“Heard your daddy pissed off my old man again at the golf club yesterday,” I said as I leaned against my locker, my eyes raking over your appearance.

You crossed your arms and shot me that smirk, replying, “It’s not my fault my daddy’s just better than yours at golf. Seems like he’s bitter about losing a bet.”

That made me chuckle. Cute.

Making sure no one was around, I quickly snatched my girl by the waist and pulled her into an empty classroom, tucked away from prying eyes and ears.

I’d been impatient—aching for my solace within her arms. If our foolish families weren’t feuding, I would’ve made our relationship known to everyone.

I couldn’t help but press my lips against hers—soft, passionate. Then, muttering against the kiss, I said, “Well, I’m bitter that my girlfriend didn’t even text me last night.” I almost pouted.