Chapter One

The sun is a beast – a violent, unrelenting bitch of a beast – and I'd, honestly, give my left nut, or maybe my right, to feel just a breath of a breeze. I may have been born in hot, sunny Texas, but I was bred in the fucking bitter cold Pacific Northwest, and I'm just not built for this weather, this beach. But, oh, the sun and this beach; without them, Bella Swan wouldn't be traipsing around in that scrap of cloth that my sister, Rose, calls a bikini, and, well, I kind of want to keep my nuts for that – both of them, because one just isn't enough. Breeze or not, I'm enjoying this vacation, no matter how much sweat drips into my Piña Colada. The sights are definitely worth seeing.

"Jasper, Rose won't help me," Bella says in her throaty, sweet voice as she ambles up, and I thank God for my darkly-tinted sunglasses and the paleness of her thighs. She tosses a bucket in my lap, and I'm kind of thankful for that, too. "Help me?"

"In a minute, sure," I say, and slide the bucket over my crotch. I'm going to need at least a minute, maybe five. She smiles and walks away, back to the plot of sand she's staked out for castle building. At the soft sway of her hips, the fabric that barely covers her ass, I'm pretty sure five minutes won't be nearly enough. I sigh and down the rest of my drink, stalk over to her with her bucket positioned in front of me. "So, what are we building? A simple fort or are we going grand-scale, like, with a moat and towers?"

"Just—a sandcastle," she laughs, stealing the bucket from my grip.

I watch as she heads to the shoreline and captures some water as the waves roll in, the water kissing her thighs. And, I'm at it again, and I wish she didn't have the bucket and I could hug it to my crotch again. It's just not fair. At home, she wears a lot more clothing – turtlenecks and gloves and sweaters and shoes. At home, it's easier to hide just how much I want her. Not here, no; here, on this post-graduation vacation, it's impossible, because there are no gloves, no shoes.

"Ready?" she says when she returns, and it catches me off guard. I stutter and stammer, and reach for the bucket and pack it with sand. She shovels some in, too, with her small hands that hold half as much as mine, and when her fingers touch mine through the wet and the sand, I hand the whole thing over to her and fist my hands at my sides. She looks at me oddly, and I know I'm an idiot, and I really wish I had another Piña. "You okay?"

"Thirsty. Be back." The words are scratchy as they leave my throat, and I think she believes me, but the way I hunch has to give me away. At least, it does to Emmett. He's in stitches by the time I make it up to the hotel pool deck. "Fuck you, man," I spit, walking past him, but his hands are gigantic and my shoulder can't escape them. He slaps his knee with his other hand – a fucking knee-slapper, great – and I wish that punching him would make a difference. "It's not funny."

"It's hilarious." Emmett's upright, still with his unnaturally large hand on my shoulder, and I think about punching him again. "Can't you see, man? Rose brought her for you."

"Bullshit."

"My lady's words, bro. Not mine." I narrow my eyes and try to shake out of his grip, nearly dislocating my fucking shoulder in the process. He lets me go, lets me stalk over to the bar, but he follows. "For real. And I quote, Jasper's not bringing anyone, so can I bring her, Dad? Please? It'd be like, you know, if Jasper were bringing a girlfriend. Just think of her as his girlfriend. It's not for me, it's for him." He says it in that nasally voice he always uses to imitate Rose, and I hate it, but I hear the words. They sound nothing like, Rose brought her for you. "It's like she gave you her blessing to bang her bestie."

"Don't say bestie. We're above that, oaf." I order up another drink, thank God, or Marriott, for their lack of carding at the resort, and turn the stack of coasters over in my hands. "And, Rose would behead me."

"I don't know, man. You didn't behead me."

"I didn't, but I'm still not cool with it." I poke one of the coasters into his chest and the tiny, cardboard corner of it bends against his muscles. Useless, I drop it, and point at him with my finger, trying to seem threatening, but failing. "That's my sister."

"Yeah, and this is Rose's friend. Lesser than a sibling, in theory. So, you know, you're safe." I gulp down nearly half of my drink when it arrives, as I turn his words over in my head. Maybe he's right, but I've seen Rose mad, livid and it's not pretty. She knows where my ticklish spots are and she's fucking relentless. I cringe at the thought of her fingers digging into my ribs, like they used to when I'd shoot spitballs at her at the dinner table. She's always get me back after, during the dishes, and she'd always win; that fact scares me. I shudder at the thought. "Don't psych yourself out. After all, she did leave the two of you alone down there by choice."

"The fact that sand gets in places where sand should never go is not exactly the same thing as by choice." The rest of my drink is gone and Emmett orders me another. It's not a good idea, three drinks in thirty minutes, but, yeah, I'm alone on a beach with Bella Swan and a borrowed barely-there bikini. Gulp. "Do you really think I should go for it?"

"Would I be telling you all of this, if I didn't?"

"You are an asshole, Em. This – my suffering – it could be for your enjoyment."

"Papa Hale footed the bill for this swank vacation. I wouldn't dare humiliate his boy on the first day. Maybe the last, but not the first." Our drinks arrive and Emmett chugs his down, slaps his empty glass back down on the bar. I just hold mine near my chest and enjoy the feel of the cold radiating off of it, train my eyes out toward the beach where Bella's making progress without me in the blistering sun. I frown and take a sip, choking as Emmett slaps me on the back. "Just give it a shot, man. Worst comes to worst, you're going to different schools in the fall and all will be forgotten by the time she comes home for Thanksgiving."

I don't agree or disagree, but he walks away, back toward Rose and her towering umbrella, her swirly straw and pink drink, and I head back to Bella and the beach. My drink is nearly gone when I get there and her nose is beginning to show signs of sunburn, but she's smiling and molding sand into spires, and I can't help but smile back at her and dig a moat with my empty glass. She sits back on her heels and watches me work, reapplies sun block with her sand-covered palms, and I smile some more, feeling giddy and goofy from the drinks, the sun, from her. And then, she reaches the sun block out to me, and turns around, and the giddy and goofy side of me is replaced with a sweating, overwhelmed, unable to move pervert. And that guy, the pervert, he wants to touch her.

"Could you? I'm roasting." She says, looking over her shoulder at me, and I want to tell her to look away – don't look at that guy, he's a fucking pervert – but my hands are on her back before my mouth can move. I smooth the stark-white lotion across her skin – down her sides, across her shoulder blades, up her spine – and try to remember how to breathe. And then, it's done too soon, and she's turning back around and my hands are idle. "Thanks. I'm not built for this weather."

"Yeah," I cough out, regaining my ability to think. "I was thinking that earlier – how I'd give my nuts for a breeze."

"Oh, not your nuts. You need those." Jesus fucking Christ and fucking oh my God. "I mean, like, in theory—like, one day."

All systems are go, and God can keep his breeze, because fucking Bella and her mouth and the word nuts blow me away. And I pray to Him that I'll need my nuts – that I'll need them soon – and so will Bella and her mouth.

T,
Few more chapters to come.
Birthday or not, I love you a lot.
XOXO,
Jes