Title:Good Girl

Summary: Mother wanted me to be a good girl, andI just wanted to find the right only we could both get what we wanted.

Pairing: Bella/Edward (AH)

Rating: M

Word Count: 9,961

Disclaimer: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Close your legs," Mother hissed beside me. The polyester dress was uncomfortable enough in the brutal summer heat, but its above-the-knee hemline forced me to cross my legs daintily at the ankles as I'd watched my stuck-up cousin Jane do so many times before.

And if Jane did it—whatever it was—I utterly refused to do it on principle.

"Now, Isabella."

Unless sitting in the front pew of the church with Mother and the eyes of the Holy One staring down at me. With a muted huff, I closed my legs but kept my sandaled feet flat on the ground.

Take that, Jane.

"Good girls keep their legs closed," Mother continued as if my pastor-slash-father wasn't in the middle of a sermon. "Because they know boys are only after one thing, and they refuse to give them that thing." She leaned closer, her peppermint-scented breath fanning over my face. "Do you know what that one thing is?"

I blinked, wondering how she knew.

Mother took my non-response as understanding and nodded sagely, patting my touching knees with a smile. "Good girl."

As she returned her attention to the pulpit, I wondered how Mother knew what boys wanted. Was she secretly playing Super Mario Brothers after I went to bed? And did she know the cheat code to get unlimited 1-Ups?

And if she did, what did a video game have to do with keeping my legs closed?

The first boy I ever loved lived across the street, as all beautiful boys from our childhood must, and had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen.

Not that he looked at me with them.

I was sprawled on the living room floor engrossed in my first Seventeen magazine. I couldn't believe Daddy actually got me a subscription for my10thbirthday—it had articles about makeup and boys and fashion and boys and school and boys! I was taking a quiz to figure out which 90210 cutie was right for me when a moving truck backfired outside. I went to the window to investigate and forgot all about Luke Perry.

But like Luke Perry, Mike Newton didn't know I existed. Not when Jessica Stanley and her full bra and short skirts lived nearby and had no curfew. My best friend Ro hated Jessica, but it wasn't Jessica's fault. I mean, when boys worship at your feet and grown men honk at you as they drive by, you sorta can't help being a little bitchy.

And I also knew Jessica had her own problems. I found out this one time when I was going to the store for Mother and caught Mike and Jessica outside his house. He stood between her legs and had her pressed against the wall. He looked like he was eating her face, which was weird enough, but what made me stop and stare was the fact that he had his hand on her boob.

Not on it... all over it. He gripped it with his stubby fingers, moving the round mound in a tight circle. I saw Jessica's pinched face, heard her grunts and groans, and scurried away in fright. Because if being with Mike hurt like that, then Jessica had the right to be bitchy.

Yet I thought about his hand on her boob a lot, and the memory made me tingle.

"Isabella!" Mother yelled up the steps. "Rosalie is on the phone!"

"Coming!"

I ran downstairs to take the receiver, and Mother glanced at the clock. "Don't be long. I'm waiting on a call from your aunt Esme."

"Okay." I hopped on the stool by the wall-mounted phone. "Hey, Ro."

"Happy New Year! You wanna come over?"

"Yes! I'm so bored I could die." I leaned over to yell into the living room. "Mom, can I go to Ro's?"

"To do what?"

"Watch movies or play with her Barbie Dream House."

She huffed. "Is your room clean?"

"Yes."

"Did you call to wish your grandmother a Happy New Year?"

"Yes."

"Is Marcus going to be home?"

"I have no idea."

Her tone changed. "Is that a 'no'?"

I put the phone back to my ear. "Ro, will your brother be home?"

"No, he's out with my dad."

"No, he's with Mr. Hale," I yelled back. Mother didn't reply, so I watched the clock while she made up her mind.

"Fine," she finally said. "But be back in two hours."

It was better than nothing.

...

Ro clicked on her living room radio. "Why did she ask about Marcus?"

"I don't know." I plucked a Hershey's kiss from the candy dish. "She doesn't want me being alone with boys."

Ro grinned. "Whoops."

"Whoops what?" The doorbell rang, and my eyes widened. "Who is that?"

"Sam." She walked backwards to the front door. "And hisbrother."

"S-S-Seth?" My mouth went dry, and I found it difficult to talk. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. It's time you two stop playing around."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about." The doorbell rang again, and she squealed. "And I'm gonna do something about it."

What she did was takeSamup to her room to settle a bet about the lyrics to "Thriller," leaving me and Seth downstairsin the most awkward silence ever. Eleven-year-old girls didn't sit alone with super-cute twelve-year-old boys.

Well,good girls didn't, according to Mother.

Maybe Seth's mother told him the same thing because he was acting strange. He looked at the wall, the floor, the half-dead poinsettia on the mantle... everything but me. Which was fine because it gave me the chance to study his smooth skin and curly hair and that lone dimple on his right cheek.

I wanted to kiss it.

The thought surprised me so much that I gasped, and he looked at me. "You okay?"

"Yes! I mean, yes." I smiled, hoping I didn't look crazy. "I'm okay."

"Good." His knee bobbed up and down. "Me too."

Nervous Seth was even more adorable than Normal Seth, and I found myself relaxing. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me too."

I smiled. "You said that already."

"I did?" His cheeks reddened, drawing more attention to that adorable dimple. "I'm sorry. I'm just nervous."

"Why?"

He snorted. "Like you don't know."

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

He looked at me, his eyes different this time. "You...you really don't know?"

"No." For some reason, I couldn't look away. "But Ithink I want to."

"You do?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah."

The DJ chose that moment to play a different Michael Jackson hit, and its frenzied rhythm kept pace with my heart as Seth rubbed his hands on his corduroys and stood up. I watched him cross the room and found myself standing also, my arms falling at my sides as Seth stopped right in front of me.

He stared at me again, his gaze dropping to my lips when I licked them. I closed my eyes when he leaned forward, and in the space of an exhale, I felt gentle, chapped pressure against my lips. A strange kind of warmth spread from my mouth to my cheeks and up the back of my neck, and I wanted it to last forever.

So I pressed my face closer to his, afraid yet excited when he gripped my hands in response. The longer we stayed fused at the mouth, the warmer I became. Yet there was something awkward about the two of us just standing there with our closed mouths pressed against each other.

Was I supposed to move? Was he?

People on TV kissed with their heads leaned to the side and their mouths open.

Good grief, were we supposed to do that?!

Thankfully Ro and Sam came barreling down the steps, and we jumped apart, Seth retreating to his corner of the room. I sat down on the couch, brushing my fingers against my lips with a private smile. And when I glanced at Seth and caught the look in his eyes, I wanted to be awkward with him again.

And randomly wished I had a big boob for him to put his hand on.

Well, I never got big boobs, but I had enough for Jake Black, a boy on my eighth grade track team who stole my attention the first time I watched him high jump. I'd seen plenty of boy stake flight while dunking a basketball, but something about Jake's body curving over that wobbly bar made my heart race and my modest boobs tingle.

Which was a weird feeling to have for a boy I'd known since elementary school. We'd probably sat together in art class or been relay race partners in gym or something, but I'd never looked at him twice.

Not the way I was looking at him now.

So one day after everyone else left and I'd finished my conditioning laps for the 800 and 1600, I stayed behind to watch Jake jump. I was on the bleachers with my books and Walkman, apparently studying in the sunshine. But after a while, I dropped the pretense and sat back to enjoy the show. And when the sudden spring heat prompted Jake to remove his shirt, I wanted to give his show a standing ovation.

So when he sauntered toward me and asked for some water, I handed him my bottle without a word. Jake chuckled at my silence, and I blinked out of my trance, grabbing the bottle in the middle of his swig. The water splattered all over my tank top, and I leapt off the bench.

"You ruined my shirt!"

"Calm down. It's only water." He looked me up and down. "Besides, now you have a reason to take that off."

"And why would I do that?"

Jake reclaimed the water bottle with a smirk. "Maybe you're hot."

I watched his lips curl around the pointed spout, sucking at it greedily, and I was quite suddenly quite hot. Jake was practically daring me to take off my shirt, but what could I do? We were at the practice field in the middle of the afternoon with only one pitiful tree to shade us. If anyone walked by, they would see everything.

"Come on, Swannie." He finally stopped torturing me and took the water bottle out of his mouth. "No one's looking."

I retreated into the shade of the tree. "No one?"

He smiled slowly. "No one else, I mean."

My boobs tingled their eager response, and I heard Mother's voice warning me to behave. But with Jake watching me like that, I shoved Mother's voice aside and took a deep breath to settle my nerves. I fisted the hem of my tank top, noting how Jake's gaze followed my hands, and I pulled the shirt over my head, hoping the motion was more arousing than awkward.

Jake dropped the bottle, swiping water from his chin with the back of his hand. As I tossed my shirt onto the bleachers, I looked up to find Jake staring at my blue sports bra with wide eyes. I kept a subtle arch in my back—because Ro said good posture made your boobs look better—and tried not to fidget. Jake's gaze went left to right and back again, and I locked my hands into fists to keep from covering myself up.

"You cold?" he finally asked.

"What? No."

"Oh." Right to left to right to left..."But your nipples are hard."

I folded my hands across my chest. "Well...yours are uneven!"

"What?"

"Forget it." I turned to the bleachers to grab my shirt. "I gotta get home."

"Swann—Bella, wait." Jake laid his hand on my back, and his clammy palm made me jerk upright, angling away from him. "I'm sorry."

I couldn't look at him, but I didn't try to leave like I wanted to. Jake stepped closer, tugging on the shirt I'd tucked under my folded arms. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"You shouldn't talk about a girl's boobs."

"I'm sorry. But..."

"But what?"

"What if I want to say nice things?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." He stepped closer. "I want to touch them."

My mouth went dry."You want to touch them?"

He nodded. "And see them."

"But you...you can see them."

He took another step with a shake of his head. "Not as much as I want to see."

By now, the boobs in question were heaving from my deep breathing, and they were so tingly I thought they would jump out of my bra to say Hello. Jake's brown eyes were dark and serious, so when he ran his hand slowly up my arm, I braced myself for an intense kiss.

But Jake wasn't playing about wanting to touch my boobs. So instead of kissing me, the hand on my arm made a sharp left and brushed across the top of my sports bra. I gasped, and the sharp inhale pushed my boob further into his hand. His fingers fanned out and closed around my boob, and as he looked up, we stared at each other with wide eyes.

That's when the kissing started.

Jake pulled me close with his other hand and brushed his lips against mine. After a few quick pecks, he slipped his tongue in my mouth, and I was so shocked I just opened up and let him. The sensation was wet, invasive, and not terribly pleasant, but I remembered what Ro showed me with her teddy bear and tilted my head the opposite way. This was waaaaay more than I had ever done with anyone, and I was scared I was doing it wrong. But Jake's moans made me think he was enjoying it.

So far, so good.

Jake doubled his pleasure and grabbed my other boob, and between his busy mouth and greedy hands, I thought I would die from how good it felt. He went from squeezing and pushing my boobs together—something I didn't think mine were big enough to do with—to lightly circling the top ridge of his palms around my nipples. With each touch from his hand, they got harder and harder, and I honestly feared they would snap right off.

And I wouldn't have cared as long as he kept touching me.

Not wanting to just stand there, I ran my hands through Jake's hair like I saw someone do in a movie once. And like in the movie, Jake left my mouth and kissed my jaw and throat, slipping a finger under the strap of my sports bra. But unlike in the movie, the stupid strap wouldn't budge, so it took Jake a few tries to get it down my arm. But I didn't mind because his mouth followed his fingers, his kisses sloppy and wet as they moved past my collarbone. I guided his head to one side, and he squeezed one boob before sweeping his tongue across the top curve of the other one. I cursed aloud, not caring who heard me, and begged him to do it again. Jake eagerly obliged, and I cradled his head against my chest as he kissed and licked his way toward my nipple. As I grabbed a fistful of his hair, Jake yanked down the thin cotton of my sports bra and exposed my boob completely.

And when he finally closed his hot mouth around it, I was no longer a girl with boobs.

I became a woman with breasts.

But like all good things, that episode with Jake didn't last. After only a few minutes of his mouth on my breast—and before my other breast got a turn—the lacrosse team's bus arrived, ending our session in the springtime sun.

And I was exposed as the harlot Mother never wanted me to be.

Jake was nothing but nice about it, turning around while I adjusted my bra and handing me my shirt to put back on. He offered to walk me home that afternoon and kept trying to ask me out, but I couldn't even look at him. I felt like a first-rate skank for going to second base with Jake—and in a public place!—and no matter how much he told Ro that he'd liked me for a while, I was convinced he just wanted another trip around my slutty bases.

And I couldn't allow that, no matter how much my breasts wanted it.

So I avoided Jake in the halls and at the practice field. No one seemed to know about our little afternoon delight, so he really had kept it to himself like he promised. But that didn't change how I felt about the whole thing. Ro said it was normal to feel weird after your first make out session, but I expected her to say that. Her parents weren't nearly as strict as mine, which I sorta envied, and she'd actually become the new Jessica Stanley, boys and men clocking her every move, so I didn't expect her to feel as awkward in her developing body as I did.

So I told her I was glad when Jake finally left me alone. Said I was relieved during the second week of summer vacation when I saw Jake smiling and skateboarding with Leah Clearwater. I didn't think Ro believed me, but she finally dropped the subject, telling me what happened with Jake would happen again with someone other guy and next time, it wouldn't feel so weird.

I didn't care if it felt as weird. I just hoped it felt as good.

"Stop, James!" I whispered. "People are trying to watch the movie."

"People?" He was trying (and failing) to unhook my front-closure bra. "There's no one here but us."

"Well, just me then."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm very interested in..." I couldn't remember my name with him nibbling on my neck, let alone the title of this stupid movie. "Waterworld. I hear it has Oscar-worthy performances."

"Name one actor in this piece of garbage."

"Umm..." The word became a muted moan as he brushed his thumb across my nipple. "Darth Vader?"

"Fictional character. And also dead."

"He is? That's so sad."

"I know." He kissed me gently. "Let me make it better."

James released my breast, and I groaned at the loss of contact. He went back to kissing me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. Turned out Ro was right about the weirdness going away, but I was wrong about the next time being as good as the first time.

It was so much better.

James was a senior at a rival high school, and though I was only a sophomore, he was interested in me. Every time he rode through the Kentucky Fried Chicken drive thrut his summer, he asked if I was finger-licking good. I ignored at first but finally gave him my number a few weeks ago. Mother would have branded me a bad girl for sure if she knew about James, so he was my little secret as the school year began. I kept up my grades, did my chores, and never missed a Sunday in church. I was always on time for my shifts at work and even posted my schedule on the calendar in the kitchen.

And if Mother didn't know that schedule changed from week to week, that wasn't my problem.

That little loophole created my current situation in the back row of this empty theater. I didn't know what James would study in college next year, but he could totally major in kissing. Between his soft lips and talented tongue, it was all I could not to climb in his lap. And James felt the same way, leaning on the arm rest between us to rub my breasts. He squeezed them too hard as usual, but with him kissing me the way he was, I wouldn't dare complain.

Until he slipped his right hand under my shirtdress.

I tensed and pulled back. "What are you doing?"

"Relax," he murmured.

He kissed me again, flicking my bottom lip with his teasing tongue, and I relaxed into his kiss. And when he placed his hand on my knee again, I didn't stop him, pulling him closer by his neck. Encouraged by my touch, James slid his hand over my thigh and around its upper inner curve. His kisses became slow and deep, his tongue lapping lazily against mine, and he turned his hand to cup the center of my bikini briefs.

I gasped, but he swallowed the sound and rubbed his flattened fingertips against me. All the heat from my body flooded that space, and I slid down in the chair, parting my knees to give him more access. James smiled against my mouth, stroking me slowly through the fabric, and I threw my head back, breaking our kiss. James attacked my neck, his fervent kisses in sharp contrast to the tender way he rubbed me between my legs.

It was ecstasy.

It was intense.

It was torture.

His mouth and fingers felt so unspeakably good that I never wanted him to stop. But right behind the pleasure was the familiar agony of chasing my first orgasm and not quite getting there. Ro had had five with Garrett in the past two months—but he liked to go downtown and James wouldn't—and I had yet to have my first one.

(Please, God, let me have just one. I promise to be a good girl from now on.)

With James' relentless lips on my neck and his fingers between my legs, I was so damn close I could taste it, and I clamped my mouth shut to hold in my moan in the making. As James brought his mouth to mine once more, he slipped his hand into my underwear, rubbing his dry finger against my super sensitive skin.

I flinched and scooted back. "Ow!"

"What's wrong?" he asked between kisses.

"That hurts."

"Just relax."

So he did it again, pressing too hard, and I shoved his wrist away. "I said that hurts!"

Just then, the rear door to the theater opened, and a stream of light flooded the aisle to our left. A uniformed usher stood at the end of our row, and I sat up and straightened my clothes.

"Knock it off," I muttered. "Before we get caught."

"It's cool." His smile was cocky and slow. "He ain't gonna say nothing."

"What do you..."

James cut off my answer with a searing kiss, running his hand up my dress again. As the usher turned the beam of his flashlight toward us, I shoved James back into his seat."I said stop!"

"Are you serious?"

I crossed my legs at the knee. "What do you think?"

James retreated to his seat, mumbling under his breath, and we sat in frustrated silence until the end credits rolled. And with that, two more people stormed out of Waterworld dissatisfied.

The end of Waterworld was the end of my sex life for quite a while. Not only was I totally embarrassed by the winking grin of that flashlight-wielding usher as we left the theater, but James didn't like me telling him no.

And in retaliation, he told his friends I let him finger me and more in that theater, a story that was eagerly confirmed by Laurent-the-usher. And because Laurent went to my school, he fanned the flames of that rumor for the rest of my sophomore year. Ro wanted to kill Laurent and James—or at least spread a corresponding rumor that would bring them both down to, uh, size—but I just wanted the whole thing to be over.

So for the next two years, I courted the English curriculum and dated Dickens, Wharton, and Austen. But it was Bronte's Wuthering Heights that kept me warm on chilly winter nights where I dreamed of wild, ragged bluffs roamed by even wilder creatures eternally mourning the loss of a great love.

No one ever found love like that in high school, so I didn't mind the lonely nights so much. And after Ro's two-week pregnancy scare with Demetri, my tingly breasts had calmed down considerably... though a Brad Pitt sighting always got them riled up again.

Legends of the Fall almost made me call Jake.

But as high school ended and college began, me and my breasts wondered if great love was even possible anymore, especially for a wannabe good girl like me.

The love stuff notwithstanding, being at UPenn suited me fine. I missed Ro and resented her for going to school in SoCal, but my Van Pelt suitemates were polite and kept the noise to a minimum. I even found a nearby church to attend when the urge struck me.

Mother practically spoke in tongues when she heard the news.

My love of literature followed me to Philly, and after sailing through the freshman year requirements, I jumped into the upper level courses with both feet. A renowned, reclusive alum returned to campus to lecture, and thanks to my advisor and her hinky office hours, I managed to secure a spot in the coveted class.

And that's where I met Edward.

The girl-to-guy ratio in our class was easily three-to-one, and Edward was easily the most attractive guy there. To be fair, Edward would easily have been the most attractive guy in any room: green eyes, wild hair, perfect facial scruff...

His beauty was unfair. Disrespectful and unfair.

His name surprised me though. A sexy "Edward"? Did they make those anymore? Scissorhands was fictional, and I only checked for Norton in Fight Club. So this Sexy Edward was a first, and his name was the first interesting thing I knew about him.

And was the only thing I knew for a good long while because Sexy Edward never said anything.

He sat in the back row of the lecture hall like an alert Jordan Catalano but never participated in the rousing discussions or seemed to be friendly with anyone. Dr. Cope seemed to know him—she'd wave at him sometimes and he'd nod in response—but beyond that, he was a total unknown.

And as I watched him walk out of class day after day, I decided that unraveling the mystery of Edward Cullen wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.

No, the worst thing that could happen was forgetting about an essay due in Dr. Cope's class. We were exploring the popularity of book-to-movie adaptations and had to read a book, watch its movie, and analyze them in three distinct areas.

Minimum essay length? Ten pages. When was it due? In four days.

Who was screwed? This wannabe good girl.

And of course when I got to Blockbuster that night, the pickings were slim. I didn't have six hours to spare for the BBC's version of Pride & Prejudice—which was the only one worth watching—and didn't know The Scarlett Letter well enough to make that a viable option. They didn't have To Kill a Mockingbird, and I'd already dissected Wuthering Heights for an earlier assignment. As I scanned the shelves, I spotted a ram in the bush and grabbed it with a muted shriek, clutching it to my chest."Thank God for Martin Scorsese."

"Guess I should have gotten here earlier," came the voice behind me.

"I guess you should ha..." My reply was cut off by the sight of Edward Cullen staring at my chest.

Well, the movie I had clutched there.

My mouth hung slightly open as I stared at him, and it was a miracle I didn't start drooling.

Not because he was that attractive but because my mouth was open.

(Just so we're clear.)

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, prompting me to shut my mouth. "I'd called earlier to reserve that movie, but no one answered."

"Guess you forgot that Dr. Cope assignment too."

"I didn't forget," he corrected gently. "My roommate threw away my notes, and I'm in the middle of a point I don't have the evidence to make."

"That sucks."

"Yes. Especially when I told him to stay out of my room." He was back to staring at my che... the movie I had clutched to my chest. "Is that the only copy?"

"Yeah. And I haven't even started my essay yet."

"I see." He sounded like he was judging me. "Guess I'll have to do my best with what I remember."

"Or we could watch it together."

He blinked at me, just as surprised by the invite as I was. "What?"

"Well..." I cleared my throat. "The essay is due in four days, and we both need to watch this movie. So why not just do so together?"

Edward stood there staring again—definitely not at my chest—and I held my breath as he debated. His beautiful brows furrowed, and for the first time in my life, I wished I could read minds.

"I'll just borrow it from you later," he finally said. "I only need two scenes and don't want to have to watch the whole thing all over again."

"Oh. Well, that works too."

"So can you bring it to class Wednesday?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Okay."He looked at his watch. "Thanks."

I waved goodbye, but Edward had turned away and didn't notice. I stared after him more confused than ever and made my way to the counter, my breasts tingling only in embarrassment.

As Wednesday rolled around, I prayed Edward wouldn't be as rude when I gave him the movie. The shock of his rejection still stung, and I wasn't in the mood for an encore.

But an even greater shock awaited as I approached the lecture hall Wednesday afternoon: Edward was waiting outside the room, stepping forward as I approached.

"I was hoping to catch you before class started," he said.

I folded my arms. "Well, you did."

"Right." He put his hands in his pockets. "I apologize for my attitude the other day. You were just being nice, and I... well, I wasn't prepared for it."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm used to people looking at me or whispering about me. But no one ever really talks to me."

"Edward, be serious. Everybody wants to talk to you."

"I am serious. Everybody may want to talk to me, but no one does. And when I try to talk to them, it never goes well because they make me out to be someone I'm not. So what's the point in trying?"

Dr. Cope walked by, tapping her watch face.

I turned back to Edward. "The point is that sometimes people aren't at their best. But if you want to have friends, you'll have to give them a second chance. Like I'm giving you right now."

"Are you saying I should give you a chance to be my friend?"

I raised a brow. "Do you want to be my friend?"

"I think..." He pursed his lips. "I think that's a chance I am willing to take."

I smiled and led the way to class. "Good answer."

Being Edward's friend, it turned out, was easier than I thought. For one thing, he was always willing to get together—in the library, at Midnight Breakfast in Stouffer, at scrimmage games at the Palestra—and never let me pay for anything. He still preferred to sit in the back in class because it was easier to concentrate that way, and we didn't study together because he had an elaborate system that worked best when done alone.

And though I would never have guessed it, Edward was hilarious. He had this dry sense of humor that always left me in stitches and did a crazy-good Marv Albert impression. He still watched cartoons and had a penchant for cheesy 80s songs, humming them under his breath without even realizing it. He doted on his kid sister Alice with semi-weekly phone dates and sent his maternal grandfather kooky postcards from a little shop on South Street.

In short, Edward Cullen turned out to be just as fascinating as I'd always assumed.

Yet one mystery remained.

Edward never wanted to hang out in his room or mine. He always put a coat seat between us at the Cinemagic Theater on Walnut Street and had never even given me a high-five. None of those things were a big deal on their own, but when I put them together, they spelled something I couldn't quite figure out.

And the curiosity was driving me crazy.

A few days later, I was walking home from the bookstore with Edward and had a thought.

"You know what? We never watched The Age of Innocence together."

"Were we supposed to?" He chuckled at my smirk. "I know. And I haven't forgotten."

"So why don't I rent it again?"

"Don't you still owe a fine for Clue?"

"Yes, but it wasn't my fault the return window was locked. Anyway, I'll rent the movie, order a pizza, and you can come to Van Pelt and..."

"Why don't we watch it in one of the viewing rooms at the library? There's plenty of space and a bigger screen."

"Okay." I stopped walking. "Why don't you want to be alone with me?"

He turned to me with wide eyes. "What?"

"You never come to my room or invite me to yours."

"So?"

"That's weird, Edward. Even for you." When he didn't reply, I folded my arms. "So you're telling me it's a coincidence?"

He stared at me for a long time, sighing with sadness. "No, it's not."

"So what's up?"

"It's complicated."

"I'm a sophomore at an Ivy League school. Try me."

"I don't want things to change," he said softly.

"Edward, I'm your friend." I wanted to take his hand but thought better of it. "Whatever you tell me, I promise nothing will change."

He looked away, muttering something I didn't catch, and I prayed he wasn't about to confess to being a murderer or a person who hates Seinfeld or something equally unthinkable. And when he parted his lips to speak, I held my breath.

"I'm a virgin."

I blinked at him, confused by what I'd heard. "I'm sorry, what?"

He shook his head. "Please don't judge me."

"I'm not judging you. I mean, I'm a virgin too. So I don't understand what that has to do with anything."

"It has to do with everything. I believe all intimate touch is sacred, and I want to share those sensualities with only one woman. To preserve my purity and have platonic relationships with the opposite sex, I live by certain rules of personal conduct, some of which are social in nature."

"And that works for you?" I hoped I sounded more curious than contrary. "It seems so restrictive."

"I don't find it restrictive—it's just as valid as other forms of sexual expression with far fewer of the problems."

"Except the problem of being horny."

"Yes." His cheeks pinked. "That can be a problem."

"So what do you do then?"

"The same thing I do with any other powerful feeling: I remind myself that it only controls me if I let it. And I kickbox. A lot."

"I'll bet."

"But mostly, I make lifestyle choices to support the way I want to live, which is why I choose not to be alone with women in private settings. Can you..." He looked at me. "Can you respect that?"

"Of course." I smiled. "And a stuffy film like The Age of Innocence is better suited to the library anyway."

"Great." His relieved grin warmed my heart. "You know, I've never been close enough with a woman to make a conversation like this necessary. Usually she makes assumptions about me or I get uncomfortable with her, and the friendship crumbles before it starts. Thank you for making my first time so easy."

"You're welcome."

But as we continued up Locust Walk, all I could think about was having a different sort of first time with Edward. And that was not good.

At all.

Two weeks later, the library viewing room finally had an opening when Edward and I were both free. I was a bundle of nerves as I walked toward the library and tried to remember what Ro had said on the phone the night before.

"Don't over think it. It's just you and a really good friend who happens to be an insanely hot virgin watching a really boring movie in the library."

"It's not boring. It's understatedly beautiful."

"Good gawd," she snorted. "Even that description was boring."

"I just don't want to make things weird."

"Why would they be weird?" Ro's other line beeped, and she squealed. "That's my chem tutor. If I don't pass, I'm off the cheerleading squad. Gotta go!"

It's just as well that Ro hung up because I didn't want to admit that fantasizing about Edward had become my favorite pastime. It wasn't just the deflowering a virgin thing—at least not consciously—but knowing I was the only person to know this about Edward made me want to hold him and kiss him and lick him and that was the opposite of what he wanted from me.

So I needed to get myself together.

Quickly.

"You're going to get us thrown out." Edward closed the door to the viewing room, shaking his head at the bounty of snacks in my book bag. "You know Mr. Banner doesn't miss anything."

I pulled out the Wild Berry Skittles I'd brought him. "So you don't want these?"

He grabbed them with a smile. "I didn't say that."

Our chatter quieted as the movie started, the opening titles a lush preview of the splendor to come. But because we each knew the movie so well, it wasn't long before the conversation started up again.

"Can't believe this was filmed at the Academy of Musicon South Broad," I said. "We'll have to visit there."

"Mrs. Manson Mingott needs her own story." He opened his second bag of Skittles. "What a life she must have led."

I tossed an empty Tastykake wrapper in the trash. "Those yellow roses are gorgeous."

"This is my favorite scene," Edward murmured to himself.

On screen, Newland and the Countess are riding in a horse-drawn carriage, together again for the first time in months. As the snow falls outside their window, Newland removes his glove and reaches for her gloved hand. He turns over her wrist to unbutton her glove, parting the suede fabric to expose her skin. Bending reverently to her creamy flesh, he closes his eyes and kisses her there.

I'd paid that little moment no attention before, caring only when Newland dropped her wrist and kissed her for real. But with Edward's murmured words in the air... and my recent fascination with him on my mind... the eroticism of that scene stole my breath, and I covered my mouth with a shaky hand. I didn't dare look at Edward and was grateful for his silence as I fought to keep my composure.

And when an unexpected fire drill prevented us from finishing the film, I gathered my things in a hurry, relieved by the reprieve.

When we were given the okay to head back inside, I made an excuse to Edward and ran back to my dorm, locking my bedroom door behind me. I shuffled a soothing CD in my stereo and flopped on my bed as the truth crashed down on me.

There was no denying my feelings for Edward anymore, and I had no clue what to do about them. Even without his challenging breed of chastity, I didn't think he felt the same way about me. And I didn't want to ruin our friendship with my feelings.

I sat up and unzipped my hoodie, tossing it toward my hamper with a frustrated groan. I leaned back against my pillows as Sade serenaded me in the background, my hand resting against my abdomen. I closed my eyes and imagined myself in that scene in the carriage, riding beside a sensual, sensitive man with bronze hair and deep green eyes. As the man bent to kiss my naked wrist, the hand atop my belly slid up and over the swell of my breast, circling its tip with a focused finger. The man in the carriage released my wrist, pressing his soft lips to the hollow beneath my throat, and I leaned my head back, exposing myself to his imaginary kisses. My fingertip scraped my nipple through my t-shirt, and I arched into the touch, wishing my hands were his.

And suddenly I didn't need a carriage or the constrained costumes of historical cinema.

I just needed him.

So I abandoned all thoughts of the carriage and imagined my green-eyed guy was here with me, licking my neck as he climbed on top of me. I imagined his hands sliding under my shirt to unhook my front closure bra, groping and squeezing my bare breasts as I panted into his neck. I imagined his mouth covering mine with deep and languid kisses, wishing these were his fingers pinching and rolling my nipples. I imagined he was the one taking off my pants and boy shorts, imagined myself watching in awe as he did the same for himself. I imagined these were his hands caressing my naked thighs before he bent to sample the racing pulse between them. I hissed through clenched teeth as I imagined him licking me with long wet passes of his tongue, his strong hands caressing my back and ass while my hips rose and fell with the rhythm of his swirling kisses.

And as my dominant hand slid over my sensitive flesh, I imagined my saliva-slick finger was not a finger at all but the most sacred part of his body. And as it slid slowly inside me, I imagined him moaning in my ear, grunting my name with each sure and steady stroke. I imagined him rocking against me with increasing speed, years of pent-up lust ruining his rhythm and mine. And I buried my face in the nearest pillow as the orgasm rocketed through my body, his name on my lips as I writhed and strained atop my twin bed.

And as I laid my sticky hand on my belly, I realized I'd lied to Edward. Because everything had irrevocably changed, and we could no longer be friends.

Ending things with Edward was easier and harder than I thought. Easier because our class with Dr. Cope ended a week after that movie, and winter break soon sent me home and away from him.

Harder because I couldn't stop thinking about him, and I don't mean at night with my hands in my pants.

I thought about his smile, his muted but rich laughter. I thought about his insightful way of looking at things, how his perspective always surprised and challenged me. And I thought about how confused he probably was...and how definitely hurt.

"When you get back, find him," Ro said while were stringing popcorn for her family's Christmas tree. "If he cares about you half as much as you care about him, he'd rather know the truth than assume the worst."

"But what is the truth, Ro? That I'm in love with him and want to do dirty, filthy things to him that would probably frighten him away?"

"That's a pessimistic way of looking at it, yes." She inspected a kernel before carefully threading it with the needle. "But the other way is that you've fallen in love with a great guy that you'd rather struggle through celibacy with than try to live without. Am I wrong?"

I focused on my strand of garland. "When did you learn so much about love?"

"You do it wrong long enough, the right way becomes obvious." She reached into the bowl again. "So the question is do you want to be right or lonely?"

"I want to be good," I murmured.

She rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like Renee."

"Not like that. Well, sort of like that." I knotted the end of my strand. "I just... I just don't want to mess his life up."

"You won't mess his life up, and you should stop worrying about being good."

"Why?"

"Because you love him," she said. "And love is always good."

Love might have been good, but life was messy, and I stepped right into that mess on the first day of spring semester. For when I walked into Dr. Cope's smaller seminar, Edward was sitting in the front row.

I literally stopped in my tracks, greatly annoying everyone behind me. I mumbled my apologies and dropped into the first open seat I could find. I felt Edward's gaze on the side of my face, but after the way I'd left things, I couldn't bear to look his way.

But once Dr. Cope started class, I couldn't concentrate either. The physical distance between Edward and me was minimal, but my heart felt as if he were a thousand miles away. And that was my fault and my problem to fix. So when Dr. Cope dismissed us a few minutes early, I packed up quickly and waited for Edward to pass my desk on his way out the door.

But when he grabbed his book bag and started toward the other exit, I stood up. "Edward?"

The remaining students looked up as Edward stopped walking, and I held my breath. He slowly turned to face me, stuffing his hands in his coat pocket.

I took that as my cue to walk over to him, careful not to trip over my mounting nerves. He stood his ground, watching me with unreadable eyes, and I came to a stop in front of him. "Can we talk?"

"About what?"

I nodded. "I deserve that."

"That's not an answer."

"Right. I want..." I glanced around and noticed the straggling students watching us with interest. "Can we not do this here?"

Edward looked up, frowning at the sight of our audience. "Fine."

I followed him out of the opposite door and into an empty classroom across the hall. He leaned against the front desk with a sigh. "What do you want, Bella?"

"I want to apologize."

"For what?"

"For disappearing after that movie. For ignoring you afterwards and generally being a jerk at the end of last semester."

He didn't blink. "Is that all?"

"What?"

"You said you wanted to apologize and you did." He raised his chin. "Is that all?"

"Do you forgive me?"

"Does it matter?"

I threw up my hands. "Yes, it matters!"

"Why?"

"Because I miss you."

He scoffed. "Since when?"

"Since I ran away from the library."

"Nobody made you do that."

"I know." I picked at my fingernails. "But I was afraid."

He crossed his arms. "Of what?"

"Of you."

"You're not making sense."

"I was afraid..." I took a deep breath. "Of what I was starting to feel for you."

His blank expression cracked. "You...you felt something for me?"

"Not felt." I stepped toward him then retreated. "Feel."

"You feel something for me."

"Yes."

"Still?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "So why did that make you avoid me?"

"Because it was dangerous and selfish and wrong."

"What?"

"You're a virgin—and a really chaste one at that—so it's wrong for me to want you and think about the things I think about doing to you, with you."

"And by 'things,'" he said slowly. "You mean..."

"Sexual things." I was ashamed to even admit it. "Explicit, dirty, sexual things."

His blank expression returned, and he did not reply.

"And I tried not to think of you that way," I said. "I really did. But after that movie, all I could think about was kissing you and touching you and just...being with you."

"So these feelings you have..." He didn't look at me. "They're only about those kinds of things?"

"No! Not only those things and not even mainly those things. But they're a part of my feelings because I am insanely attracted to you, and I don't know how to..." I stepped toward him again and realized I shouldn't. "Dammit!"

"What's wro..."

"Don't you see? I don't know how to be in love with you and not touch you, and I don't want to ruin our friendship with feelings I shouldn't have that you don't share, but I miss you so much that I don't know what to do, and I just..."

"Bella, stop." I looked up to find Edward right in front of me. "Just...stop."

My heart was racing, though whether from my speech or his nearness it was impossible to tell. "Okay."

His nostrils flared as he stared at me, his blazing eyes a vibrant green. I folded my hands in front of me to keep from touching him, and he stepped back, giving us both the room to breathe again.

"First," he said. "Don't ever shut me out again. You are my best friend, and because of that, we should be able to talk about anything."

"You're right." My hopes dissolved when he called me his best friend, but I tried not to show it. "I'm sorry."

"Second, don't ever say any part of you is dirty. You are my best friend, and I can't have you talking about her like that."

I half-smiled. "Okay."

"And third, don't ever think you're in this by yourself." He stepped closer. "You are my best friend, and I am so in love with you I can't think straight."

I blinked at him stupidly. "What?"

"I'm in love with you, Bella."

"You are?"

"Completely, irrevocably, terrifyingly so." His eyes softened, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. "And I have no idea how to want you this much without breaking every rule I've set for myself, but I'm determined to figure it out." He stepped even closer and reached for my hand. "Will you help me do that?"

I stared at Edward's outstretched hand and blinked away my rising emotions. And when I finally made contact with his skin, the heat from his hand flooded my body, and we sighed at the wonder of it together.

"I think..." I laced our fingers together. "I think that's a chance I'm willing to take."

"Good." He grinned at the memory, releasing a relieved sigh. "So what do we do now?"

"Whatever it is." I squeezed the hand I was holding. "Let's do it together."

Edward raised a brow. "Maybe you should rephrase that."

Well, the first thing we needed to do was be honest about one thing:

Kickboxing did not work.

Neither did running, yoga, step aerobics, or Tae Bo.

It didn't help that Edward in love was even more beautiful than Edward not in love. His eyes were dreamier, his hair was messier, and his facial scruff was scruffier.

He was killing me chastely, and I was climbing the walls trying not to kiss him.

But I wasn't alone in my frustration. Because one night as we walked on South Street, Edward pulled me beneath the awning of a closed storefront, tightening his grip on my hand.

"There's something I want to try," he murmured. "Something I need to do."

His hungry gaze dropped to my mouth, and I was so shocked I couldn't even move as he leaned in. Our noses collided and the angle was awkward, but as Edward's lips finally pressed against mine, I swear I felt it all over my body. When he pulled away and looked at me, I thought our faces would shatter with happiness.

"Wow," he said. "I think I want to do that again."

"Good." I stepped closer. "Because I definitely want to let you."

So we slowly expanded our physical boundaries, and I was awed by the trust Edward showed in doing so. Holding hands, kisses to the cheek, a gentle touch on my shoulder...these seemingly small things became our sex, and they were as erotic as anything I'd ever done with anyone before.

More so, in fact, because Edward and I were in love.

When he visited me at home the following summer, my dad liked him right away. I expected Mother to love him, of course, but I was surprised when she told me why.

"He respects you," she said with a warm smile. "He appreciates and respects you, and that's more important to me than his stance on sex."

"Good. Because we're about to go fornicate upstairs."

She swatted my arm. "Don't get smart."

Ro also loved Edward as I knew she would, and I was equally enamored with her chem tutor-turned-boyfriend Emmett McCarty. He and Edward became fast friends, bonding over their love of cartoons and sugary cereal, and that prompted Ro and I to fantasize about double weddings like Jane and Lizzie in Pride & Prejudice.

But as it turned out, I made it to the altar first.

Edward proposed halfway through my junior year and during the first intermission of La Traviata at the Academy of Music. My first response was a cascade of tears, followed by a not-so-chaste kiss. When Edward pulled back, lips as red as his cheeks, he cleared his throat.

"So how soon can we get married?" he asked.

The answer was a few weeks later during spring break...once we convinced my parents I wasn't pregnant. Daddy was happy to perform the ceremony at our church, and Edward's little sister Alice squealed to high heaven when she learned she would be in our wedding. It was a small but beautiful ceremony with yellow roses and smiles abounding, and when we kissed at the altar, I'd never known a greater joy.

But a greater joy awaited that night, and I was so nervous I could hardly keep still.

I was more than ready physically and emotionally, but I couldn't shake the fear that I might somehow let Edward down.

And the very thought of that was crippling.

"Hey." He came to stand behind me at our hotel suite's window. "What's wrong?"

"Noth—" I sighed, swallowing the lie. "I'm nervous."

"About?"

"What do you think?"

"Hmmm." He wrapped his arms around my waist. "Maybe about the prospect of finally doing something we've been dreaming and fantasizing about our whole lives and the horrible possibility of it not living up to our improbably high expectations. But that's just a guess."

"That's a pretty good guess."

"Listen." He rested his chin on my bare shoulder. "Whatever tonight turns out to be, it is already the best night of my life."

"How can you say that?"

"Because today you did me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife. So touching you, tasting you, making love to you tonight can only be an extension of that honor." He turned me in his arms, his emerald eyes alight with love. "An honor, Bella, that is all mine."

That familiar tingle ghosted across my breasts, and I released a heavy breath. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now let me show you just how much."

Edward brushed my hair back from my face, cupping my cheek before bringing his lips to mine. And though he'd already kissed me several times today, I actually felt that this kiss was different than the rest. Because now there were no more rules to rules to observe or lines we couldn't cross. There was him and me and nothing else between us.

Edward deepened our kiss, his hands in my hair as he stroked my tongue with his. I slid my hands over his perfect ass, and he groaned into my mouth. The sound went straight between my legs, and I broke away to kiss his neck, nipping the sensitive spot beneath his jawline. As I licked and sucked the delicate skin there, Edward pulled back, his gaze hooded and dark.

"Turn around."

I did as he asked, breathing raggedly as he unfastened the tiny buttons on the back of my dress, kissing the back of my neck all the while. He slid the lacy fabric off my shoulders to reveal my bare back, licking a hot trail down the center of my spine. As he shoved my dress to the floor, he gasped at the discovery that I wasn't wearing underwear. I clamped my lips shut as his warm hands caressed my hips and slid around my waist and over my belly to cup my bare breasts from behind. He held them so gently I could have cried.

"Bella," he murmured into my neck. "God, you feel so good."

"Edward..."

"And you're so soft." He ran his thumbs over my nipples, teasing them into peaks. "I can't... I can't stop touching you."

I arched into his hands. "I wanna touch you too."

Edward didn't reply but took my hand and placed it against the front of his pants. The sheer feel of him was shocking, and I pressed my palm against his length. He shuddered behind me, squeezing my breasts with greater pressure, and we rubbed and moaned against each other until Edward grabbed my wrist, panting into my ear.

"Now, Bella." He swallowed hard. "Please."

The need in his voice danced across my skin, and I climbed silently onto the bed while Edward gracelessly unbuckled his pants and yanked off his underwear. I didn't have time to appreciate the raw sight of him before he was on top of me, kissing and touching me everywhere at once. He rolled his hips against me, rubbing our nakedness together, and when a desperate "please" escaped my lips, he settled between my legs and raised his head.

His lips parted as if to speak, but the look in his eyes said it all. And I held onto that look as he pushed inside me. There was pain, which I expected, but it was the range of emotion on Edward's face—the joy, the agony, the relief of finally being together—that brought me to tears. In his eyes, I saw everything I felt and couldn't express, and I was honored to share that moment with him.

And to know we would only ever share such moments with each other.

So we moved slowly together, Edward starting and stopping with every furrow of my brow. He was so careful not to hurt me, so concerned with my comfort, and his tenderness was touching. But just having him inside me wasn't enough. I needed his passion and power, needed him to claim and love me like he promised.

So when he paused again, I cupped his face and pulled him closer. "Please."

His eyes flashed in understanding, and he hesitated no more. Edward stretched and flexed above me, gripping my hips as he found his rhythm. I clutched his shoulders and licked my teeth as his pace quickened and his strokes got deeper. Our first time didn't last very long, and an orgasm eluded me, but as I lay curled against Edward's side in those precious moments afterwards, I felt a deeper sense of satisfaction. Mother may have fulfilled her dream of me wearing white on my wedding day, but I had become a woman who discovered a love that was better than fantasy. And when all was said and done, this love was real, and this man was mine.

"Good girl, Bella," I whispered as I snuggled into Edward's chest. "Good girl."

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