Hannah’s smooching practice left archaic lip marks that daubed the bathroom mirror with ardor in crimson red, hoping for a precise first kiss, not a misstep. Hannah looped her long, red hair around her finger, inching closer, fearing the jab of pain would slice her unease if she pecked his cheek instead of a reciprocal exchange of taste buds. Hannah withdrew from the embrace, keeping her tongue behind her teeth. His breath tasted like peanut butter, and Hannah was allergic to peanuts.
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