I was recently reminded of having to put disclaimers in my story by a friend, so...

Disclaimer: These characters all belong to the all mighty Stephenie Meyer. They are, and alway will be hers.

We are very, very, very sorry for the long wait on this chapter, but this whole scene is very intense and was extremely hard to write for myself and LuvLikeJesus29. Hopefully all the finger cramps and us pulling out our hair over this chapter paid off. That means review please!

Chapter 4- A Little Brush-Up

I twisted my shoe in the dirt, sending a dust cloud up surrounding my foot. I checked the entrance to the school for what seemed like the twentieth time, seeing the same thing I saw the past nineteen times. No Claire.

Surprisingly, Mandy had been very good in Anatomy, not mentioning Paul or my upcoming date even once. I'm sure she was just being nice now, fattening up the cow so to speak, before torturing me with a probably very uncomfortable outfit that would make my face visible on Mars.

The bell had rung at least half an hour ago. The school buses had chugged away ten minutes ago. I have been standing in the same spot for the past twenty-five minutes or so, looking out the library window, waiting for Claire to show up and drive me to the auto shop. The librarian came over and told me she had to leave early for a doctor's appointment- something about menopause? Yeah, TMI much. I noticed an empty bench outside that was right next to the parking lot and decided that it was as good a place as any to wait for her, now that I was kicked out of my only shelter. As I walked over I searched around, trying in vain to find Claire's tiny blue car, but not seeing it anywhere. I sighed, pulling out a copy of Things fall Apart for English class before slamming my bag onto the bench as I sat down and decided I had wasted enough time. I really need a phone.

I had read a few pages before the sound of tires on gravel came from behind me, breaking into my concentration. I didn't bother turning my head to see who it was; Claire would have called my name by now. A door slammed shut, closely followed by footsteps getting louder and louder with each step the person took towards me. Oh Mylanta. This had better not be some perv trying to take advantage of me, the pathetic girl who gets left behind! Claire, you are so dead! Sweet Jesus, tell my mom I love her…

"Hey. I heard you needed a ride."

Without knowing that it was happening, my previously crossed legs untangled themselves without my permission, causing me to topple over forward and land palm first onto the gritty, gravel sidewalk. But since I was falling so fast, the mass of my oncoming body was too much for my poor hands to hold up so I ended up colliding into the sidewalk, my legs crushed underneath me. I felt all this before I knew it had happened: my palms and arms scraping against the hard concrete, tearing away tiny bits of skin; my shoulder ramming into the ground; my legs being overwhelmed by the weight of my body. And let me tell you, it hurt. A lot.

"Hannah! Are you ok? I'm so sorry! Are you ok?"

Paul's frantic questioning broke through the haze of pain as I became aware of him lifting me and sitting me up so that I was leaning against the hazardous bench, just so I banged my head against it. Thank God I had tied my hair up in a small bun so I had at least a little cushioning to this blow. "Ow," was all I could manage to get out as I felt the pain all over again, now being enforced by a migraine. Legs sprawled out in front of me, I bent my head down to cradle it in my spotted hands. Wait a second. Spots? The blood was there, tiny little specks on my palms.

I could imagine how pathetic I looked, now hyper-aware of Paul's hand still on my back and the underside of my knee, as he tried to cover-up a chuckle. I could tell it was dying to be set free so I turned my head to the side, facing him, but not looking at his face (it'd be too painful to stare at his beauty) and said, without a single stutter, "Don't hurt yourself trying to be polite, Paul. Just laugh."

And laugh he did. Loudly, but not in a rude, offending way. His laugh was more like a thunderstorm, a harmless one. One that turned my insides into jelly, so beautiful and penetrating. I sighed. Such a lovely sound should not be allowed to exist.

After a few seconds, Paul quieted and looked down at me, while I looked at my injuries, surprised that they didn't hurt as bad as I had imagined. Yes, there were the tiny dots on my hands, but they hurt hardly more than a sting. I flexed my fingers just to be sure though, and I was right. I could feel where my skin had peeled a little on my forearms, but it wasn't as serious as I thought. They weren't even bleeding, just scraped. I looked lastly at my legs, lying out in front of me. They hurt, but it had only been a few seconds that they had had to hold my weight before Paul had straightened them out, so it was really just the aftershock. I was sure if I just rested them tonight, they'd be as good as new tomorrow. The only thing that was really hurting was my head and that I'm sure would go away after a few hours, tomorrow at the latest.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Hannah. Where does it hurt?" I had been so focused on my pain that I had almost forgotten Paul's presence, so I had to hold down a shiver when he leaned in and asked softly, in the most caring voice I've ever heard, "Do you mind if I check to see if you broke anything?"

I didn't trust my voice, but I wasn't going to give him any inkling of an idea of how crazy I was about him. So, being the stubborn idiot that I am, I stuttered, "N-n-o."

Paul's hands, which had previously been on the underside of my knee and on my backside to keep me up, left both areas as he moved himself so that he was crouched down on his knees beside me and scooted down to my feet. Ever so gently, his large fingers brushed against my ankle, up my calf, and over my knees, his touch as light as a feather, me blushing the whole time as his eyes were locked on my face, waiting for any sign of pain. It felt like a trail of mini flames were being left wherever our skin made contact. I held my breath the entire time, partly waiting for a burst of soreness, and partly because his eyes were so intense and anxious, as if the thought that I might be suffering any pain was unbearable for him, and I couldn't look away even if I wanted too. Silently, I thanked God that all my pants had been dirty and waiting to be washed so the only thing I could wear today were the Bermuda shorts my mom had gotten for me two years ago. Otherwise, Paul's analysis would have been very awkward in pants.

When I gave no indication of any tenderness, his face broke out into a huge grin, coming to the same conclusion I had moments ago. "I guess it's not as bad as I thought," he said, standing up. He held out his hand for me to use as leverage to pull me up, but then pulled back quickly, a worried look taking over his face. "Do you want me to pick you up?"

If I had been standing, I assure you, I would have swooned. Instead, I blushed very deeply at the thought of Paul carrying me, his strong, sizzling arms holding me against his body. No way was I going to let my face burn as bright as a red sun. I shook my head no, sticking my hand out so that I could pull myself up with his help. Paul's warm hand gripped mine tightly, raising my body swiftly from the ground. My balance was out of control and I ended up tumbling into Paul when he pulled me up, my left hand on his chest as I tried to steady myself and not knock him down. But he didn't even seem fazed when our bodies crashed, like I hadn't used his body as a brace. He just used his free hand to grab me around my waist and pull my body more securely to his, till we were as close as humanly possible; his fingers were lighters that made my body of wax melt at his touch. He chuckled huskily, his heated breathe blowing softly on my ear and giving me goose bumps as he leaned in and whispered, "Are you sure you don't want me to carry you?"

Trying to remember how to breathe and all the bad (yet amazing) things that would happen if I let Paul carry me, I nodded while saying shakily, "Pos-s-sitive." I kept my eyes glued to Paul's shoulder, refusing to see what I'm sure he was feeling in his eyes. Amusement. At me. There was only so much my battered pride could handle. I took a very deep breathe, breathing in his very essence, and took my hand out of Paul's now scorching one. Using both of my hands, I supported myself against Paul and took a step back, finally lifting my head, ready to handle whatever jokes he made about my inability to get up properly. Would he want to cancel our date now that he knew what a klutz I was? I hope not.

I had prepared myself to see amusement and repulsion at my slip-up when I met Paul's gaze, but not for what was there. In his eyes I saw only a gentle tenderness, the softest of emotions gracing his face as he searched my eyes for any pain. Concern dripping from every word that escaped his lips, Paul asked, "How do you feel? Can you make it to the truck? My offer still stands." His eyes bored into mine as he awaited my reply, trying to decide for himself if I was capable of walking the few feet to the car.

I concentrated the whole time, meaning I had to look away from Paul's face, while I balanced myself against him. Once I was sure I was fine, I let go of his shoulders and took another step back, only to prove that I could walk, not because I wanted to. My face broke into a huge, idiotic grin when I didn't start to wobble and I looked back at Paul to see his face mirroring mine. The breath was almost knocked out of me as I discovered how much this man cared for me, though I was practically a stranger to him.

Deciding that I had wasted enough time staring at Paul's face, I asked the main question that was burning at the back of my mind. "So why are you here?" At Paul's crestfallen expression, I rephrased the question, not able to see him so sad. "Not that I'm not glad you're here. I was just wondering what you're doing her, that's what I meant. I mean, I've been waiting for Claire for the past half hour so I wasn't expecting you, that's all." Realizing that I was rambling, I stopped there before I said something really dangerous, like how he had been the star of my dreams last night.

Paul's adorable smile was back on his face by the time I was done saying nonsense and he nodded his head in understanding to my question. "Oh, yeah, I get what you mean. Claire's game is today and she called Quil and told him that she can't pick you up because it's an away game and she left school early. I thought you knew." No, but I bet that's what the little minx told you. "He and Jake were busy at the shop so I thought it'd be alright if I came and got you. It is, isn't it? Alright, I mean?" Paul sounded so worried, like his chivalrous deed was a sin. I smiled as reassuringly as I could, saying, "It's fine, Paul, thank you." My heart nearly shattered at the level of kindness Paul had shown to me in the past two days; all the sweet and thoughtful things he had done for me and all I had done was think that he would cast me aside at my first imperfection.

He looked so relieved, I almost wanted to laugh, but I couldn't because my heart was welling up by how much I felt for him. "Your welcome," he said, flashing me a brilliant smile that could've knocked me over right then and there. Then I definitely couldn't refuse Paul's proposal. Proposal? Dum-dum-da-dum. Dum-dum-da-dum. No! Stop it, Hannah. You and Paul are NOT getting married. Not yet. At least wait for a ring, you freak. I gave him a half smile, feeling too much like a creep if I gave one matching his. Yeah Paul, I was thinking about us getting married. That's why my smile could fill up Texas. Oh, yeah, definitely a freak.

Satisfied with my walking capability, Paul bent down, picked up my backpack, then stood up straight with his elbow sticking out for me to hold, like a true gentleman. I put my hand into the very warm crevice of his elbow, my fingers gripping his bicep, my mind thinking some…uncomfortable thoughts. I blushed while trying to keep my mind focused on walking properly, but that just drew unwanted attention to myself and I was suddenly a fascination to Paul, who was trying to figure out why I was red. I kept my eyes looking straight ahead so I wouldn't be trapped under his gaze, not knowing or looking forward to what would happen the second I let myself loose under those orbs of dark chocolate.

We reached the truck in a matter of seconds and I let go of Paul to open the passenger door, but he beat me to it. He held the door open for me, waiting until I was comfortably situated before putting my backpack in the truck bed. I gave him a quizzical glance- it would be easier if I just held my backpack in my lap, as he shut my door and walked around the front of the truck to the driver's side. He nodded his head to let me know that he knew that I was confused and waiting for his answer. I was shocked again by how well Paul could read me; he understood what I was try to say and he was always so attuned to me and it sent a tsunami of emotions flooding into me. I loved it.

Once Paul got to the door and was inside the car, he put his seatbelt on before looking at me expectantly. I looked back at him, not sure what he wanted me to do. He sighed, saying, "Are you that eager to kill yourself, Hannah? Was nearly giving yourself a concussion not good enough?" When I still didn't get what he was talking about, he pulled on the seatbelt strap that was across his chest, giving me an expression that clearly meant "duh." As it began to make sense to me, I nodded my head in comprehension. "Ohhh, right. Sorry," I said sheepishly, looking down as I buckled up my seatbelt.

The belt clicked into the buckle, proving to Paul that I was as secure and protected as could be in this vehicle and the frantic expression on his face finally vanished. I honestly did not know why he worried so much about my safety, but it made me all warm and fuzzy when I thought about the reason I wished it was. Stop, I commanded myself. I shouldn't think about us "together" until we've had our first date, at the least. Then I could give free reign to my rebellious mind. Even if it's only in my dreams.

Paul started up the truck and pulled out of the parking lot, stretching his right arm across the space between us so that his right hand was holding the back of my seat head. His head turned around to look behind us, making sure no cars were in the way. If I rotated my head to the left, my nose would barely skim his wrist. I wanted to so badly, just to see his reaction, but I chose to instead not risk my life and lean forward and look to the left, enjoying the view of Paul's biceps from a distance. Oh, boy was this guy ripped. His muscles literally bulged from his skin- a sight that would terrify any person in their right mind. But I, being me, was more awestruck than scared- I can't explain why, but I knew Paul would never hurt me. He cared so much about my wellbeing and he was always so charming.

Once we were safely driving to the auto shop, and Paul's guns no longer in danger (from me), I cleared my throat noisily to make sure I had his attention. Paul looked at me, signaling with a nod that I could continue. "So why did you put my backpack in the truck bed? I could've just held it in my lap," I said, confused, again, by this guy and his weird actions.

Although I would have deemed it impossible, I'm almost a hundred percent sure that Paul blushed under his russet skin. True it was only for a millisecond, but nevertheless, he blushed while I was asking this question. He glanced sheepishly out his window, looking positively adorable, like a little kid who was caught stealing form the cookie jar. This was a different side of Paul that I had only seen once before- shy and uncertain, he looked nervous, like when he had asked me out. He peeked my way before looking straight ahead, gaining courage from my merely curious appearance. He mumbled his reply, "I didn't want the backpack to hurt your legs." When my eyes drifted down to where my feet were, telling him through my body language that there was room on the floor of the truck, he said, "I didn't want them to be cramped either."

Acting like the completely ridiculous girl I am, I awed loudly at his consideration, causing him to blush again. In the back of my mind, I realized that Paul was so attentive, much more so than any normal guy, and it should have been freaking me out. But it didn't; in contrast, it touched me deeply. But then again, I was becoming aware, and accepting, of the fact that anything dealing with Paul and abnormality, I didn't find strange at all. Though I probably should have.

Paul's beautiful eyes would not meet mine as he tried to make the blush go away. He looked so cute, trying to cover-up his thoughtfulness, I couldn't help but laugh. This made him blush an even brighter shade of red, but it was still very unnoticeable with his skin so dark already. In a defensive tone, Paul responded to my amusement, saying, "I just didn't want you in pain. Sorry for caring."

My giggling was cut off by his harsh tone, something I had never heard before. Surprised, I glanced at Paul to see hurt and anger all across his face. I was flabbergasted as it dawned on me why he was so upset. He thought I was laughing at him, thinking he cared too much, while I was really just laughing at his blush. I kept the tiny smile from appearing on my face as I reached across the space between us and laid my hand on top of his, which was holding the steering wheel in a death grip. When our skin made contact, I could feel his hot hand trembling beneath mine. At my bold move, Paul sucked in a breath, his eyes straying from the road to look down at our hands. I kept my gaze on his face as I explained, hoping to remove the wounded expression that was on his lovely face, and calm him down so that his body would stop quivering. "I wasn't laughing at you, Paul. How could I, when you've been nothing but sweet to me the two times I've seen you. I was laughing because you looked so cute blushing, like you were ashamed because you thought you were doing something you weren't supposed to," I said, blushing by the end after calling Paul cute. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings and I'm really grateful for all your help," I whispered, finally looking away, a funny feeling creeping into my stomach.

We reached the shop a second later, not giving Paul any time to respond. I got out as quickly as possible, a little embarrassed at how emotional I had been. I slammed the door a little too loudly behind me. Oops.

"Hey, Hannah. Hey, Paul," Quil called from the direction of the woods behind us.

I turned around and saw him shaking his hair, small twigs and leaves falling from his head. "What were you doing in the woods, Quil?" I asked.

Paul, who all of a sudden appeared beside me, tensed, grabbing my arm and squeezing it a little too tight. "Ow! Paul!" He practically threw himself away from me, a frantic look in his eyes as he looked me up and down. I guess my emotional break down was forgotten.

"I'm sorry! I swear I didn't mean to hurt you!" he sputtered, turning a pleading look on Quil.

Quil nodded and walked to Paul, patting him a few times on the shoulder. "She's fine Paul. You're just not used to being so careful."

What the heck? Why was Quil reassuring Paul? Why was Paul apologizing to Quil? I rubbed my arm, grazing over the purple bruise on my arm where Paul had accidently pressed. There were even darker prints across the streak in the shape of Paul's fingers. I winced, but successfully held in the whimper that threatened to escape.

Paul stayed away from me, keeping a few feet of distance between us. He watched me with a discouraged expression, mouthing another sorry.

"I'm not as breakable as I look, Paul. I won't fall apart because you touched me," I said, trying to console him. I was feeling so comfortable with him that I honestly couldn't stand him being so far from me. I battled against the urge to run to his side, still having no clue why he looked so crestfallen.

I then noticed a red truck in the other corner of the parking lot, clearly newly painted. The truck reminded me of my mothers', but only by the many colorful beads that hung from the rearview mirror.

"Quil? Is that…? Did you...?"

"We were hoping you'd like it. Doesn't she look brand-new? It's amazing what a fresh coat of paint and a new transmission can do," he laughed from behind me, but it sounded a little forced to me.

"You really shouldn't have. I only needed what would make it safe again to drive. This is too much, Quil. Just scrape the new paint off or something."

"I don't think we can do that. The paint is meant to stay on. Just think of it as an apology for having to keep her overnight."

So overjoyed, I turned on the spot and ran to Quil, throwing my arms around him. I apparently was having another bold moment. "Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This makes driving that old truck so much easier."

I could see Paul out of the corner of my eye, scowling at Quil with an envious gleam in his brown eyes. I couldn't tell if it was my imagination or not, but his body seemed to be shaking again.

"Uh, Paul and Jake helped out too. Paul was actually the one that thought of giving her a new paint job," Quil said, quickly stepping out of my arms. I hoped he didn't think I was into him. That'd be weird.

I walked over to Paul and draped my arms around his quaking torso without any hesitation. "I know I've told you thank you a million times in the past two days, but thank you, again."

Paul seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then his long arms wrapped around me, his hands settling gently at my waist again (oh, how I wish they'd stay there forever) and pulled me closer into the embrace. "My pleasure."

I moved away from Paul reluctantly after a moment, taking a tiny step back.

"My mom's probably getting worried again. Thank you both, again. Give Jake a hug from me," I called behind me as I ran to my truck.

"See you Sunday. Six o'clock sharp. Don't forget," Paul hollered after my receding body.

I waved a hand behind me to let him know I had heard, climbing into the newly painted truck. I pulled out of the parking lot, speeding away home. I caught a quick glimpse of Paul and Quil heading into the woods. Quil punched Paul playfully on the shoulder, but Paul was watching me. My eyes met, more like drowned, in his for a brief moment before the group of trees obscured him from my view. Stupid trees. Always have to ruin everything.

Like I said, very intense chapter, huh?

Don't you just love shy protective Paul? You may now squeal :)

--Mary