thenogitsuneandstiles-deactivat:
Stiles was slammed against the wall, the fiery red headed girl he didn’t even know the name of smashing her lips to his. How had he ended up here? He didn’t know. He remembered being angry that Lydia had dissed him (once again) and walking into a bar, talking to a cute girl, they had danced after a few drinks…
And now he was up against a wall, their bodies pressed together, lips molding into each others and somehow, he loved it. Because he wasn’t worrying, or even caring frankly, about the other red head who had consumed him. Right now, at least, he probably wouldn’t know who she was if she walked up to him.
He nodded, keeping his grin while he did. It had just come to him that Summer was at least a year older than him; but he tossed that thought away, as it didn’t seem to matter all that much. “Okay, okay. But, on a scale of 1- freaking amazing, that would be a freaking amazing.”
Summer had to laugh, and ventured to tease, “Even though I’m not the girl you’re in love with?”
Stiles resisted the urge to choke. He was trying not to think of Lydia because he’d get all gloomy, and now he was reminded that he was seemingly never going to get Lydia’s attention. “Yes, because I’ve only been kissed four times in my life. One time being my dearest mother on the cheek.”
She lifted her eyebrows at him. “You’re doing better than I did. I didn’t have my first kiss until I got to college.”