Buckwheat and Spanky

by Pickyourownadventurecontest

Two cars, two friends, milkshakes, money, much chemistry, a myriad of roads, music, man-points, multiple nicknames, and... an M&M named Elridge? – Written for the Pick Your Own Adventure Contest

Pick Your Own Adventure O/S Contest

Title: Buckwheat and Spanky

Rating & Any Needed Warnings: M for language-and-innuendos of which nuns would not approve.

Word Count: 9643 (MS-Word style)

Pairing: Edward/Bella

Words Selected: Breakfast, Kansas, Lost, Cactus, Defenestration

Summary: Two cars, two friends, milkshakes, money, much chemistry, a myriad of roads, music, man-points, multiple nicknames, and... an M&M named Elridge? – Written for the Pick Your Own Adventure Contest

Disclaimer: I own some Girl Scout Cookies. SMeyer just owns Twilight.

"Whoa! Did you see that bird? It was like... blue and purple and shit."

"No, I didn't see it. Because I'm driving. Like you should be."

"Oh don't be such a hard-ass."

"My ass is quite soft and squeezable, thank you."

He laughed on the other end, the unmistakable sound of shifting against leather. "Such a shame I don't know that first hand."

"Can it, bastard."

"Aw come on, lighten up! Our cars are smooth and still smell new, there's hardly anyone on the road, we've got endless time, car chargers for both iPod and phone, and we're getting paid for this." I could hear the grin in his voice.

"So you're saying I should just enjoy it?"

"Exactly!"

"Well maybe if you played something a little less goosy and moony than Survivor, I might."

"Oh hell no! Don't you dare insult my Survivor, whore!"

"Too late."

"Survivor is classic and awesome!"

"It's stale and lame and Eye of the Tiger was the only good thing."

He spluttered, and I pictured his mouth opening and closing. "I can't even... There just aren't... How are we even friends?"

"Because we both have an unnatural addiction to Mario Kart and Captain Crunch simultaneously?"

"Good point."

"Now turn that garbage off. I'll turn something worthy on."

"You're lucky I have selective hearing."

"Uh-huh, sure."

"Because if I didn't, I'd be pulling over right now to give you a proper wuppin'."

"How am I even supposed to know what the hell a wuppin' is?"

"A whipping."

"Oh really?"

It was quiet a beat. "Did you just perk up at the thought of me spanking you?"

"I might have." Silence again. I turned up the volume of my Bluetooth, wondering if I'd lost him. "Come in, Commander."

"Aw, fuck."

I snickered at the hoarse sound of his voice. "Did I do something?"

"Don't play games with me."

"What if I like games?"

"Stooooop," he groaned. "I'm trying to drive here."

"Am I not helping?"

"Not at all."

"My bad."

"Shit. Don't say bad."

"Why not? Does it make you think of me being bad?"

"Damn it!" I could hear his hands squeaking against the steering wheel. "You're so evil."

"A witch."

"Yes."

"And a sorceress."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"Witches have warts and crooked noses. I'm wartless and my nose is pretty."

"Except when you have zits."

"Hey!"

"What? Just saying."

"Asshole."

"But I'm your asshole, Paladin."

I blinked at the road, half-wishing he was standing before me instead of a car behind. "Please tell me that didn't come out like you wanted."

"It didn't. And what you just said isn't helping, either."

"Right. Music to change the subject, yeah?"

"Please."

"Okay, can do." I kept a hand on the wheel and flicked my thumb against my iPod, scrolling through my playlist to where I wanted. "I like, where we are, when we drive, in your car, I like, where we are, here," I sang along.

Loudly.

"Nonononononono," Edward combated, just as loudly, from my ear. "We are not listening to Hellogoodbye!"

"Ooh, somebody just lost three man-points for knowing who it was by the first line of lyrics."

He paused yet again, which he seemed to be doing a lot in this convo. Which he actually did a lot all the time.

"Fuck you."

"Only if you say the magic word, honeybunches." I glanced in my rearview, checking as usual, only to find him giving me the finger. Covering my snort, I continued on. "What are you, down to negative fourteen on your man-points?"

"I just scratched my balls. That'll up me at least five points."

"You better not touch anything in that car with your smelly ball-hands until you hand-sanitize."

"Yes, mother dearest."

"Hey, I'm only thinking ahead. What would Vlad say if he got his car and it ended up smelling like hairy Edward-nads?"

"He'd probably rip said nads off."

"Exactly."

"Okay, grabbing the Germ-X now."

"Just don't spill any in the car."

"I'll treat it like my baby."

"No, you'll treat it better. I've seen your girlfriends when they emerge on the other side of a relationship with you."

"Alright now, that's just not nice. It's not always my fault, ya know."

"Of course not. You're a saint. A prized and innocent and Pulitzer-Prize-Winning saint."

"Could you lay it on a little thicker?"

"Maybe if I tried."

"Bitch."

"Man-whore."

"All my women left me satisfied."

"Which is half the problem."

"No-... I-... You know what I meant!"

"Sure."

"They were all satisfied completely when they vamoosed!"

"Uh-huh."

"You're such an uber-ditch."

"And you're a snowsnore." I flicked the music two clicks louder. "Where you are the one, the one that lies close to me!"

"Change it change it change. It!" he sang back, trying to overpower my music.

"I don't understand why you're so against this song! It's so happy and peppey and just makes me wiggle-car-dance!"

"Yo. Broccoli. It was a verse. You don't have to shout over the verses. They're quieter than the chorus."

"I know."

"So you're just purposely shouting in my ear?"

"Yes."

"Well, okay then."

"Whispers hello, I miss you quite terribly!"

"Dear World, if you can hear this, you can hear her. Make it stop!"

"Okay okay, fine." I switched songs, snickering on the inside as the first notes started to play. "You arrrrre, my fiiiiiire."

"Fuck no! That's it!"

Movement in my rearview mirror, the striking black moving from safely following me. "What are you doing?"

I could hear the engine revving in response to his pressure. "You signed a contract before this trip."

"Ooh, cryptic."

"No, not cryptic." He was in the other lane now, steadily moving up beside me. "You did. And you just broke it and that's the last straw."

As he passed, I looked cursorily out my window, noting his one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the shift, his knees casually slouched, mouth smirking straight at me.

He turned on his blinker, drifting over until he was in front of me. "I repeat, what are you doing?"

"This."

"That is not an answer." His brakes flashed on abruptly, forcing me to do the same. "Hey. Wheat Thin. What the hell?"

He still didn't answer, and I got pissier as he headed onto an exit-ramp. Leaving the interstate here was not part of the plan.

"If you don't tell me what you're doing, I swear to you this will be the last day your crotch is happy."

Still nothing.

We turned off the ramp, and I followed him into a small gas station. I parked in the space to the right of him, but he was already out.

He pulled my door open before I could, leaning his forearm on the top and looking down at me.

"What?"

Both his eyebrows raised, his lips smiling just a little. "Oh, I think you know what."

"I'm sorry, I turned off my mind reading powers for the day."

"You signed a contract that there would, under no circumstances, by any Backstreet Boys on this trip."

"That's another four man-points out the window, for knowing it's them two seconds into the song."

"And since you just violated that contract like nobody's business, I am therefore allowed to collect on it."

"Collect on what?"

"The collateral you signed away in the contract, as incentive not to play the heathens."

"I remember no such thing."

He shrugged slightly. "You may have been a wee teeny bit tipsy."

"No, you may have gotten me drunk so I'd sign some contract that played into all your sick, Backstreet Boys hating desires."

"I have no idea what you just said. Beyond the getting-you-drunk part."

"So you admit it!"

"I do not. I just said I understand that part. You were the one throwing hissy-fits about not being drunk enough every time I tried to take away your alcohol."

"I have a vague memory of salt on my stomach..."

"Probably from the body shots I did off you." The smile was gone, replaced by a smirk of wicked indecency.

"You didn't!"

"You begged me. How could I refuse?"

"It's called no, maybe you've heard of the term?"

"Not likely."

"Oh fuck." I banged my head on the steering wheel. "All I can think about is that you've now seen my stomach."

"I've seen more than that in the skimpy eye-patches you call swimsuits."

I gave him a minor stink-eye. "Okay, that you've now licked my stomach."

"If it's any consolation," he leaned down, one arm still on the roof of the car, voice lower in his throat, "you taste good."

"You're only saying that to provoke me. It won't work."

"Did I mention you squirmed when my tongue hit you? And that it was quite hot?"

"Ass. Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass."

"Are you trying to hint at something?"

"Back to your dastardly deeds concerning this... this..."

"Contract?"

"Yes! And did I call you ass already?"

"I can't recall."

"Ass."

"Speaking of." He reached a hand behind him, appearing to grope his own ass before I caught a glimpse of leather. Out of his wallet, he delicately extracted a very folded piece of paper.

"I assume this is it?"

"Somehow, I was expecting more fanfare."

I rolled a hand. "Well get on with it!"

"Right." He cleared his throat, carefully opening the paper. "This binding contract, which you almost signed in blood but I managed to stop you—"

"Of course. Because the threat of me throwing up on you didn't have anything to do with it at all."

He stare-glared until I was silent and he could continue. "—reads as follows. 'I, Isabella Broccoli Socks Paladin Chinchilla Cone and-any-other-various-nicknames Marie Swan, hereby swear on all things chocolate and sexy and cute as puppies and tasty as lemonade and full of Justin Timberlake—"

"I was so drunk."

"Shush, I'm still reading. '...that I will not, no matter what may happen, play any Backstreet Boys tune-age while on this upcoming trip. And if I break this binding contract, I swear to hand over three Tootsie rolls, the use of my favorite Dopey nightshirt, and ownership of my Red the M&M ke—"

"No way! Uh-uh! No way in hell did I write and sign that!"

He threw me an annoyed look, barely covering the copious amounts of amusement straining to break free. "You keep interrupting."

"I didn't sign that!"

Wordlessly, he turned around the contract – I could see now it was written on an elegant Taco Bell napkin. Sure as I shat, there was my signature. Scrawled and drunkenly slanted right at the bottom of the rambling oath.

"It... it's a forgery! I call mistrial by drunkenness!"

"As if." He folded the napkin back up, concealing it again in his wallet and stuffing the entire thing flush against his ass.

Not that I was thinking about being flush against his ass.

"That signature doesn't count! On account of the alcohol. You read it! I swore on puppies and chocolate and Timberlake. Clearly, I can't be held accountable."

"Oh, you can." He bent down closer once more. "And I'll be collecting my winnings."

"No! You can't have him!" I crossed my fingers against him, as if they were garlic and he was a vampire and that simple thing was enough to keep him away.

"You signed the contract, you broke the terms, he's mine."

"And what if I refuse? Which I am."

He leaned forward, eyes right on mine and voice low. Offhandedly dangerous.

Or at least pretending-slash-attempting to be.

"Then I'll be forced to take him."

"You wouldn't dare. Not to incur my wrath like that."

"I would. I have proof of a signed contract on my side."

"You lie. It's a lie!"

"Me?" He put a hand to his chest. Very girl-like. "Never. Now hand him over."

"You can't take him from me!" I snatched my keys out of the ignition, cradling the him in question to my chest.

"The contract says I can. Now, give him to me." He held a palm out.

"Noooo," I wailed like an overdramatic dork. "You won't take my Elridge from me!"

"I... will... too..." he muttered in-between trying to pry my arms apart.

I was proud to say he wasn't having much luck.

Thank you, Shake Weight.

"Bella, give it up!"

"Funny, that's what my best girl-friend used to say about my virginity."

His arms went limp, eyes getting wide. "W-what?"

I twisted till I was facing away from him, still clutching my beloved keychain. "Mine!"

"Bella. No. Stop." He was trying to grab over my arms, but the lack of headroom in the car wasn't helping. "He's mine fair and square. Just give him to me."

"No no no!" I'd begun to pant from the Keep-Away workout.

He pulled away, feet making a resounding noise on the pavement as he stepped back. "Fuck it."

"Aha!"

"You can keep the damn thing."

"Score!"

"For now, at least."

"No, for eternity. Elridge will be buried with me, have no doubt." Triumphant, I stroked across Elridge's little red and round and hard and plastic and cute body, cooing soft and murmured adorations to him.

"You're so fucking weird."

I looked up to see Tater shaking his head; I promptly stuck my tongue out. Viciously.

"I'm demanding payment, still. If not Elridge, I'll find something else."

"Like what?" I eyed him suspiciously.

"Oh, I'll think of something."

"You're not going to tell me now?"

"No. We'll call it an... uncollected debt."

"That you'll collect someday?"

"That's the general idea, yes."

"Smartass. But when will I know you're gonna collect?"

"You won't. That's the point. Or, you will. Because I'll tell you. Either way, I haven't quite figured out that part yet."

"I have to pee."

"Nice try at distracting me, but flashing your boobs would have been better."

I shoved a finger at his stomach; he jumped away, dodging. "I meant, before we go back on the road, I gotta pee."

"'Kay. We got plenty of time."

We were aiming to stop for the night somewhere in Idaho, on I-84. Where exactly, we weren't quite sure yet.

Neither of us had planned that far ahead, not knowing what the weather conditions or traffic or speed limits or potty-times or food-stops or butt-resting-arm-stretching breaks would be like.

But we had semi-planned to be checked into some hotel by nine tonight, then up by five again to get a jump-start on any kind of morning traffic.

So far, even this little side-trip included, we were pretty on schedule.

"Well come on. Chop-chop, eager pee-er. We haven't got all day."

"Okay okay, I'm going." Narrowing my eyes, I grabbed my keys again. "And I'm taking Elridge with me."

"I told you, I'll be collecting on other payment in place of him. I expect my Tootsie Rolls, though."

"You'll get your damn Tootsie Rolls."

"King-size!" he called out as I walked toward the gas station.

"Yeah, you wish."

[- + - + -]

"Super 8 will always pwn Motel 6."

"No way. Six is a better number than eight. Always."

"Never!"

"Always, you lunatic."

"It's been scientifically proven that Super 8's are cleaner and less-full of lice and cockroaches and rats than Motel 6's."

"Uh-huh. Where? I'd like to see this scientific proof."

"Sure. As soon as we check in to the Super 8, I'll get it out to show you."

"Ben Stein says Motel 6 is better. He's left a light on for us and everything."

"He also says there's a Visine for everything. We're staying at Super 8."

"We're staying at Motel 6."

"Super 8 has got free WiiiiFi."

"They also have a giant talking sign in their commercial."

"At least it's better than Ben Stein."

"Don't mock the Stein, woman."

"Super 8."

"Motel 6."

"Edward."

"Bella."

"You know I'm serious when I call you that."

"You know I'm serious when I call you that."

"Stop copying me."

"Then agree that Motel 6 is the best choice."

"It's not. Super 8 is where we're staying. End of discussion."

"No. Not end of discussion."

"I'll buy you milkshakes and fries and give you first choice of which side of the bed and let you pick something on the lame hotel TV to waaaatch."

I started to smile at the resulting quiet after my exaggerating bribe, knowing he was contemplating my offer.

"You drive a hard bargain, you evil creature."

"Yes!" I pumped a fist, whining ow and licking my knuckles when I hit the top of the car.

Leading the way off the interstate, I followed the signs toward the Super 8.

"I still say you're evil," were Buckwheat's first words when we exited our cars.

"Get the bags, will you, Jeeves?"

He gave me the finger as I popped my trunk, but grabbed my suitcase anyway.

"What the tomato do you have in here?" he grunted.

"Oh, you know. Eyeliner, shampoo, decapitated heads, pajamas, dildos, the usual."

"Very nice. I hope the last one was true, at least. Not so much the one before it. Or the one before that one. Or even the first one. Shampoo would be useful, though."

"It's also coconut shampoo."

"But you know I like the cocoa one..."

Standing in front of the lobby door, I glanced over my shoulder at him. Note the pout. Must... resist... so hard... too adorable... can't... Dammit.

"Alright, fine. I lied. I brought the cocoa one."

"Ha! Yes." He did a mini-dance.

"Dweeb. And hurry up, I wanna get checked-in and get food."

"Nag, nag, nag." But he hurried and got his own bag.

Me carrying my purse, map, and car keys, him juggling the same plus two suitcases and a slushie cup, we tromped through the shiny, glowing and gleaming doors of the Super 8.

Okay, they were streaky and not lighted. Whatever.

I tripped over the step in, and Edward's luggage wheels caught it, too. In short, we made an excellent entrance.

The receptionist looked up when we tumbled in. He had dreadlocks and a Hawaiian shirt. In Idaho.

"Good evening," he greeted with a head-nod.

I was half-staring half-snickering when I answered, "Hey there."

"One room or two?"

"One." We'd already decided this; one room to save money. Besides, friends like Lizard and I didn't mind sharing beds.

Of course.

"Okedoke." He went about all the work efficiently and rather quickly, while I just contemplated his dreads and tried not to think about cuddling and spooning and few clothes.

It was hard.

Also a problem with the turn my thoughts had taken.

"Thanks, Max," Edward said casually, taking the keycard from the guy.

I'd always envied him that. The easy, charming way he had of talking to strangers, of making them feel comfortable and not like servants or weirdoes or like he'd just met them.

Mostly I stood around awkwardly and silently and only said the polite necessities. I'd never had the relaxed, charismatic grace that he did.

Damn him.

"Hello? Shortcake?" He waved a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Paladin."

"What? Sheesh."

"Open."

"Huh?"

He stuck the thin plastic of the keycard between my parted lips. "Here."

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed it and headed for the nearest hallway. I preferred rooms that opened to the parking lot, but hey. You took what you could get. "You coulda just handed it to me."

"This was more fun."

"Hey guys?"

We turned as one to Max, our expressions a non-verbal yeah, what?.

"The walls are thin in this place. Remember that, eh?" I thought I heard him chuckle-giggling.

"No, that isn't-... It's not-... We aren't-..." Fuck. Why couldn't I find the right words?

Snorting, Edward nudged me with a knee against my butt. "Come on, get moving. I want a shower."

I did as he said, still confused over the receptionists assumption. Did we come off as a couple? Or even a couple of horny people?

I didn't get it.

"Well, here we are."

"Room 69. How are there even 69 rooms in this place?"

"There must be some around back." He sounded too amused by this.

"That clerk is a fucking pervert."

"Sure, yeah. Can you open the door? I gotta take a piss and lugging all this stuff isn't easy."

"You know I hate that word."

"Which is why I delight in it so, Miss Priss."

I opened the door and stepped inside, holding it for him. The little entryway was tight, and he brushed against me as he went by.

Naturally, I took the opportunity to slap the back of his head.

His neck jerked forward from the force, and he turned to stare at me. "Just for that, I'm going to tackle you to the bed as soon as I'm done..." I raised my eyebrows, lips pursed. "...peeing. There, ya happy? Nazi."

"Very." I tugged my suitcase from his grasp and swung it onto the bed, turning when I felt him hovering behind me. "Can I help you?"

"I'm just waiting to see the dildos."

"I thought you had to use the restroom?"

"Dildos are better than empty bladders."

"Will you stop saying that."

"What? Dildos? Dildosdildosdildos."

"Stop! Jeez."

"It's a funny word. Dildos, dildos, dildos." He punctuated each one with a tickle to my side, the sadistically cruel bastard.

Laughing uncontrollably and beginning to wheeze, I squirmed away from him and fell onto the bed beside my suitcase.

"Okay, really gotta go make my bladder gladder now. Gimme my Dopey shirt so I can shower while I'm in there."

"What? No!"

"Don't make me get the contract out again."

"My shirt won't fit you."

"Of course it will." He reached for the zippers on my bag. "It swims on you."

I slapped his hands away. "Mine."

"I'm getting it either way. Whether you give it freely or I steal it. I'm open to either."

"Wanker." But I stood back up to retrieve it for him.

"Only if you asked really nicely."

Sifting through all the shit I'd neatly packed, I started to hope I'd forgotten to remember it.

"Don't try to gloss over it. I can see it right there." He tugged on the end of my hair.

"Fiiiiine. Here. Have it. Asshat."

"Why thank ya. I feel honored to have such a precious item."

"Kiss my ass."

He smacked it lightly instead, rushing to the adjoined bathroom and devious cackles echoing as I whirled around to pummel him.

Surprisingly, I let it go with only a huff and grabbed my purse again. "I'm gonna go get food. Be back in a few."

"Burger King!" he shouted over the sound of the running water.

"Ha, think again. McDonald's."

"Krystal's?"

"Fuck no!"

"Checker's?"

"McDonald's has the best fries and milkshakes combo."

"...Good point."

"Get clean in there, will ya? Cause you kinda stink."

"Bite me!"

"Maybe later."

[- + - + -]

"Are you decent?" I'd stalled just inside the door, bag of food and holder of milkshakes precariously balanced in one arm, the other covering my eyes.

"Up yours. I'm always decent."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, cautiously removing my hand.

"Food!"

"Dude..." I stared at him. In my Dopey nightshirt. "No. Just... no."

"What?" He mocked a pirouette. "Don't you like it?"

"It's too tight across your chest. And it may swim on me, but it's too short for you, Fezzik. I can see your stomach."

His fingers pulled on the end of the shirt. "Only a little."

"If you rip my Dopey shirt, I will... do something truly horrendous to you."

"I'm shaking in my slippers."

"I'm serious, fart. I'd... I'd defenestrate you!"

He patted my cheek. "Didn't we talk about you using words too big you choke on them?"

"Think this belongs to you." I gave him my middle finger.

"Oh thank you! I'd been looking for it." He grabbed my finger and started playfully gnawing on it.

"You don't know where my finger's been."

"Think I'm okay with anywhere it coulda been."

"I could have just been scratching my lady parts."

"I fear for your lady parts if you have to scratch them."

"You know what I mean."

"Sure I do."

"Don't placate me."

"Of course not."

"I will drop this milkshake on your head."

"What a waste that would be."

"And I'll have you know defenestrate is not too big for me!"

"Definitely not."

"Enough with the placating."

"Absolutely."

"I know the definition of defenestration!"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"And I'm not afraid to do that to you!"

"Do what to me?" He glanced up at me from my finger, which he was still messing with. Something about it made me sit up and take notice of his eyelashes. So... long. And thick. And pretty.

Was I still talking about eyelashes?

"Defenestrate you."

"Sounds painful."

"It's throwing you out a window."

"I'm aware."

"Smartass."

"Me? Why, I'm scandalized."

"Just take the food before it gets cold and our milkshakes melt."

"Yes, sir."

"Ma'am."

"Nitpick," he muttered on his way back to the bed. "You gonna shower?"

"Unlike some people, I showered this morning. And don't bend down!"

He'd started to reach down and grab something from his case. "Excuse me?"

"You bend too far, I'll hear an awful ripping sound, and then bam. No more Dopey nightshirt."

"Still on about the shirt?"

"It's my favorite nightshirt!" It was true. I only wore any other shirt to bed when Dopey needed to be washed. Not only was the dwarf cute, but the bong in his hands just made it even better.

Really, it was no wonder I loved the shirt.

"Yeah, but I won wearing rights fair and square."

"Don't even." I glared halfheartedly at him. "Besides, it looks much better on me, anyhow."

Setting our dinner down on the bed, he crossed his arms over his stomach. "Fuck this."

"What are you doing?"

I couldn't look away as he pulled the shirt off in one fluid move. "Giving you back your damn shirt. You say it looks better on you, prove me wrong."

He tossed it to me and I was so busy with my staring, I almost didn't catch it.

"You've seen me shirtless before, Swan." His eyebrows were wiggling with amusement, chest all... unclothed and bare and not covered and stuff.

"There should be a rule of not shirtlessness in this room."

"Certainly. And we'll put it to affect as soon as you get shirtless and attempt to prove me wrong that Dopey looks better on you."

"I'm confused."

"It's what my glorious half-nakedness does to people."

"Arroga—"

"Ah-ah." He wagged a finger. "None of that. Turn around, lose that lovely Reese's shirt, and replace it with Dopey."

"Right, I'll just..." I gestured toward the bathroom.

"No way. Fair is fair, cupcake."

"I'm a woman! I have boobs!"

"Thank you for the notification. I'm proud to confess I already knew that."

"I mean, I can't just strip and get shirtless like you can!"

"Why not?"

"Boobs!"

He pretended to adjust himself. "Stop saying that."

"I'll just go in the bathroom and change."

"No, you won't."

"Alright, fine. The closet, then."

"Uh-uh. You'll do it right here. If I could do it, you can, too."

"You don't have boobs!"

"And thank fuck for that."

"I'm not stripping for you."

"Just turn around, drama queen. I promise not to utilize any mirrors for sneaking a peek."

"You better not!"

"Chill." He waved a hand around the room. "Not even any mirrors near you."

"Fine. But if I see you doing anything even remotely weird, you'll have to sleep with one eye open."

"That's not really fair. What classifies weird?"

"Buckwheat."

"Alright alright, I'm kidding. And don't call me that, Spanky."

"Otay." Smiling but still a little wary, I turned my back to him.

Stripping was not my forte; I got tangled halfway out of my shirt.

"Ooh, a blue bra? Ambitious. I like."

"Don't stare at my bra."

"I can't help it. What with the way you're just standing there, flaunting it at me, not making a move to hide the blue from my roving eyes."

"I don't think I know what you just said. Or this fabric is covering my ears and I didn't hear half of it."

"Would you like some help?"

"From you?"

"No, from that cow sitting over there on the bed."

"Ha, ha."

"Yes, from me."

"No, not from you."

"I'll grab the cow, then."

"If you walk any closer to help me, you and your damn tallness will be able to see over my shoulder into Cleavland, Oh-hi-ho."

He was quiet for a second, and I swore I could feel his smirk like an actual being in the room. "Damn tallness, eh?"

"Oh, put a muzzle on it."

"That was a half-hearted insult if I ever heard one." I couldn't hear anything, but I thought I felt him moving. "You like my tallness, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. It's very handy when evil stock-boys put refried beans on the top shelf."

"Refried has no place whatsoever in this conversation."

"They also put my apricot jelly on the top shelf?"

"You are an apricot."

"Ha! Think again, mister. If I recall correctly, you're the one with that hair color."

"This is my natural hair color, I'll have you know."

"I already knew that."

"And I already knew your bra was blue."

"What?"

"That shirt has a v-neck. And I could see over your shoulder when you wouldn't give me Elridge."

Somewhere, deep inside, I found the restraint not to spin around and gasp at him. The fact that I was still twisted in my shirt didn't help.

"You're just trying to rile me up so I'll turn around and you can get a full-view of my Cleavland."

"Maybe. But then how would I know there's a tiny white bow on your bra?"

I lost control and did gasp, wiggling my arms furiously until my shirt let go. "You... just... wait," I grumbled through attempts to get Dopey on.

When it'd finally slipped over my head, I faced him.

Only he was closer than I thought. And instead of him staggering back from the force of my death-scowl, I stumbled backward from his nearness.

"Huh." His eyes roamed from my bare purple toes, all the way up to my face. "Ditch the pants, I think."

The shirt came to my thighs-bordering-knees, and I did usually sleep without pants. "Don't tell me what to do."

"Now you're just being feisty for the sake of arguing."

I lifted my hand, preparing to flip him off. He took hold of my wrist, my fist inside his palm.

"Aw, come on. It was just a bra. Not like I saw you have a nip-slip in a bikini or anything."

"Hey! You swore you erased that from your memory!"

He shrugged. "I may have lied. A little."

"Or a lot." My lips pursed, free hand undoing the button and zipper of my jeans to distract me.

"You might be right."

"You're an ass."

"How silly of you to think I was anything but." Lightly, he flicked me under my chin.

Slightly annoyed he hadn't argued with me on the ass point, I stepped out of my pants and folded them over an arm. "What makes you think I ever thought you were anything else?"

"Who knows. Something in your eyes, perhaps."

"Uh-huh. You do realize we're driveling an awful lot tonight, right?"

"We never drivel."

"Obviously."

"And you're right. It does look better on you." With another smile, he walked back to the bed and our forgotten dinner.

Much to my sadness, the first thing he did was slide on a sleeveless tee.

Sighing, I joined him on the too-firm bed, the McDonald's food between us. "Soccer has given you nice abs, by the way."

"I know."

"That was a compliment. You're supposed to say thank you, cocky turd."

He reached across me to grab the milkshakes from my bedside table, breathing his words onto anxious skin. "Thank you."

"Too late. You already lost your chance at any 'you're welcome'."

"Suppose I'll just have to drown my sorrows in grease and melted milkshakes."

"Suppose you will." I munched on a fry, grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV. "Think there's any good movies on tonight?"

"Not likely."

"Sad but true."

"Ew. Pickles." He tossed a wrapped bundle to me, opening the other one.

I peeled away the bun and picked up a pickle slice. "Mm-mm-mmmmm."

"You're a sick woman."

"Cucumbers are good for you."

"Not when they've been soaking in vinegar since the pyramids were built."

"Mmm, so delicious and tart." I licked the flimsy slice before eating it.

"You're gonna give the cleaner a heart-attack when they go to change the sheets and find a green stain on them."

"I'm not under the sheets."

"Would you like to be?"

"Is that a proposition?"

"Would you like it to be?"

I lobbed the remote at his chest, his low chuckles contagious. "Find something to watch."

"You're so sweet to offer me control of the TV."

"I'm under obligation."

"Be nice, now. I did give you back your Dopey shirt."

"And I'm oh so gracious, kind sir." I put a hand over my heart and batted my lashes at him.

"Shut up and eat your French fries."

"Well I would, if you'd stop hogging the bag containing my French fries."

"I'll trade you for the strawberry milkshake."

"You hate strawberry. Be happy with your chocolate."

"Strawberry has grown on me. And now I want some."

"No dice."

"Then no French fries."

"Hey!" I made to lunge for them, but he held his arm out to the side, dangling the bag over the bed and out of my reach. "Give me the fries, Edward."

"Give me the strawberry, Bella."

We stared each other down, until he let out a breath that fluttered my hair.

"My arm is getting tired."

"So give me my fries and we'll call it even."

"How about no? Does that work for you?"

"How about I'm not the one holding their arm out, and I could stay here all night."

"Why does no believe me when I tell them you're pure evil?" He stuck his tongue out at me.

I nipped in his direction, snickering when his eyes widened and he leaned away from me. "Probably because they all know you're really the evil one and any evilness of mine is just a bi-product of your company."

"That didn't make any sense."

"It made perfect sense. Give me the fries."

"It did not. And no. Not until you give me the strawberry shake."

I inched forward, stretching for the bag, eyes on his. "Gimme."

"You first."

"Are you four years old?"

"Are you?"

"So immature."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"I want my damn fries!"

"Oomahurmf," he mumbled when I bounced onto him.

"Give it here!"

"Get off me, woman! You don't weigh two ounces, ya know."

I pulled my hand back, staring straight at him. "You did not just say that."

"What? I didn't say you weighed a ton. You're just not a fucking feather and your nails are in my thigh!"

"Oh. Oops." I stopped digging into him, noticing for the first time that – yes, I was actually on him. My hand on his thighs to brace my weight, my legs straddling one of his, and my boobs practically brushing his stomach.

It was almost like a game of Twister.

One spin of the arrow and I could easily be right hand, crotch.

Whoooooa, uncharted territory there, Swan. Do you want to go there?

"Yes, oops. Evil wench."

"I'm sorry! Didn't realize it."

"Uh-huh. Sure. I believe you completely. And I'm not thinking about all the many times you've threatened harm to my crotch or baby-maker or happy-land over the years."

I pushed my hair back absently. "You make me sound so violent."

"Gee, I wonder why."

"It's your fault."

"How?"

"If you hadn't taken my fries, we wouldn't be in this position." I shifted on his – practically – lap. "And speaking of, give."

"If that's what it takes to get you off, fine." He pushed the paper sack at me, but I was frozen. Caught halfway between wanting to squirm, and laughing until I couldn't breathe.

We blinked at each other, both immobile and breathing quietly.

"Wrong thing to say, huh?"

"You could say that." I snatched the bag and moved off him. "My fries are probably cold and limp by now."

"Well my shake is probably nothing but runny liquid."

"Compromise. I'll give you half my shake for half of yours."

"Deal. And I won't turn on the weather channel just to bug the shit out of you."

[- + - + -]

"We can't make a twenty-hour trip without stopping for sleep. There's no way." We were at breakfast, bright and early and trying to wake ourselves up.

"You just want to extend your time with me."

"Or, here's another possibility, I just don't want to die from falling asleep at the wheel."

"No, my reasoning sounds far more spot on."

"I have gravy here. Think about it."

"Well I have syrup. Think about that."

I growled, he beamed.

"I win. Loser-snoozer-fee-fi-fo-foozer."

Sticking my tongue out, I stole a forkful of scrambled eggs.

He filched half a slice of bacon.

"Take the sausage next time or order your own bacon."

"You take some hash-browns or order your own eggs."

I made a snotty face at him, turning back to the map and my iPhone. "I say we stop somewhere in Wyoming on 80."

He leaned over the table, staring at my map and the route I'd plotted out. "What the hell is that?"

"What is what?"

"You've got us going on some Wyoming back bumpkin road instead of the interstate."

"But if you look at it, it looks like it'll shave a lot of time."

"Uh, no. That's a back road, Paladin. Which means going fifty-five or less or having to stop for towns and any number of things."

"Well yeah, but—"

"No buts unless we're talking your butt. We stay interstate. Which is at least seventy an hour unless you're me."

"There's a reason why you haven't been leading this trip."

"Oh is there, now?"

"We are not getting any tickets. I don't need a permanent stain on my record."

"You ran into a fun-bounce once. Don't think your record is as immaculate as you think."

"That was a one-time thi—"

"And then, of course, there was the great mailbox incident of '05. And the fire-hydrant-plus-fire-truck-plus-burning-building debacle of '08. And we can't forget—"

I stuck my fingers in my glass of OJ, flicking the dripping juice right at his face.

"Tasty. Thank you. I was getting bored with my coffee and apple juice."

My mouth opened as he wiped off what juice he couldn't lick away, but he interrupted.

"And before you say anything, remember we're in a restaurant and all these other early-birds can hear you." He wiggled his brows once, all too amused for my liking.

"Eat your food, you emm-eff."

"Ouchie. I'm wounded."

I hung my hand over my cup, threatening to fling more OJ at him.

"Alright alright. Don't get me all sticky. That's my job for you."

"Pig."

"Is what you're eating, yes."

"Back on point."

"My favorite place to be."

"We'll sleep somewhere in Wyoming on I-80. Which would be around ten hours from here."

"And then, barring any unexpected mishaps, we should be able to make it to Kansas City the next day," he finished for me.

"Where we'll give Vlad his cars, pick up Kate and Riley's presents, Uncle Ben's new car—"

"And then rinse and repeat back home."

I grinned as he finished my thoughts again. "Sounds like a plan."

"We're sticking to the interstate, just so you know."

"Yeah yeah, okay, whatever." I shoveled more food, wanting to make sure we got on the road soon enough. "Oh!"

"Chew and swallow before speaking."

"Make sure you make a note somewhere that it's Kansas City and not Kansas City."

"What the bacon?"

"Vlad is in Kansas City, Missouri and not Kansas City, Kansas."

"I have no idea what that means, but it sounds confusing."

I swallowed a gulp of juice, waving a hand. "It's something about rivers or wars or idiots given naming privileges. I don't know. I just remember Cope being really specific about that clarification."

He turned back to the map, studying both the paper and digital versions. "So we're not actually going into Kansas."

"Kansas City is on the border of Kansas and Missouri, though."

"But look, we're way up here in the Potato State, we'll be going through Wyoming, which is up here," he traced fingers along lines to show me.

"And?"

"If we're already up here, why go down just to go across if we're going to have to go down anyway?"

"Huh?" I may have been distracted by his repeating of the semi-dirty go down.

"I don't know about you, but I really have no desire to chug my way through Denver."

"I'm with you there."

"So," he started tracing again, reaching over his plate and getting syrup on his sleeve. "Fudging shoot!"

I snorted and handed him some extra napkins.

"Anyway." He pushed his plate to the side. "As I was saying, so why not just bypass Colorado period?"

"Show me."

Pointing and trailing fingers across the map, he continued. "We go from wherever we end up in Wyoming, over here like so... keep going... and then right down to destination station."

"And bypass Colorado completely," I repeated, seeing what he meant.

"Precisely."

"I've got no complaints."

He dug into his food again, mumbling around mouthfuls. "Excellent. It's what we'll do, then."

[- + - + -]

So that was exactly what we did.

Wyoming was uneventful. Pretty, but uneventful.

I gave in and we stayed at a Motel 6 to compare the difference. Super 8 totally won, in my book.

Eaten to the backdrop of Sixteen Candles, dinner that night was pizza and sour gummi worms, with leftovers for breakfast.

Like I said, uneventful.

We were on the road again early. I'd wanted to punch early.

Maybe even castrate it.

But coffee and Linkin Park and Edward's commentary on other driver's helped. Or at least, they helped until we saw the detour signs.

Some sort of construction, a detour, and having to go into Colorado anyway.

Neither of us was quite happy about that little hiccup.

"Now entering Kansas."

"What?" I looked over at the sign Edward was reading before I even saw it, noting that – yes, indeed – we were in Kansas.

"We should go look for a brick sidewalk, a scarecrow, a yappy dog, grab your red fuck-me's, some yellow spray paint, and get thrown in jail."

"Yeah, we'll do that," I said absently, throwing glances at the map occupying my front seat. "We're supposed to be in Nebraska."

"Where the fuck is Nebraska?" And this from the person who'd just yesterday mapped a route through the very state.

"Above Kansas, brainchild. America and I are kicking you out for not knowing that."

"Well you don't know where Kilimanjaro is."

"I don't live in Kilimanjaro."

"I rest my case."

"You've no rest to case."

Quiet. For three breaths.

"That... was random. And ridiculously funny."

Out of nowhere, he was laughing his head off in my ear. Which sounded weirder than it actually was.

"Are you safe to drive while laughing so exceptionally much?" Okay, I was a bit bristly. But really, how could he find it that funny?

"Whooooo." I imagined him wiping tears from his eyes.

"And are you done now?"

He chuckled again, just plain toying with me. "I think so."

"Great. Now can you tell me how the anthill we ended up lost in Kansas?"

"We're not lost."

"No, we're definitely lost."

"Are not. We know exactly where we are – in Kansas."

"But we're still lost."

"Lost means not knowing where you are. We have that covered."

"Except we don't know where in Kansas we are. Therefore, lost."

He grumbled something too quietly for me to hear. "I'm telling you, we should have taken 76 instead of 70."

"Uh-uh, no way! You said take 70, I said take 76!"

"I'm the king of interstate knowledge, I think it was I who said 76, and you wouldn't listen."

"I always listen. And I'm telling you, 76 was my idea."

"You never listen. You just insist."

"I do not!"

"What are you doing right now?"

"Shut up."

"Pull over at the next exit; we'll figure something out."

"Fine," I sighed.

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady."

"I don't have a tone."

"You so had a tone. Here I am offering to get you out of this lost mess you've gotten us into, and you're toning with—"

"Oh hell no! You won't pin us being lost on me. I said take 76, remember?"

"Pull the damn car over, you infuriating piece of—"

I narrowed my eyes, trusting he'd be able to hear it. "If you want to continue living, you will not finish that sentence." But I did as he asked, steering onto the next exit ramp.

All that appeared to be around was a seedy-looking gas station. I opted for pulling off on the side of road.

"I'm not going over there," I told Edward when he opened my door, indicating the gas station.

"I don't blame you." He ran a hand through his hair, staring out at the interstate with frustration all over his forehead. "I really don't want to backtrack."

I grabbed my map and joined him outside, splaying the thing on the roof of my car. "So let's not."

"Yeah." He moved closer, looking with me. "Ha! I was right. 76 is what we should have taken."

"No, I was right! I said 76."

"You did not."

"I did, too!"

"Didn't we already have this conversation?"

"You brought it up again."

"Always blaming me."

"That's cause it's always your fault."

Rolling his eyes, he pushed my shoulder. "Where's your Touch?"

"Up your butt and around the corner."

"I hope you've a screen protector."

I wrinkled my nose. "Ew. You didn't have to go there."

"You went there first."

"Asstard."

"Just get it. Please?"

Leaning back into the car, I grabbed my iPod from the cup-holder. "Here."

"Thanks. Do your polka-dot panties happen to match your bra?"

I slapped the side of his head, wishing I could slap his grin away. "Stop thinking about my underwear."

"You keep flashing it at me."

"My iPod, Kansas, lost, ringing any bells?"

"I still maintain we're not lost." But he flicked out of my music, back to the home screen.

"What exactly do you need from my iPod?"

"I cleared the route on my maps app, and without WiFi, I can't get it back."

"Okay, and?"

"I'm hoping you're a slob enough that yours is still loaded."

"I should be offended you just called me a slob. But if it gets us unlost and back on track, I don't really care."

"We're not lost."

"Will you stop singing that tune already?"

"Look, we're on I-70. All the signs say so. And the paper map tells me that we can get to Kansas City by staying on it."

"So why the Google maps and hope for my slobbery?"

"Because..." His tongue poked out as he stared at the screen. I wanted to suck on it.

His tongue, not the screen.

"Aha! Triumph." He leaned over and kissed my cheek sloppily. Only, since it was so sloppy, it was more like kissing my jaw. Close enough to my ear that his hair tickled against it.

I couldn't control the way I shivered.

"I wanted a different way to see it. Major roads instead of everything, and without the complication of that," he nodded at the map I was holding to the car roof to keep it from blowing away.

"I see." But really I was just thinking about his lips, his tongue, mainly him.

Fuck.

Something I also happened to be thinking about.

Not good.

"Shit. This doesn't tell me anything different."

"So we won't be able to say we're not in Kansas anymore until we're in Missouri, which will be Kansas City anyhow?"

He blinked. "I guess so?"

"I thought I made that perfectly clear."

"Don't get miffed. I'm distracted, is all."

"Are we gonna stick to 70?"

"It's the easiest and fastest." He slid my iPod into the front pocket of my jeans, fingers close and almost and yes – touching me.

"Well I guess we'll see how long it takes us to cross the great state of Kansas."

"Pretty sure the 'great' part is debatable."

"Ssssh! You don't want some serial murdering Kansas-enthusiast to hear you!"

"I'll admit, that would be bad." He leaned right near to my ear. "But we're alone. Don't think we have to worry."

"Damn, you're gloomy. I'll get some cookies from the trunk. Cookies will cheer you up."

He smiled a small, sweet, hidden one I got the feeling he unconsciously reserved for me. "Thanks."

Slender and lengthy fingers skimmed across my forearm in a gesture of acknowledgement and gratitude.

I shivered again.

Something was wrong with me. This usually didn't happen. Not like this. Usually I had better self-control.

I blamed the wonky sleeping pattern and abundant time spent sitting on my ass.

Lacking words, I nodded at him, humming nothing in particular as I rounded the side of the car.

Nutter Butters were just what he needed to put the spark back and forget that he'd gotten us lost in Kansas.

The trunk was open, Nutter Butters waiting patiently to be eaten, when something seized my attention and refused to let go.

"What is that?"

Edward walked over to stand next to me. "It's a cactus."

"But what's it doing here?"

"Plotting world domination, of course."

I reached over and flicked him absentmindedly.

"Now, that might have been more threatening had you not flicked my chest."

"Huh?"

"Yup. You flicked my chest. Right next to my nipple, I might add. Quite erotic."

"But it's a cactus."

"Cactuses aren't erotic."

"Cacti?"

"Sounds like fungi."

"Funguses?"

"There's a fungus among us."

"Where?" I looked around wildly, searching for shrooms and wholly distracted now.

"I dunno. It rhymed."

I flicked him again.

"Seriously. Stop that. It's too hot. My poor nipples ache, now."

"Look how waxy it is."

"The cactus-cacti-cactuses?"

"No, your mom."

"Ooh, burn."

"Do you think the cactus would burn?"

"Everything burns," he said matter-of-factly, both of our eyes on the cactus. In Kansas. A Kansas cactus.

"Except nonflammable stuff."

"That's a given."

"Give me your lighter."

"I don't have a lighter."

"Yes, you do. You know which one I mean. The lighter you use when you sneak smokes."

He feigned a gasp. "I don't sneak smokes."

"I can smell the nicotine on you after every time you do. And the cologne and Febreeze you use to try and cover it up."

"Were you a police dog in a former life?"

"Just call me Rocco."

He rifled in a pocket, pulling out a lighter shaped like a penis. "I don't have this."

"A dick? Classy."

"You will tell not a soul that I A: smoke occasionally, or B: use a cock to light up."

"Of course not. Why would I ever tell anyone that a dick lights you up? I mean, it'd be stupid of me. Only add more fuel to all those rumors about dicks lighting you up, anyway."

"What? What rumors?"

"Oh, you know. Edward the Pants-Chaser. Lizard the Snake-Eater. Mr. Pussy-Hater."

"Hell no! How have I never heard about this?"

"Selective hearing, I'd say."

He tugged on my ponytail, loosening it with the force.

"Hey! Wanktard. Don't take it out on the messenger."

"I'll have you know I am not a Pussy-Hater!"

"I know this. You can't tell designer jeans from dollar-store ones."

"I'm a Pussy-Nuzzler!"

"Right, sweetie. You're the king of pussy, you like girl-holes and boobs, you never pin other guys to walls and stroke their dicks. Can we get back to the cactus burning, please?"

"That was elaborate."

"Hmm?"

"Your reassurance."

I flipped the lighter, hardly believing I was striking a penis. To get it to shoot flames. What the actual fuckery. "You like elaborate."

"Yeah, but you said it like you've done it before. Or at least... imagined me pinning some other guy to a wall."

"Well, a girl's gotta have fantasies, doesn't she?" I wasn't looking at him, too preoccupied with the Light-Up Dick and the cactus experimenting.

"Really?"

"Uh-huh."

His breath on my neck startled the shit out of me so much I almost dropped the lighter. He was a hell of a lot closer than he'd just been.

"So you're admitting you fantasized about me?"

"Um... maybe."

"And me with some other guy?"

"It'd be hot. Even you have to admit that."

"Have you ever," his nose tracked the line of my jaw, barely touching, "fantasized about me with, say, you?"

"I-... I might... have..." Holy hell. I was running out of breath and he was hardly even touching me.

"Interesting." His fingers found the hem of my shirt, slipping just underneath to graze against my the lowest part of my back. "A very interesting development."

"Wait wait wait." I retreated until I bumped into the car. "What are you doing? What is this?"

He shrugged, casual and nonchalant. I saw the rest hiding beneath it, though. "It is what it is."

"Uh-uh. That's not what you-..." I shuddered in a lungful of air. "That's not what your eyes say."

"I wasn't aware eyes could speak."

I mustered up the energy to attempt a glare. "Don't fuck with me, Edward."

"Why not?" His eyes had gone abruptly and surprisingly intense, voice lowering. "What would be so bad about that?"

"I... There..." I swallowed and backed up the last foot my car would allow. "I suppose there wouldn't..."

He strode forward until all I could feel was him against my front, the car against my spine, the sudden crackle around us, the lack of air in my chest.

"Paladin." His fingers were on my jaw, my chin, my neck. Encouraging me to look at him; asking.

I shook my head. "What brought all this on so suddenly?"

"It's always been there. You know it has. Nothing brought it on, because it always was."

"But we're so good as what we are already. We're-... Edward, we're great together. We make great friends. The best."

"I know, believe me, I know."

"I don't want to lose that, or break it, or wound it to the point of irreparable."

"I get that, I do. But who's to say we couldn't be amazing as more? Who, Bella? Who?"

"Edward..."

He stepped away. "Right, right. We could ruin the friendship we already have."

I licked my lips and nodded. "We could."

"Don't you wonder, though? Don't you ever think about it? Imagine what it'd... be like?"

"I do," I confessed quietly, staring at his Adam's apple.

"So then why not? Why, not?"

"You know why. You just said why."

"You can't live a full life, live yours to its fullest potential, if you only ever stay within your comfort zone, if you never stray, never take a chance, risk something, put it out there, all on the line and open and waiting."

"You're right. I know you're right. You're so right."

"But?"

I watched him swallow, scared of what I'd find in his face if I dared to look. "Yeah. But."

This wasn't us. We were the happy-go-lucky friends. The ones who went to each other with our problems, but rarely ever had any between us.

We stayed as unserious as we could possibly get.

And this... this was serious. The opposite end of unserious. Antonym of unserious. Other side of the spectrum to unserious.

Shit, focus.

Or, not.

Maybe what I needed was to unfocus. Maybe if I stopped trying so hard to take the picture I had in mind, the picture I actually wanted would fade into the foreground.

Or something.

Hell if I knew. He was still standing so close to me I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel anything except what he inspired.

But I could smell my cocoa shampoo he'd borrowed without asking this morning when he'd showered.

I liked that smell. I liked it on him, knowing it was mine on him.

I just plain knew.

"Buckwheat?"

He was rolling his eyes when he looked at me, something I saw as a good sign. "Spanky, I always tell you not to—"

The words were lost between us, between lips and pressure and sparks and fucking electric.

"But I never listen." I grinned, kissing the throat I'd been staring at.

"The but again?"

"You like my butt."

I pulled on him, wanting his mouth back, laughing when he pinned me against the car.

"I do. I like it very much." He reached around, squeezing said ass.

"Ya know," I murmured against his lips.

"I'm sure I do, now shush."

"I never lit my cactus."

"Would it make you feel better to know you lit something else to burn?"

"It might."

"In that case..." He kissed the spot on my jaw from earlier, deliberate and purposeful now. Sloppiness nowhere to be found. "You did. Have."

My fingers slid into his hair, thinking of shared shampoo again. "Good to know."

We weren't sure or certain, but we were now. In the moment. For once, I didn't care about the rest, about later. I wanted now and everything else could come as it pleased.

"But I'm still gonna wanna light the cactus on fire."