I care to admit. Bloody hell. The first step is admitting you have a problem, right? Fine. I’m Josie Geller.



***



Holy shit, do I have to pee.

Looks like even revelations of Hollywood proportions will not take my mind off the pain in my bladder, or the way I’m not cussing myself out because I should’ve gone before I left work.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” I mutter, rocking from foot to foot in a special kind of dance. My asshole bladder squeezes down, and I swear to God that I’m going to pee my pants right here in the elevator car.

Just my luck that a week since move-in into my new building and there’s already a problem with the elevator ‘door close’ button. And I can’t waddle over fast enough to the staircase and climb six flights without leaving a trail on all the steps. No. I need to wait.

But for the love of Harry Potter, these doors need to close NOW!

My bladder does that pulsing thing again as I watch the doors slowly inch forward, just as a couple squeezes in all while staying attached at the mouth. They’ve got some skills and are clearly unaware of their surroundings. I might as well be wearing the invisibility cloak.

I’m not sure if it’s rude or damn right awe-inspiring, but I stare. This can’t be happening. I yoga deep breathe, and wonder if they think I’m going into labour. I watch, mouth open, as the guy maneuvers his girl into the far corner opposite me still kissing her, the elevator car ringing with the sound two pairs of lips make when they move away from each other for a better position.

I watch the couple rooted to my spot, bladder momentarily forgotten. I’m enthralled with a sort of perverse fascination of the passion they have for each other, the way they both can’t get enough. I can’t even imagine being kissed like that. Even in my fantasies with Tom Hiddleston, the whole image just fizzles into nothingness as soon as he comes to kiss me.

I’m sure my eyes are wide and huge taking in every detail, even as my fingers curl around the strap of my purse. I want that, goddamn it. I want that so bloody badly.

They’re beautiful... and I’m not. She’s got wicked boots on and he’s half a head taller than her, plastered together like they’re sharing the same skin underneath their clothes. She’s a bottle red-head, the red so vibrant it can’t be anything else, and he’s wearing a black hoodie, hood up, and jeans that fit. They make the clean and shiny elevator car look decrepit and dirty. I half expect a camera crew to shout for me to hold the doors – they both look model gorgeous. Assholes.

My cheeks burn as the girl lets out a moan, setting my heart beating faster in my chest. Entwined as they are, I’m free to look and notice everything – everything I can’t have. The way the guy’s big body gets impossibly closer to hers, brushing his six-pack (probably) against her, his thigh going between her legs. I end up chewing my lip as I watch him buck his hips into her, and she hooks one of her bloody long legs up on his hip. Look away, look away!

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