Maybe liking James’s kisses had nothing to do with how well or crap he was doing it.

Maybe I liked James kisses…simply because it was James doing the kissing.

And maybe I’m finally ready to admit that.

I mean…

Because the thing is…

I…

I fancy James Potter.

I do.

I don’t know the whens or whys or hows of it, and it’s not much, I don’t think, probably just a passing attraction, but as I was standing there, happily letting the bloke snog me…well, how are you really supposed to deny it? I could convince myself into ignoring it all before, even though I was dreaming about him and going out of my way to make him feel better and feeling like I should probably vomit up my entire stomach’s contents when I saw him and Elisabeth Saunders together—but when a bloke is standing there snogging you and you don’t do a single thing about it…it’s time to face the music. However mad it may seem, however off you may think it…it’s true.

It was true.

I fancied James Potter.

And it would just bloody figure, wouldn’t it?

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