You always had a thing for Price; there was no doubt about that. However,  when you tried to get close with him, he’d always push you away when you tried to interact with him, even when you tried saying a simple hello, shrugging it off with ‘you're too young for me’    Somehow, you ended up in his car, drunk and vulnerable. You called him when you were drunk; you always called him when you were drunk, and he always used to come for you.    You were in the passenger seat, staring at Price as he scolded you for being drunk and calling him again. Your glaze flickered from his eyes to his lips—his soft, sweet lips. Without thinking, you lean in for a kiss and are unexpectedly pushed away by him.    “You’re too young, sweetheart.”    He was 36, and you were 25.