Don't ask me to explain how I got here, locked in the smelly supply closet letting this super hot guy feel me up when I should be in class. The moments leading up to this are blurred. One look from his impossibly dark eyes and the feeling of his sinfully smooth lips on the nape on my neck are almost enough to forget every thought and just get lost in the feeling of his arms around me. Its also almost enough to forget that the guy who is currently causing me to slowly come undone isn't my boyfriend, Pete. Nor a fellow student, here at Sky High. He's also a lot older than me, and my 12th grade Creative Writing Professor. His name is Warren Peace, and he doesn't know that with each embrace or secretive glance we share, I fall harder and harder for him; cause honestly, how do you tell your high school teacher you're utterly and hopelessly in love with him?

I am so fucking screwed.