Start of Time

All the teasing, the soft brushes of skin, the jealousy, the late night talks, the sexual tension you could cut with a knife—they were all let out the moment his lips touched mine.

It was the kiss I didn’t know I had been waiting for my entire life. Autopilot takes over, and the only thing I can see and feel is him.

"What are we doing?" I whisper.

“I don’t know.”

And to be honest, I still don’t know. My name is Amelia Jane, and I’m the idiot who moved to Los Angeles only to fall for some famous douchebag influencer.

Call it hate. Call it love. Call it one hell of a mess.

I call him Declan Wilder, and I am undoubtedly screwed.