Thank you again to everybody who has sent lovely well wishes for my wedding. It was a truly stunning fay—the best day of my life by far. If you'd like to see pictures, please come find me on Facebook under the same name I am here. I don't bite and I love to make new friends.
I'm away on my honeymoon now so I'll post the last installment of this little tale later today.
Lots of love to annaharding for being the real MVP and always helping me out when I have random plot bunnies.
Little Boots & Biker Boy
BIKER BOY
"Ewww! Get that away from me, it's all yucky!" Missy Adams squealed as she turned tail and ran away as fast as she could.
Giggling, Edward carefully cupped the toad in his small palms and lifted it so they were eye-level with each other. He, the toad, stuck out his long tongue before letting out a belly-wobbling croak. "C'mon, Frank. Let's go home."
"Edward! Edward, look!"
Turning toward the voice, Edward's face split in a lopsided, gap-toothed grin. He hadn't expected to see Isabella today, it being her birthday and all. His momma told him she was having a party this weekend, so he wasn't expecting to see her 'til then. She ran down the slope to the stream with her pigtails flying behind her and her hands clutching her pale yellow sundress so it wouldn't cling to her legs. Skidding to a stop in front of Edward—and Frank the toad—she flashed him a rosy-cheeked smile and extended her leg, popping her hip like she'd seen the models do when they came to stay at her daddy's hotel a few weeks ago.
"What do ya think? Papaw got them for me."
The worn, scuffed boots she usually wore had been replaced. They were brown, like the old ones, but these had cut-out sections filled in with blue glitter. When she moved her foot to show them off, the fading fall sunlight made them sparkle and shimmer.
When he looked up at her face, his beloved pet toad still clutched in his hands, Edward saw her hopeful brown eyes peering back at him; he couldn't help it. He busted out laughing until his eyes watered and his tummy ached.
"Edward!" Isabella whined, stamping her sparkly boot-clad foot. "Quit laughing!"
"Sorry, sorry," he finally panted, sitting on the dirt bank that overlooked the stream. Frank settled happily on the rock in the little plastic tank Edward carried with him when he took his pet out and about. Offering what he hoped was an apologetic smirk, Edward patted the ground and kept quiet until Isabella had haughtily taken a seat. "They're...um, nice?"
Isabella's lips twitched toward a smile despite the fact that she was obviously trying to look mad. "You hate them."
Hesitating for barely a second, Edward nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. They're horrible. But if you like 'em, that's all that counts, right?" Nudging his shoulder against hers, he added, "Happy birthday, by the way. How come you're allowed out? I thought you'd be spendin' time with your folks."
Shrugging, Isabella toed the dirt, twisting her feet this way and that. Beside Edward's gangly legs, hers looked positively tiny. Edward noticed this at the same time. "You have real short legs, you know. And your feet are so little."
"That's okay. Momma says the best things come in small packages," she told him with a saccharine sweet smile.
Laughing, Edward nodded. "Okay. Seriously, though, look at your little boots!"
Shifting and tossing one of his muddy, jean-clad legs over hers, he rested their feet together; hers, his, hers, his. Little boot, big boot, little boot, big boot.
"I guess they are kind of little…" Isabella conceded with a giggle.
.
.
"That's what I'm gonna call you," Edward decided later, when he walked her back to the foot of the porch steps. His nose itched as he tried to see if Mr. Swan was loitering anywhere by the windows. He was a scary guy.
"What?" Isabella's cheeks were rosy from running around in the sun all afternoon, her hair curly and windswept thanks to the breeze that blew along the surface of the river. She'd pulled the bands from her braids and let her hair tumble freely around her shoulders. The pristine dress she left in was now streaked with mud and splashed with river water, but the smile on her face as she beamed back at her friend was merely happy and curious.
"Little Boots," Edward said with a decisive dip of his chin. "I'm gonna call you 'Little Boots' from now on, on account of your teeny tiny little baby feet."
With a shaky of her curly-haired head, Isabella held her tummy and giggled. The sweet, bell-like sound made Edward's cheeks flush. "I like it. I need to think of a nickname for you, though." Tapping her lips, she smirked cheekily. "What about 'Toad Boy'? You take Frank everywhere."
Clutching his beloved pet in his portable tank, Edward scowled. "'Toad Boy' is dumb. That's not a good nickname. People'll think you're sayin' I look like a toad."
"Oh, that won't do." Frowning, Isabella shrugged. "I'll think of somethin'."
No sooner than she said that did the front door slide open. Renee Swan hid a smile behind her hand when she spied her daughter and Edward beaming at each other on the porch steps. "Are you coming in, sweetheart? Dinner's ready."
"I'll be right in, Momma," Isabella chimed, turning to face her. "Can Edward stay for dinner?"
Nodding, Renee turned to Edward. "Of course, he can. What do you say, Edward? We're trying out a new recipe."
As Isabella hid a smile behind her hair, Edward tried to school his grimace. Everybody knew Renee Swan was a great cook—except when she experimented. "Uh, that's real nice of you, Mrs. Swan, but I—"
"Edward? There you are!"
Sighing, Edward attempted to look regretful as he turned toward his mom's voice. She stood on their porch across the street, hands on her hips and a frown etched into her forehead.
"What did I tell you about stayin' out all day?"
"Sorry, Momma!" he called, flashing Renee an impish grin. "Another time, Mrs. Swan?"
"You're welcome any time, sweetheart." Winking, she nodded across the street. "You'd best get yourself home."
"Sure." Turning back to Isabella, Edward gave her a shy wave. "Bye, Little Boots."
Isabella's cheeks flamed. "Bye, Edward."
.
.
Later, after a failed attempt at eggplant lasagne and a last-minute takeout dinner, Bella sprawled herself upside-down on her bed and flicked through her photo albums from this past summer. There were a whole bunch from their family vacation to the Hamptons where they spent a week in June, and then a ton of pictures of Isabella with various configurations of friends and family members. Liberty and Alice were in most of them, but Edward also featured in many.
A slow smile spread across Isabella's face as she stopped on the most recent addition to the album. A few moments later, she had the landline in hand and the album open on the console table in the hall. The phone rang, and rang, and—
"Hello?"
"Emmett? It's Isabella. Please, can you put Edward on?"
"Sure. One sec, little Bell."
Isabella pulled the phone away from her ear as Emmett yelled for his brother, then grinned into the receiver when Edward came on.
"You survived!"
Snorting, Isabella murmured, "Barely! We had to order takeout."
Edward laughed. "I know. I saw the delivery guy. What's up?"
"Oh, so I've decided what your nickname should be."
It was easy to hear the curiosity in Edward's voice as he asked what she'd chosen. Isabella traced the red and black lines painted on Edward's BMX; a gift from his parents for his birthday back in June. "Biker Boy. You know, 'cause you looooove your bike?"
"Huh, that's not bad," he conceded happily. "Biker Boy and Little Boots."
"No, that sounds dumb. It's gotta be Little Boots and Biker Boy. That's the right way 'round. It sounds better."
Charlie appeared in the doorway then, his thick brows jumping up his forehead when he spotted his daughter twirling her hair and giggling into the phone at a boy. "Isabella Marie Swan, what do you think you're doin'? You're supposed to be in bed, missy."
"Sorry, Daddy." To Edward, she added, "Gotta go, Edward—oops, I mean Biker Boy. Bye!"
Renee joined her husband in time to watch their daughter run back up the stairs clutching her photo album, giddy grin well and truly in place on her face.
Gruffly, Charlie asked, "What just happened here?"
"I think your girl has a crush."
"Over my dead body," Charlie scoffed. "On the Cullen kid? Never gonna happen, you mark my words."
~ oOo ~
"What do you mean, made a mistake?"
Edward's heart began to thump hard against his ribs. His eyes followed Isabella's as she fiddled with some sparkly embellishments at her waist; he couldn't resist looking when she heaved in a breath, her chest rising with the movement.
"I think...God, I can't believe I've been so stupid." Blowing out a sigh between her lips, she offered him a wry, heartbreakingly sad smile. "I've messed this all up. I shouldn't have gotten married today. Jesus, what was I thinking? My own husband kept the fact that we're moving out-of-state from me for months." To herself, she murmured, "What else is he hiding from me?"
Shaking her head, Isabella seemed oblivious to Edward's inner turmoil. His sweaty palms shook as he shoved them into his pockets.
"I want to travel the world, you know? I want to see all the cool things you get to see." Flushing, she softly admitted, "I follow you on Facebook through Libby. She shows me all your pictures."
That small admission clicked into place as Edward released a sigh. He'd always wondered. He'd hovered over the 'add friend' button so many times, staring at the picture of Isabella's smiling face pressed against that of her beloved horse. Her account was set to public, so he could see most things she posted.
He'd checked it more times over the years than he wanted to admit.
"I don't want to be stuck in New York, sequestered away in a stupid penthouse while Michael is off doing what he wants to." A chasm cracked open Edward's chest as he watched tears fill Isabella's eyes. "I want to live. I want a life. I know I sound like a spoiled little brat, but I—"
"Don't, Boots." Edward's fingers rested lightly over her lips. He just barely managed to ignore the soft, warm feel of them to warn, "Don't do that. This whole thing...movin', keepin' it a secret, it's bullshit. That's somethin' you should get to decide for yourself, or at least have an input on."
As he lowered his hand, Isabella moved to speak. She was cut off by the slam of a door further along the terrace and hissed voices. They strained to hear, sharing impish, almost childlike smiles as they edged along toward the vine-covered trellis separating the two balconies. They'd lost count of the times they got into bother eavesdropping on their neighbors as children, now here they were, still unable to resist doing it as adults.
Peeking over the top as Isabella tried to find a gap in the vines, Edward felt his stomach drop.
"Why did you come here?"
"How can you even ask that? I love you!" Edward didn't recognize the woman until she turned slightly, dashing tears from her make-up streaked cheeks. Holy shit.
"Will you quiet down? Jesus, Lauren. You're making a scene!"
"Who is it?" Isabella whispered.
Edward's felt hollow as he tried, in vain, to steer her away. His feet were heavy like they'd been filled with lead.
"Biker Boy," she whined, tugging his arm. "Who is it? I can't see."
"Boots…"
On the other side of the trellis, the voices were getting louder, more emotional. If Edward's heart had been breaking before, it was shattering now.
This is going to wreck her.
"Don't do this, please. You can't do this to me. You promised it wouldn't get this far."
"You always knew this was going to happen, Lauren. I was honest about that much."
"I can't believe this. You can't do this to me, Michael!"
Edward's stomach fell to his feet as Isabella sucked in an audible breath. "Michael…"
She'd know her guest list better than he did, but Edward was pretty sure there was only one Michael here, and that was the groom.
"Is that…"
Before Edward could answer or stop her, Isabella had hitched up her skirt, kicked off her heels, and taken off running.
"Shit, Little Boots, wait!"
For a short little thing weighed down by what had to be a ton of dress, Isabella could move. People looked as she threw open the doors and rushed through the group clustered in front of them, but Edward didn't spare them a glance. Growling a curse, he shoved his way past the senator and followed Isabella out onto the other terrace. He almost crashed right into her back.
She'd come to a sudden stop just outside, her chest heaving in time with the tears that tumbled over her cheeks. Her big, doe eyes were trained intently on Michael's back as he pulled Lauren against his chest, her loud cries reverberating around Edward's brain.
That absolute fucker.
As Edward's granddaddy would say, Michael was sho'nuff all hat, no cattle; as stupid as the day was long.
He still hadn't noticed that his wife was watching him embrace the woman who was obviously his mistress. He didn't, either, until Isabella softly cleared her throat.
If it weren't for the way Isabella trembled at his side, her face stained with betrayal, Edward might've found the look on Michael's face funny when he realized he'd been caught out. Instead, he wanted to pummel the dumb son of a bitch. For fucking up, for stealing his girl, and for breaking her heart on what should have been the best day of her life.
Shoving Lauren away, Michael put his hands out in supplication. "Isabella, it's not—"
"Don't you dare undermine my intelligence, Michael. Don't you dare."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. She'd never spoken to him that way before, Edward was suddenly sure of it. His eyes jumped to Lauren—who was still crying but also looked a lot less guilty than he'd expect of someone who'd been caught having an affair with a man who'd gotten married just hours ago.
"I want a divorce."
Michael's eyes couldn't have gotten any wider. "Isabella, honey—"
Lauren suddenly stepped forward, desperately clutching Michael's arm. "This is what we wanted, Michael. We can be together."
Snatching his arm back, Michael shook his head. "Shut up, Lauren. You know we can't ever be together publicly. Our fathers are opposing members of the House. It's never going to happen so just get your head around it, will you? Christ."
Edward couldn't stifle a bolt of sympathy for Lauren as her face flamed beet red and she took off, brushing between him and Isabella as her tears restarted. Then he reminded himself that she knew what she was doing and that the man she was with was getting married to another woman. She wasn't oblivious.
But Isabella clearly had been.
"I want a divorce," she repeated, more clearly and much louder this time. Resolute.
Edward's fists clenched at his sides as Michael sighed and rolled his eyes as though dealing with a tantrum-throwing toddler rather than his adult wife. Anger burned as it coursed through his veins. He'd never wanted to hit him so much. Edward had never hated him more. It was taking everything he had to stand in place and keep his hands to himself.
Then he opened his mouth again, and all bets were off.
"Isabella, there's no need to throw a fit. We can—"
Edward didn't make it in time. Isabella beat him to the punch—quite literally—blood spraying from Michael's nose as she landed a solid hit to his face.
"Holy shit, little Bell!"
Emmett's appearance on the balcony didn't make any sense until Edward glanced back and saw his brother holding the doors closed, the best man attempting to open them from the other side. However, he was no match for Emmett's brawn. Pride and admiration shone from Emmett's toothy smile as he winked at Isabella. "We could've used you back in the day with a right hook like that."
Managing a shaky smile, Isabella shook her hand and cradled it in front of her chest. "I offered to help. You and Edward always said I was too little."
Huffing softly and pulling her into his side as he watched Michael attempting to keep the blood dripping from his nose from landing on his suit, Edward reminded her that she was even smaller 'back in the day' than she was now. As teenagers, Edward and Emmett had raised hell and got into plenty of scuffles; great right hook or not, she wouldn't have stood a chance.
"Isabella, we need to talk about this," Michael gritted out, cupping his nose.
"Hey." Emmett growled his reprimand. "Watch yourself. She's a lady an' you're on thin ice, got it?"
Even Edward wasn't dumb enough to start a fight with Emmett—not now that he was old enough to know he'd lose and lose hard.
Michael apparently wasn't that smart. Wiping his face with his bloodied sleeve, he took a step toward Edward and Bella. Edward adjusted his stance a little, reminding himself that his momma would kill him for getting into a fight today.
"She's my wife and I'll talk to her however I like."
"You'll what?" Not Emmett or Isabella, this time. Edward swung around, only now realizing what the best man was too dumb to figure out. There was another door, and Mr. Swan had found it.
Edward's breath lodged in his throat as he watched Mr. Swan's face darken to a worrying shade of puce. He was madder than a wet hen, no doubt about it, and he'd only heard Stanley-Newton's last statement. Only time would tell if he'd figured out what was going on.
"Daddy, I can handle—"
"You'll do no such thing, Isabella." Mr. Swan's tone brooked no argument; Isabella wanted to argue, Edward could tell, but she dipped her chin and bit her lip instead. Catching Mr. Swan's gaze, Edward tightened his arm around Isabella's shoulders. He saw the begrudging look in the older man's eyes and almost smiled when he turned his attention to Emmett.
"Emmett, son. Take Isabella inside. Michael and I need a quiet word."
Isabella's head shot up. She looked between Edward and her father in panic. "Daddy, I—"
"Little Boots," Edward murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. A bolt of possessive delight shot through his veins, Michael's loud huff only making him hold her tighter. "Go with Em. I'll stay with your pa and keep him outta mischief."
"That's what I'm worried about," she admitted.
"C'mon, little Bell. Let's get you a drink. I reckon we're all in need of a stiff one."
The worry in Isabella's eyes strengthened Edward's resolve to keep Mr. Swan from murdering Stanley-Newton—as he suspected was Charles's intention—however much he'd like to witness it. "You can trust me, Boots. I swear."
The tiniest smirk danced on Isabella's lips even as her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Cross your heart?"
.
.
With their dirt-smeared legs dangling over the edge of the dock, Edward and Isabella grinned at each other and compared the gaps between their teeth. "This one's gonna fall out real soon, I know it," she declared, tugging at the loose tooth in the front of her mouth so it would wobble to and fro.
Edward shook his head and flopped back on the summer sun-warmed wood. "I don't know, Boots. It looks like it's hangin' in there pretty hard."
"It is gonna fall out soon," Isabella insisted, lying beside him with her head propped on her hand. "I need it to, 'cause Daddy confiscated my piggy bank and I'm short a dollar for the movies on Saturday."
Staring up at the wispy clouds until he went cross-eyed, Edward rolled his head to face her. "I'll share my pocket money. I've got plenty after helpin' Pa last week."
Isabella's face brightened, her pout evaporating to be replaced by a beaming smile—wobbly tooth, and all. "Really? Cross your heart?"
.
.
"And hope to die, Little Boots," Edward promised with an infinitesimal shake of his head. "Now, go on with you. Em needs a babysitter."
"I sure do, little Bell," Emmett told her unabashedly, tugging her out of his brother's arms and leading her inside. She looked back at the three men still on the terrace as she stepped through the doors, her eyes beseeching Edward to keep the peace.
His nod promised he would; he crossed his fingers at his back and quickly prayed twice. Once that God would turn a blind eye, and once that Isabella would forgive him for what he was about to do.
As soon as she turned to follow Emmett inside, Edward spun neatly and threw his fist in a perfect punch that landed right where Isabella's had a few minutes previous. Blood spurted from his already-damaged nose and Michael crumpled to the flagstone tiles like an accordion.
"Whoa, son." Mr. Swan's hand landed heavily on Edward's shoulder, holding him in place but only barely. His voice belied his smirk. "There's no need for violence, now."
"Ow." Michael whimpered, cradling his face once more. "You broke my nose!"
Shaking his head and wiping his hand on the handkerchief Mr. Swan pulled from his pocket, Edward sighed. "I think Boots—Isabella already took care of that. I just made sure of it."
Grabbing Michael by his lapels, Mr. Swan hauled him to his feet. Edward saw the moment Michael realized that he was the least of his worries.
Face-to-face with the pissed-off father of the woman he'd done dirty, Michael looked about ready to piss his fancy pants.
"Have you lost your cotton pickin' mind, boy? Have you?"
"N-no, Sir." Edward's lips twitched toward a smile as Michael began to babble. "It's not what it sounded like, Charles—"
Mr. Swan shook Michael and took a big step forward. It brought Michael's back up against the balustrade; something of which nobody on that balcony was unaware. "That'll be 'Mr. Swan' to you. Now, you were tryin' to tell me that you haven't been cheatin' on my baby girl."
Aw, shit. He knows.
Shooting a look at the doors—which Emmett appeared to have locked if the people scrabbling at the handles were anything to go by—Edward sent up another prayer.
Please don't be mad at your pa, Boots. I'd do the same if it were my daughter in this situation.
A rogue image of a little girl with his green eyes and Boots's brown tresses twirled through his mind before he was brought back to the present by Mr. Swan's roared curse followed by what he could only describe as a squeal flying from Michael's mouth.
"Don't drop me, you maniac! Charl—Mr. Swan! You can't...you wouldn't!"
"Oh, quit yer' bellyachin'! You ain't right in the head if you thought you'd get away with breakin' that girl's heart, boy."
"Holy shit!" Draped over the balustrade with his hands desperately clinging to Mr. Swan's jacket, Michael found Edward. His panicked eyes pleaded with him for help. He wouldn't find any. "Get him off me, Cullen, Jesus!"
"I'm not sure blasphemin' is gonna help you any," Edward told him conversationally, glancing at the doors again. One of the guys—one of Michael's groomsmen—had disappeared. Probably to fetch hotel staff. "I'd say an apology might go some way in...or, maybe not." He cut off and chuckled at the dark look Mr. Swan shot over his shoulder.
"You can't seriously...you wouldn't toss me over…" This time, it was Michael trailing off. Whether he'd first seen the intention in Mr. Swan's eyes or realized help wasn't coming quickly, Edward didn't know. Either way, his struggles became more desperate.
"Uh, Sir…we're about to have company."
Mr. Swan blew out a breath through his teeth and nodded, leaning more of his weight against Michael's chest and pushing him harder into the concrete at his back. "You're fixin' for a bullet right between the eyes, boy. Only my respect for your father is savin' your ass, you hear me?"
Michael nodded frantically, still using his arms and legs to try and gain grip. "Y-yes, Sir."
"If you ever, and I mean ever, come near any of my daughters or my wife again, you won't be so lucky. Got it?"
"Got it, I've got it, just—just let me up!"
Mr. Swan gave Michael one last shove so he'd slide a smidgen further toward almost certain death before hauling him back and throwing him toward the floor. The doors flew open at the same time.
"Michael, goodness gracious!"
Straightening his jacket, Mr. Swan jerked his chin at Edward. They strolled past Michael's mother and Lauren as they hurried to him and didn't stop walking until they'd crossed the dance floor and found Isabella and Emmett at the bar. Her eyes found them as they stepped off the parquet onto the carpeted bar area. She slipped from her stool, gathered up her skirts, and ran right into his arms.
Edward's breath hitched as she hit his chest, warmth spreading through his veins even as she released him to throw her arms around her daddy.
"Did you...did you…"
"He's alive," Mr. Swan mumbled begrudgingly.
Emmett clapped his brother on the shoulder and pointedly eyed the guests trying to work out what was going on. "I think we should…"
Looking between the hundreds of people quickly deducing what had gone on—the blood all over Michael as his mother and Lauren led him inside told tall tales—and Isabella as she ducked her head and whispered to Mr. Swan, Edward couldn't help but frown and remember what she'd asked him earlier.
I want to go. Let's go. Let's just...run away.
It was a stupid damn idea. Ridiculous. His nana would tell him he was nuttier than a fruitcake for even considerin' it, but the truth was...he was more than considerin' it. He was ready to get out of this godforsaken place where his life didn't feel like his own and the air stifled his every breath. Where people broke the hearts of the ones they were supposed to love and the person he loved more than anythin' belonged to someone else.
But this time, he didn't want to leave alone.
Isabella's tear-filled eyes caught his gaze. She mirrored his frown, ignoring whatever her daddy was saying, and he saw the exact second she saw what he was thinking.
Let's go. Let's just...run away.
A thousand thoughts ran through their minds as they stared at each other. Years of friendship and a bond unbroken by time apart knotted them together.
Let's just...run away.
There were things that would need dealing with. She'd just gotten married, for Christ's sake. But the open road...it was calling.
"Daddy," she suddenly said, looking up at him with renewed energy. "I need some fresh air."
"All right." Mr. Swan blew out a breath and took her arm. "I'll take you—"
"It's okay. Um, Edward will...Edward will come with me. Will you…"
Edward heard the wobble in her voice and piped up. "Mrs. Swan is probably worried."
Mr. Swan glanced between Edward and his daughter. His mustache twitched. For a moment, Edward thought he'd be sent to fetch Mrs. Swan. Mr. Swan's dark eyes were still black with anger. He didn't enjoy being snared in their depths. A long breath gusted from his lungs when he was released and Isabella became the object of their focus. "I'll fetch your momma and your sisters, then we'll go home together."
Isabella hesitated a moment before nodding, though she wouldn't meet her daddy's eyes. "Okay, Daddy." Stretching quickly onto her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Daddy. Thank you."
"Love you, too, Bell. Be right back."
It didn't matter how soon he'd be back.
He'd barely taken a step before Isabella's small hand slipped into Edward's and they were speed-walking out of the ballroom.
They were in the elevator headed down to street level before Mr. Swan had reached his wife.
Isabella had unpinned her chignon, releasing it to tumble down her back as Edward slipped the helmet over her head before he'd found Rosalie stuffing marshmallows into her already-full cheeks.
Edward was straddling his Harley and holding out a tentatively hopeful hand to Isabella just as Mr. and Mrs. Swan found Alice making out with her boyfriend in a dark corner of the ballroom.
A sudden gust of wind blew through the parking lot, playing with the ends of Isabella's hair and stirring up dust from the gravel underfoot. Her chest heaved with a loud, shaky inhale; curiosity burned in his belly, but he waited for her to muster the courage to say what she needed to say.
"I need to tell you...I need to tell you somethin'. I never told you before. This is a stupid time for admittin' things, but...did you know I used to have a massive crush on you? Like, scary big."
Shaking his head, Edward chuckled even though his stomach felt as though it had leapt up into his throat. "What a crock of shit. You did not, Boots."
"I did!" she insisted. "I was always one deep breath away from passing out, you used to make me blush so much." As if to prove her point, Edward's fingers reaching for hers to tug her onto the bike lit a fire in her cheeks.
His eyes softened.
Could she really have…
He couldn't resist feeling the warmth beneath her skin; she burned his fingers, scalding him right down to the nerves. "Beautiful," Edward whispered.
One of these days he would tell her that he'd had the biggest crush on her, too—that he still did and it was stronger than ever.
That it was more than a crush, and almost more than he could bear.
But not today. Not the same day she ran out on her own wedding just hours after marrying Stanley-Newton.
He'd do it one sunny summer's day as they donned hideous, yellow plastic raincoats and stood in the misty spray filling the air below Niagara Falls. He'd murmur it at her closed-eyed smile and take pleasure from the way her eyes popped open to peer back at him. He'd grin and mutter a curse as she crashed against his chest and admitted that she thought she'd loved him ever since the day he nicknamed her 'Little Boots'.
For now, he'd settle for offering her a reassuring smile as he swallowed his nerves and gently tugged her onto the Harley. She came willingly, hitching up her skirts to straddle the bike. The warm weight of her at his back stirred up feelings he'd buried for years. Sucking in a deep breath, he started the engine and focused on the rumble below him instead of the turmoil ravaging his insides. Her small hands wound their way around his waist, locking over his stomach, and he wondered how he'd ever left her behind.
.
.
"This is beyond lame."
Nodding and shrugging, Edward reminded her, "I told you it would be."
Isabella gave his shoulder a shove and huffed a sigh, kicking her feet over the edge of the wall. Sitting outside their high school, they took turns taking pulls of bourbon stolen from Edward's daddy's liquor cabinet out of a hipflask Isabella borrowed from Liberty.
Eyeing Edward in his wrinkled white shirt and crooked, loosened tie, Isabella couldn't help but wonder… "How come you agreed to come with me tonight? I know a bunch of other girls asked. You never told me your reason."
Offering another shrug, Edward rubbed the back of his neck and took an extra mouthful before handing the flask back to her. "Why wouldn't I come with you?"
"I don't know…"
Edward hesitated before admitting, "Maggie Taylor asked me. I told her 'no'. Lissy Stewart, too."
"Why didn't you go with them? They're both gorgeous!"
Slipping off the wall to toe the dirt, Edward felt the tips of his ears flaming. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he'd told Maggie Taylor and Lissy Stewart to find other dates to their senior year spring formal.
Although...glancing over his shoulder at his Little Boots in her pretty green dress and her favorite Dan Posts, he thought he might have an inkling as to why he'd refused the other girls, after all.
"Boots, I—"
"Hey, Bell! Are you coming to the after party? We're going to Ryan's—Oh, hey, Edward." Sally Clare teetered to a stop in her too-high heels, her smile widening when she spotted Edward. "You can come, too, Edward."
"Boot—uh, Isabella and I are going to split, actually. I promised her dad I'd get her home before curfew."
He could feel Isabella's eyes on the side of his face as Sally tried to hide her disappointment, but she didn't argue.
"Oh. Oh, okay. Another time, then?"
"Sure, another time."
Once Sally had gone back inside, Isabella hopped neatly from the wall and sauntered over to stand in front of Edward, a silly little smile playing on her lips. "So. We're splitting, are we? Where are we going?"
Think on your feet, Cullen…
Pretending as though he'd had a plan all along, Edward grinned and gestured toward the parking lot. As they walked side-by-side, he spotted a sign for Geoffrey's Diner. "I thought we could go split a milkshake before we head home. The diner will be open until late."
"Ooh, I'm gonna get the Oreo shake. It's crazy good."
"You and your sugar addiction," Edward chuckled as they reached the bike shed. His trusty bicycle waited patiently. "Maybe that should be your nickname instead of 'Boots'."
Isabella shook her head and released a light, lilting laugh that made him grin wider. "I much prefer 'Boots' if it's all the same to you." Eyeing the bike as he slung a long leg over the frame, she raised a single eyebrow. "Are you really planning to take me home on that thing? It's like, ten years old."
With a roll of his eyes, Edward corrected her. "It's four, actually." The bourbon was starting to kick in by now, its heat burning through his veins—and his inhibitions. Uncharacteristically bold, Edward raised an eyebrow and eyed her with clear challenge.
"C'mon, sugar. You know you want to wrap your thighs around this beast."
She smirked, cocking her head like a disobedient little puppy—and a goddamn adorable one, at that. "And if I said that I don't?"
He barked a laugh, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Quit wasting my time, Little Boots. Get that cute butt over here. The open road is callin'."
Once again, her laughter rang out. This time, she grinned right back at him and hitched up her dress so she could join him on the bike. Not for the first time, the pegs he'd fixed to the rear wheels came in handy. She held onto her dress with one hand and hung onto his shoulder with the other as he carefully set off. By the time they made it to the diner, she'd switched to clinging to his shoulders to keep herself from swinging around every time he turned.
Despite the chill to the air and the ache that had quickly taken over his legs from standing and peddling with extra weight on the back, Edward couldn't stifle the smile that remained on his face for the rest of the night.
.
.
"Are you ready?" He called over the growl of the bike, lightly pressing his fingertips to the back of her hand and praying she was sure of this—sure of him. She twisted her wrist, twining their fingers together before pressing her cheek against his shoulder blades.
"Please, let's just go."
"Well, all righty then."
With the sun rapidly fading at their backs and the warm summer breeze blowing them away from a town which hosted almost as many bad memories as good, Edward kicked the stand and carefully peeled out of the parking lot. Neither of them saw the other Swans as they stepped out onto the hotel steps in time to see Harley fly away; in time to see Isabella's skirts flaring behind her and the two-finger salute Edward shot in his brother's direction.
Emmett jogged across the lot, his chest heaving as a smile split his face in two. "Mr. Swan, Mrs. Swan...your daughter...Libby's havin' the baby. Over there, in the truck."