Author's Note: Thanks again to moosals for pre-reading. Stephenie Meyer owns all characters.
Hmmm... you guys like Edward's lawyer about as much as Angela!
Ready to find out more about Edward's past?
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
When I wake up on Wednesday morning, it seems like another beautiful day. I wander out of my bedroom to find Edward seated at my computer.
"Good morning."
"Hey," he greets me. "I figured I'd make us omelets while you're in the shower, ok?"
"Sure, yeah, that sounds great," I reply. I could get used to this. "See you in a few minutes."
When I'm showered and dressed, I step into the kitchen, where Edward is standing at the stove.
"Almost ready," he calls over this shoulder. "I made some bacon earlier to put in mine — do you want some too, or just cheese?"
"Yeah, bacon would be great. And I think there's a tomato in the fridge."
"Breakfast is served," he announces a few minutes later, sliding the omelet onto the plate in front of me with a flourish.
I'm halfway done — and it's delicious — before Edward finishes cooking his own omelet and joins me. Of course, he'll probably still be finished eating before me.
"I used up all your eggs, sorry."
"That's all right," I respond. "I'll get more on Friday when I go to Walmart with Mrs. Cope again."
"Who is Mrs. Cope?"
"She's a retired teacher who lives in Hoquiam. She was one of my dad's high school teachers. I ran into her at Walmart right after I moved here, and she recognized me from when he used to bring me down here to fish. When she found out I didn't drive, she offered to help me out by giving me rides. She's a nice widow — I think she's bored," I conclude with a smile.
"Pretty long walk to town if she wasn't helping you."
"Yeah… I was thinking I'd have to get one of those carts like people in New York City use to carry things around."
Standing up to rinse off my plate, I compliment Edward on his cooking skills once more. "You really are a good cook."
"Thanks," he says shyly.
Once the dishes are finished, Edward suggests that we go for another walk around the lake. I quickly grab my jacket and shoes to join him.
"What were you doing on the PC earlier?" I ask curiously.
"Reading the local news. The opinion seems to be that I'm long gone from the area. The cops are trying to calm the residents and tell them there's no reason for concern."
"Well, there's not."
"No," he says softly. "Why did you believe me that first day?"
"I'm not sure I can really articulate it, Edward. I saw the look in your eyes when the police knocked on the door. You looked terrified, panicked. It just… wasn't the look of a guilty person. And then there's Leo," I chuckle.
"What about him?"
"He hid under the kitchen table when you knocked, but then when you sat down, he came out and started sniffing around at your feet. You'd have to know my cat to know that he just doesn't do that with strangers. It's like he somehow knew that you were ok. I've studied enough about animal behavior to know that they can just… sense things that humans can't. I trusted my cat, as ridiculous as that sounds."
"So I have Leo to thank for the fact that you didn't turn me in? In that case, I'll put some extra food in his bowl tonight."
I laugh; I can't help it. When he's not taunting me about something sexual, I find that I enjoy spending time with Edward. Even just walking in silence around the lake path, I feel… lighter with him by my side. I haven't felt something like that in a long time.
"All this exercise is making me hungry," he says after several laps. "Ready to go back in?"
I nod and start for the path back to the house.
"We still have some leftover lasagna," I tell him as I dig around the fridge. "Probably not enough for dinner, but ok for lunch?"
Edward nods and I stick the container in the microwave and then get our drinks. "I put a couple steaks in the fridge last night to thaw for dinner, ok?"
"Sure — do you have a grill?"
"Yeah, it's outside, through the mudroom. My dad got it to grill fish, of course."
"Your dad must love fishing," he remarks.
"Oh, he does. He used to go out practically every weekend with… with his best friend."
"Used to?"
"Um, yeah, they—they had a falling out a few years ago."
When the microwave beeps, I fix two plates and carry them to the table.
"This really is good lasagna," Edward says as he eats. "Where did you get the recipe?"
"One of my neighbors in Phoenix. She taught me to cook when I was eight or nine. I was at her house playing with her daughter, who was my best friend, and I told her how much better the food she made was than what my mother made at home," I laugh.
"It was really that bad?"
"Worse. My mother is kind of… creative in the kitchen."
After we wash the dishes, Edward and I get comfortable on the couch in the living room.
"So tell me about a five-year-old learning to cook."
He shrugs. "It wasn't so much cooking then, but I could make a mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich," he chuckles. "Once I learned to read, I graduated to heating up canned pasta, or making boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese, or Chef Boyardee spaghetti."
"Where did you really learn though?"I ask curiously.
"My first job was as a fry cook at Jack in the Box."
"Ooh, the top of the food chain there."
"Yeah, yeah… I was 16 and they were hiring," he responds, grinning.
"So… how did the adopted son of a doctor end up working at Jack in the Box? Was your father trying to instill some kind of values in you that he thought you needed to work?"
"Not… exactly."
"How then?"
"I… did a lot of stupid things as a teenager. I was arrested a few times, had a bit of a juvie record."
"That would've gotten sealed when you turned 18, right?"
"Yeah. The worst thing I ever did was steal a car with some friends and go joyriding."
"Why would you do that? Did you not have a car?"
"I didn't — I was only 15 at the time. Some of my friends had cars though, sure. Not fast ones though. And we were bored.
"Anyway, most of the charges were for possession. My dad cut off my allowance, saying he didn't want his money going to buy drugs. So I got a job."
"How long did you work at Jack in the Box?"
"Couple years. I turned 18 in June, a few weeks after my high school graduation. My dad sat me down then and told me how I was an adult now, how anything I did would be on my permanent record, blah blah. When he caught me with some weed in my room the next week, he freaked out and kicked me out of the house until I gave it up."
"Your dad kicked you out?" I repeat, shocked.
"Yeah. I moved in with a buddy who was looking for a roommate. But I pretty quickly realized I needed to earn more than minimum wage, so I found a better paying job at a sandwich shop."
I can't help myself — I burst out laughing.
"What?" Edward asks, confused.
"I can just picture your smiling face asking me what I want on my turkey sub," I giggle.
"I didn't make the subs," he explains, rolling his eyes. "I worked in the back as a prep cook and baking the bread."
"That's more like it," I reply, still giggling.
"My mom used to slip me extra money, too, which was awesome. She wasn't so much in agreement with my dad's 'tough love' stance."
"Will you tell me now why you robbed the liquor store?"
Edward sighs before nodding. "After a year or so, I got fired from the sub shop. I'd had a couple warnings already for arriving late due to a hangover… and then I showed up drunk one day. My own fault, I know — you don't have to say it. I needed money for rent, but I didn't want to go to my mom and tell her that I'd gotten fired, so I robbed the store."
"Because of your pride?" I scoff.
"Yeah, I guess. I was horribly inept as a thief — I didn't case out the store in advance, so I didn't know they had a security camera or a silent alarm system.
"It was ridiculously easy to rob them though. I brought a gun, but I kept it in the pocket of my jacket. It wasn't loaded anyway. They just… gave me the money when I asked, and I ran out."
"Where did you get the gun?" I ask.
"Believe it or not, my mom helped me get it the previous Christmas. It was legal and everything. She got freaked out by all the stories of assaults and burglaries in my neighborhood and thought I needed it for protection.
"Anyway, I was a couple blocks from the store when I heard sirens. I was too cocky to really believe they'd stop me, but just in case, I threw the gun in a dumpster. But they did stop me. Someone had pressed the silent alarm and the police showed up almost as soon as I left. The store clerk had given them my description. And the security video pretty much proved it was me.
"What did your parents say?"
"They were furious… mom cried. But they got me a lawyer. A good one, too. I was charged with armed robbery, but given that no one saw the gun and the cops couldn't find it, I was convicted of a lesser charge."
"I thought you could go down for armed robbery for just the hint of a gun, at least if you rob a bank," I muse.
"Maybe," he shrugs. "But my lawyer worked his magic. I was sentenced to 7-10 years, but I got out after just over three years due to good behavior and overcrowding."
"What happened when you got out? Was it hard to find another job with a felony conviction on your record?"
"Not as hard as I expected," he shrugged. "A buddy of mine washed dishes at his parents' Italian restaurant and they hired me as a line cook."
"So that's how you're qualified to judge the quality of my lasagna," I laugh.
"Yep, that's how," he smiles. "I really learned a lot about cooking in the time that I worked there."
"Did they fire you after you were arrested?"
"No — my friend's parents believed in my innocence. I worked in the back, in the kitchen, so none of the customers saw me. I probably would've been fired if I waited tables or something."
"Yeah, probably," I agree, chuckling as he yawns. "Tired?"
"Yeah, I didn't sleep all that well last night."
"Do you want to take a nap? I can just go to my room and read so you can have the couch," I suggest.
"You don't mind?"
"No, no, it's fine. I told you I used to read a lot before you showed up."
"Ok," he nods. "I'll get the steaks ready about six o'clock, all right? Unless I oversleep."
"Sounds good," I reply, standing up. Leo follows me into the bedroom, curling up for a long winter's nap by my side as I prop a couple pillows up against the headboard.
Since I finished the novel yesterday that I'd been reading, I decide to begin a popular novel that I've heard and read so much about online. I downloaded it for my Kindle a couple of weeks ago, but hadn't started reading it yet.
Hours later, Edward's knock on the door alerts me that dinner is ready. I'm sure I've been blushing for the last four hours over what I've been reading. Maybe it wasn't a great idea to read an erotic novel when I haven't had sex in almost three years and the hottest male specimen I've ever seen in person is in my kitchen… cooking me dinner.
"Are you ok?" Edward asks as I take my seat at the table. "Your face is kinda flushed."
"It—it's nothing," I lie. Shit, I do not need Edward to know about how I was picturing the lead character looking very much like him.
"The steak looks great," I add, trying to change the subject.
"I hope you like it… I tried to copy the marinade we used at the restaurant, but I didn't quite have all of the ingredients," he says shyly.
I take a bite and it's delicious… and perfectly cooked. "This is delicious, Edward," I moan. "And you made side dishes, too," I add, looking at my baked potato and green beans.
"Yeah, I found your potatoes. You're going to have to buy real vegetables this week though… no more of that canned shit."
"You're pretty bossy for a houseguest," I tell him, my eyes narrowed. Edward shrugs in response.
"Have you ever thought about going to culinary school?" I ask him as I finish up my meal.
"I don't know… it's pretty expensive, isn't it? There was no way for me to afford it."
"You don't think your parents would pay for it, if you were showing initiative toward a real career?"
He shrugs. "My mom would, I guess, if I asked."
"Where's your iPod?" Edward asks as we return to the living room, the dishes washed and put away.
"In my bedroom, why?"
"Go get it."
"Again with the bossiness," I grumble… but I do as he says.
Edward plugs the device into my iHome and flips through my playlist. "You made me watch that singing competition the last two nights… let's listen to some real artists. It's time to have some fun. Pretty much every weekend I go out to clubs or bars, listening to music, dancing…"
"Picking up women?"
"Well, that too," he grins. "Come on, dance with me!"
"Oh, no, I—I couldn't. I can't dance."
"Of course you can. Everyone can dance," he insists, starting to move his hips to the beat. Eyes above the waistline, Bella.
"I can't, Edward! When I was growing up, I was so clumsy that I used to trip over thin air. I didn't even dance at my… at my own wedding."
Edward's eyes widen. "Well, it's about time you learned then." Suddenly, he grabs my hand, pulling me close to him, my back to his chest. Putting his arms around me, he tries to show me how to move my hips. I want to protest, want to tell him to stop, but I can't deny that I like the way his arms feel around my waist.
"That was good, Bella," he says with a smile when the song ends. "But I know what you need."
Edward disappears into the kitchen, returning with two bottles of beer. "Here," he says, handing me one of the bottles. "It'll make you less self-conscious."
Despite a nagging feeling that this is a Very Bad Idea, I take a drink from my bottle, then set it on the desk before Edward spins me into his arms, trying to show me another dance move.
For the next few hours, we dance and laugh, sometimes singing along with the music on my iPod. And we drink. By my third beer, I'm definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol after so many years without a drop of it.
Edward tries to spin me around and I stumble a bit, leaning on his strong chest for support. "Are you drunk?" he laughs. "You're only on your third beer."
I shrug — I probably am drunk, but I don't want to admit it.
"It's good to see you smiling and laughing. You always seem so sad."
"You were right, Edward — this is fun. Oh! I love this song."
A big grin on his face, Edward pulls me close, making me move my hips in time with his. Maybe it's the alcohol clouding my judgment, but the way he's looking at me… like a predator on the prowl for his next victim.
I need to give myself a dose of reality — fast.
"So if I was in a bar and you came in, would you even glance at me?" I ask.
"Of course I would. I glance at every woman when I walk into a bar," he smirks.
"Trying to find your next conquest?"
"Exactly," he replies, spinning me around so that my back is to him.
"Would you… would you buy me a drink, or ask me to dance?"
"Bella," he growls, a hint of warning in his voice.
"I want to know," I tell him, turning around so he's forced to look me in the eye.
Edward sighs, shaking his head a little before he speaks. "No, I wouldn't have. You'd look far too innocent to get my attention."
"I'm not who you think I am," I argue. "I'm not so innocent."
"Yes, you are."
"I'm not. You don't know the things I've done." I don't know why I'm arguing with him. This is what I wanted, something to help me smother what I am beginning to recognize is a growing attraction to Edward. I need him to remind me who he is — that he's only out for a good time, and I am certainly not the woman to give it to him.
I'm startled out of my thoughts when he laughs out loud. "Oh please, I bet the worst thing you've ever done is drive five miles over the speed limit." He grabs his beer — he must be at least two bottles ahead of me — and takes a long swig before setting it back down.
The next song is a slower song. Edward pulls me close, his arms around my waist, and I coil my arms around his neck. It feels natural, somehow, to be this close to him. I look up into his eyes and I see the predator again. He didn't shave today and I wonder what the light scruff on his jaw would feel like against my face. I wonder what his lips would feel like.
He moves so slowly that I don't even realize he's moved until he's right there, his lips just an inch away from mine. I unconsciously part my lips slightly, licking them in anticipation.
The first brush of his lips on mine is gentle, the pressure lasting less than a second before he pulls back slightly. The second time, he pulls my top lip in between his, sucking gently before pulling back again. The third and fourth times are similar — slightly more pressure, lasting just a bit longer.
By the fifth kiss, I kiss him back, reaching out with my tongue to just touch his bottom lip. I shudder as I feel his tongue touch mine. It's been so, so long since I've felt anything like this.
Slowly his hands descend until they're cupping my ass, pulling me close until I can feel his erection against my hip. I gasp and he deepens our kiss a bit, still soft and gentle though. I feel the growl deep in his chest as his right hand reaches up to cup my cheek, turning my head slightly so that he can deepen the kiss even more.
Warning bells begin to go off in my head. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. I untangle my arms from around his neck, pushing on his chest until he backs up. My tears start to fall at the look of shock on his face.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, "I can't do this. I have to… I have to go…"
I dash away from him, picking up my purse from on top of the desk and rushing out the front door.
"Bella, wait!" he calls, but I don't stop running until I reach my truck. I take my keys from the side pocket of my purse, opening the door with shaking fingers. I turn the key in the ignition, but the moment my hand touches the gear shift, I feel my breathing begin to speed up.
"No, no… damn it!" I force myself to just do it, finally shifting into Reverse, but I can't make my foot press down on the gas pedal. Nearly blinded by my tears, I shift back to Park, fold my arms against the steering wheel, and lean my head in my hands, sobbing.
How pathetic am I that I can't drive this car when all I want is to be away from him, away from this pull I feel towards him? What the hell am I doing? I admit it, I'm attracted to Edward. But it's not like I can — or should — do anything about it. Edward is a fugitive, crashing here until he can be on his way again.
He said it himself — he'd never look twice at me if we'd met a different way. I'm nothing like the kind of women he's usually with. He said Angela was kinky — there's nothing kinky about me! He'd be bored with me after one night.
And then there's Jacob. I haven't touched another man since Jacob. I haven't wanted to. What does it mean that the first man I want to touch is the last man I should want?
Eventually I shut off the engine, my head still buried in the cocoon of my arms. I cry until there are no tears left. I haven't cried over Jacob in a long, long time and it feels good to get it all out.
When I realize it's gotten so cold in the truck that I can see my breath, I slowly sit up, opening the door. My knees almost buckle as I step onto the hard ground.
I slowly make my way back to the house, wondering what Edward has been doing while I've been gone. I don't even know how long I was in the truck.
When I open the front door and step into the warm house, Edward pops up from the couch, still fully dressed. "Jesus Christ, where have you been? I was so worried about you." He takes a step toward me and I hold up my hand.
"Don't touch me," I croak, my voice rough from crying so long. "Just… don't."
I grab a pair of pajamas from my room and lock myself in the bathroom. I'm so cold that I decide the only way I'll warm up is to take a long hot shower. When I'm finished, I step out into the living room and tiptoe toward the bedroom.
Leo slinks inside just before I close and lock the bedroom door. "Hey boy," I coo, pulling him close to me after he jumps up onto the bed. Normally he hates it when I do that, but he must sense how much I need it right now, as he snuggles closer to me, licking at my neck. "I love you too, Leo."
A/N: So, things are heating up a bit, eh? Will Bella finally tell Edward about Jacob?
My entry in the Taste of the Forbidden II contest did ok, top 10 in reviews, but didn't win anything. I have posted the beginning on my own profile and will be continuing it, though it won't be very long. It's called "Patience"... something my Bella and Edward don't have a lot of.
