Penn from Adelaide. That’s all I knew.
We shared a single kiss over a year ago, and I can still remember every toe-curling second of it. He thought I was too young for him. I thought he was running scared. But that kiss was the first time I’d felt alive in a long time, and I’ve been chasing the feeling ever since—doing my research, a lot of research, a lot of men. Something my protective older brother isn’t too happy about.
I’ve been through more than most guys my age, and I still bear the scars. My head is not always my best friend, but I’m building a life, PTSD be damned. I can’t turn back the clock, and I’m not sure I want to.
Except maybe to that moment when Penn kissed me. I mean, the odds of us ever meeting again were slim to none, right?
Yeah, about that.
But this time I’m ready. I’m a year older, an ocean of therapy wiser, and I know exactly what I want.
