The summer in Forks had come and gone with only the slightest hint that it was supposed to be warm, but on the day Carlisle and I decided to go for a run the temperature had risen about 30 degrees. I had been slacking on my summer training schedule for track, and Carlisle's rare three days off from work had apparently given him cabin fever.
At his suggestion, we were outside in the trail behind our house, both panting at what should have been an easy five miles. I saw his blonde head turn out of periphery, and we silently agreed to end our suffering, turning towards the clearing that led back to our front lawn.
I'm sure we looked like quite a sight- tall, sweaty Carlisle with his shirt off, and me, his adopted teenage daughter, in a sports bra and my oldest running spandex, panting on the grass in front of the huge white house we called home. In between catching my breath I thought absentmindedly about the ridiculous rumors that had begun when we had moved here, and chuckled to myself.
Sweat dripping off him, Carlisle seemed to know exactly what I was laughing about in that way of his, and shot me a smile as he pulled himself to his feet and wiped his forehead.
"If only they could see us now," he quipped, his blue eyes energetic as he leaned over to stretch his hamstrings.
I nodded, taking in a few more seconds to find the energy to stretch. I'd gone too long without my routine, and my calves felt tight, the heat not helping at all.
I must have closed my eyes, because I heard, rather than saw the sound of gravel crunching. Carlisle heard it too, and we both turned to look at the source-a U-Haul truck driving up slowly towards the only empty house in our U shaped neighborhood. The house next ours had been unoccupied for years, and we had been lucky enough to share our three home cul da sac with only Mrs. Robins, the widow of a local politician, since we had moved.
With the sun blaring down, we couldn't see the driver, but I felt, rather than knew, that they were looking at us.
Ever the friendly person, Carlisle waved, impeccable in his manners despite his shirtless post-run state.
I blinked up at the sight of the truck.
"It looks like Mr. Beaty sold 202 after all," he remarked, leaning to offer me a hand.
I took it and rose to my feet, my ponytail further falling apart.
"Yeah," I replied. I gazed at the U-Haul one last time, and then turned to look at our own house, entirely too big for two people. "Let's go inside."
Carlisle had long showered and gone to the hospital, starting his regularly erratic schedule again, by the time I was walking out for Alice's party.
Dressed in a black slip dress, my pale skin was the only thing I could really see as I locked up the empty house and headed towards my car.
The moon was bright, but I was still grateful when the lights in the sedan turned on, the engine whirring to life. I back out of our driveway onto the quiet drive leading to the main road, feeling all the while like someone was watching me. If our new neighbors had moved in, there was no indication, no lights were on, and the U-haul seemed to have disappeared. There was no sold sign, and certainly no sign of boxes.
Carlisle would probably walk over and introduce himself tomorrow, I mused, my thoughts trailing off. I guess that's what you did when you had new neighbors.
Alice's was…Alice's. The majority of our school population was there, scattered among the Brandons' three story mini-mansion. Her father was an oil lawyer, and what he lacked in presence he made up for in his liquor cabinet. Or so Alice said.
I walked across the living room in the hopes of spotting the reason I had come-Alice herself. The smell of beer permeated the air, and I was glad I was wearing my high tops when I saw a drunk sophomore tip her cup, her foamy drink spilling onto the hardwood.
Cursing Alice for her insistence of these events and my attendance, I finally found what I was looking for in the kitchen. Almost.
Jasper was leaning against the subzero fridge, a joint in his hand as his dilated eyes gazed out at the people trying to pour themselves a drink.
When he saw me he smiled his little half smile, handing me the j in his hand.
"B."
I took it from him. "Where's your girlfriend?"
He looked around the room again, as if he'd only just seen her.
"Dunno. She was just here."
I shrugged and we looked at each, accepting our mutual hatred of these things.
"Fucking Alice," I remarked, more to myself.
He nodded, grinning, "Fucking Alice."
As if on cue, my petite, waif of a friend came through the patio doors, a blond Jasper look alike right behind her. I saw her before she saw me, her eyes a little too bright, and I knew immediately where she'd been.
"B!" She threw her arms around me, bouncing up and down. "You came!"
I laughed, steadying her and passing her onto Jasper. "Didn't really have a choice Al."
She didn't seem to hear me. "This is James! Jasper's cousin! From California! He's in town for the weekend!" Her speech was more fast paced than usual, hyper instead of slurred, and I knew from experience that her jaw would be sore tomorrow from chattering. Good old Alice.
The guy with her, James apparently, gave me a slow, lazy smile. "Hey."
"Hey," I responded. Between the blond hair and the tall, lanky build, the resemblance to Jasper was strong. James was more muscular though, and looked older. And while his cousin was relaxed, he seemed to be on the same ride my friend was on.
Alice continued to introduce us to each other, most of her speech too fast to really comprehend. Jasper was laughing, that far gone look in his eyes, and I smiled at the two of them.
"Alice here has been telling me about the sick wine collection her mom's got. She said you'd show me?"
Fucking Alice. I looked at her, but of course she was already walking away, her eyes on someone else.
I smirked at James, accepting that maybe I could make the most of my night. Alice had told me about James. "Sure."
I led him down the hall, opening the door to the hidden staircase in the far corner of the Brandon home. It wasn't exactly a cellar, with the walls turned into mahogany shelves for Peter Brandon's reds, and subzero fridges for Claire Brandon's whites. The hums of the machines were the only noise as the door closed behind us.
It was chilly as I took the steps down, James following me closely.
I led him down the one of neatly organized aisles, to the marble bar top I knew the Brandons kept there for tasting their extensive collection.
"Here we are," I told him, as I turned around to face him.
In his simple jeans and a button down henley, he was quite a bit taller than me, and I had to crane my neck to look at him.
"Quite the selection," he told me, tongue peeking out to lick his lips. He stepped closer to me.
I nodded, unable to help myself from the smug smile that mirrored his. The joint Jasper had shared was starting to show its effects, and I reached for his belt loop, too careless to keep up the charade.
He didn't struggle as I pulled him towards me.
"Jasper said you were hot, B, but fuck." He smelled probably like I smelled, like marijuana, beer, and summer air. And something deeper, not quite in grasp.
"You're not so bad yourself," I told him, "but I'm not in the mood for small talk."
His hands snaked around me, lifting me up onto the barstool in an effortless move.
"Yeah? What are you in the mood for?" he replied, eyes too bright, hands on my tits now, grabbing and feeling, as he pushed my legs apart.
A taste test, is what I was going to reply, ever witty under the influence of THC, but thankfully he got the fucking point, or just couldn't wait any longer. His lips were on mine in an instant, and fuck, he was a good kisser. My mind spun, heavy and weightless, as I leaned into him.
He pushed a single strap of slip dress down, going straight to suck on a too hard nipple as soon as it was released. The chill of the wine cellar made the sensations feel sharper. I was wet, so, so wet.
Before I knew it, my back was on the bar, my panties down and pushed off. James had got the memo. There was no interlude- he lapped at my clit, the feeling making my legs shake. My moans echoed back to me in the dimly lit space, and it wasn't long before I squeezed my eyes shut, coming as he continued to move his lips across me.
Shuddering, I lifted my head to see him smirking up at me. "Fuck girl, if you aren't sweet."
I didn't respond to his comment, instead pushing him back and standing. My body was tingling as I dropped to my knees and undid his belt, pulling down the denim obstructing me from what I wanted.
His hard cock sprang out, veiny and ready, deliciously thick. I took him deep into my mouth as he grunted, his hands finding their way into my hair. It was an indescribable feeling, having my mouth full, and I felt myself get wet again as I sucked his cock.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he was chanting. The hands in my hair became more aggressive, and I moaned as he pulled at my roots, pushing my face towards him as he fucked my mouth.
Needy, I was needy. I slid the hand that had been on his thigh down onto my clit, giving myself the friction I so desperately needed. I wanted to come again. I needed to come.
So did James, apparently, as he grunted out his last "fuck," coming hard in my mouth just as I brought myself to orgasm. The salty taste of his cum filled my mouth as my body contracted, and I swallowed, gasping as I looked up at him.
"Fuck girl," he panted out, repeating the word over and over again. "Fuck."
It was around 3:00 AM when I got home, the lights still off in all three houses on our horseshoe shaped street. Still a little high, I was ready to sleep a deep sleep, but was debating whether or not I had the energy to shower again while I turned off my engine.
The familiar sound of gravel crunching greeted me as I crossed the distance between the driveway and our front door. The woods behind the house were as dark and deep as ever. Silent.
But I could swear, as I unlocked the door to the only home I'd ever known, that someone else was there, someone looking at me.