My crush is a player. It’s bad enough to find out he actually knows I exist, but on the mortifying offer to teach me how to date, I accept. God knows I need all the help I can get. I’m a model student, front row, pencil sharp. Pick up lines? I’ve got them. Free drinks? By the dozen. Kissing? Let me grab my lip balm. But the most valuable lesson I learn is that there’s so much I don’t know. Like why his touch sets off a chain reaction straight to my nethers. Or how I’m certain each kiss is the best I’ll ever have until the moment his lips take mine again. There’s so much I don’t know. Like how it feels to have my heart broken. But he’s down to teach me that lesson too. I always knew he was a player. And I’m the fool who fell in love with him.