CHAPTER 4
She looks up at me once she stops word-vomiting, and her eyes widen in surprise. "You," she croaks. "I know you."
I stare, unable to move. My mind is racing faster than Luke Skywalker fighting Darth Vader. Holy shit. What are the odds?
Her body relaxes, and she leans against the door frame. "Came for a third round?"
Blood rushes to my face. "I, uh..." I clear my throat. "I'm here to fix your Mac." That's right, Cullen. Keep it cool.
She pouts. "Suppose that's good enough." What does that mean? Does she want a third round?
I shuffle inside, and she locks the door behind me...which means I'm in a room with the girl of my dreams, a girl I've had sex with, and no one can disturb us.
No, Edward. Focus.
Bella disappears into her bedroom, and I find myself wondering if she changed the sheets. I mean, she would've, right? It's been three weeks, and girls change that shit constantly.
I rub the back of my neck as I try to absorb all the information I can from this room. The last time I was here, I was too busy trying to get the hell out.
It's a nice apartment, a bit on the tiny side, but the way Bella decorated it makes it feel very cozy. It smells like strawberries and vanilla, and I'm pretty sure the curtains are made out of sarees. She has two bean bags and a loveseat across from a flat-screen and a giant poster of The Killers. She has a tiny, messy kitchen in a corner, equipped with the essentials, and tall chairs in front of the kitchen counter. On the corner near the balcony, there's a tiny table and chair with books in piles around it. I can make out the cover of Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables from here.
The Killers to Austen? Weird girl.
"Here ya go." She literally bounces to me in her ACDC shirt and short shorts with a huge-ass smile on her face. Why is she so happy? "Tell me if you need the charger or something, okay?"
I nod jerkily as I grab the Mac from her.
"Wait, uh, what's your name? I forgot." She looks up at me, shyly meeting my eyes. A complete contrast to the invitation she gave me earlier.
"Edward Cullen."
"Edward?" She looks surprised.
I grin at her wryly. "My mom was big on classics. I'm just glad I wasn't named Edmund."
"Yeah… Would you like something to drink?" Uh? Damn, her thoughts are a whirlwind.
"Sure, just water. Thank you."
She flashes me another smile and heads to the kitchen.
My eyes don't focus on her every step. My ears don't detect her humming You Know You're Right under her breath. My eyes don't linger on the strip of soft skin that's exposed as she reaches for a glass. I don't whip my head away in embarrassment when she catches my stare and winks knowingly. Oh, and I'm definitely not tugging my shirt low enough to hide my "little" problem because there is no way having a polite conversation with the girl of my dreams can turn me on to the point of pain.
Nope.
No way.
None of that happens.
I'm so screwed.
A/N: Yes, Edward, you are so screwed...in more ways than one. ;-) Hehe
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