Any Red-Blooded Girl by Maggie Bloom

“I missed
you.”
    I felt like a moron when I saw how Mick was
dressed. I mean, it wasn’t like he’d overdone it or anything; it
was just that he had clearly put effort into his appearance, which
I, very clearly, had not. His sexy cobalt blue button-down (partway un buttoned, of course), his tight indigo jeans, and his
scuffed black leather boots had drool-worthy written all over them.
Meanwhile, I was the epitome of ordinary. Boring to the nth degree.
Hopeless.
    “I didn’t know you were dressing up,” I said,
trying to excuse my shabby outfit. I could hardly believe I was
still in the same ragged jean shorts and slub tee I’d worn all day.
How idiotic.
    He leaned in and planted a solid, forceful
kiss right on my lips, giving me the tingles all the way down to
the soles of my feet.
    “I’m not dressed up,” he said, still
face-to-face with me. “I just wanted to look good for my birthday
girl, who, by the way, looks perfectly spectacular.” He took a step
back and made a show of looking me up and down.
    “Thanks for being so polite,” I said. “I feel
like a mess, but I’m glad you like me.”
    He laughed. “I more than like you,” he said.
“In fact, I don’t know if I should say this, but…”
    No way. Not fair. You cannot start an
interesting sentence and just leave someone hanging. “What?” I
demanded. “What shouldn’t you say?”
    He hesitated, like whatever was on his mind
was just too dangerous to verbalize. “I don’t know. You might take
it wrong,” he eventually risked saying.
    “No, I won’t. I promise.”
    Cringing like the mystery information was
actually painful—or at least painful to admit—he said, “How do you
know? You don’t even know what it is.”
    “I’m not like that, I swear. Nothing shocks
me,” I said emphatically. And for the most part, it was true.
“Besides, I can’t even imagine you saying anything that would
bother me. So go ahead, spill it.”
    “Are you sure?” He frowned. “Because if this
upsets you, or scares you, or freaks you out…”
    “Okay, I give,” I whined. “The suspense is
killing me. Just tell me what’s going on. I won’t freak out. Double
cross my heart.”
    “Don’t take this wrong,” he hedged again,
“but I think I might be obsessed with you.”
    I tried not to giggle—I really did—but I just
couldn’t help it. “That’s it? You were worried about that? ”
I asked, stunned.
    “Yeah. And it’s not funny,” he complained. “I
don’t think I can control myself. Doesn’t that scare you?”
    “Not really. Because I know I can’t
control my self—when it comes to you anyway,” I said, only
half kidding.
    “Very funny. Ha-ha,” Mick said, shaking his
head. “It’s more than that. It’s that I can’t stop thinking about
you. Not just here and there, but all the time. If we weren’t
together, I’m sure I would be stalking you. How about that? Doesn’t that bother you?”
    There was no way on earth I’d admit it, but
the stalker reference did freak me out just a tad. “It’s not
considered stalking if the stalk ee is in love with you,” I
said, hooking my thumbs through his belt loops.
    Still, he didn’t seem satisfied. “There’s
something else I think you should know then,” he said.
    Suddenly my lungs froze. No ordinary boy
would’ve poured his heart out to me like this. Mick was a different
breed altogether. A breed my feeble teenage brain wasn’t equipped
to deal with. And the proof was, when I opened my mouth to say
something, nothing came out.
    Mick continued, “I know this probably isn’t
normal, but I think you should know about my experiences before
you. About my past.”
    My eyes were tacked open in fear. What if
he’d been in love like this before? What if he’d wanted to stalk a
multitude of other girls? What if he’d had a lot more experience
than I’d had, and I was just some hopeless amateur?
    I gulped hard before I squeaked out, “Okay,
go ahead.”
    “First of all,”