~ 7 ~

I pushed the pack of Camel Lights to the bottom of my purse and piled a few extra girl things on top—just in case. Checking my reflection in the mirror above my bureau one last time, I was surprised I didn't look guiltier.

"You look nice," Mom gushed, checking out my short-sleeve blouse and black mini-skirt. "I packed you salami today, sweetie."

"Actually, Mom, I'm gonna take my lunch in a separate bag from now on."

Dad looked up at me as if I'd just sliced off his left arm. "You're not eating with me anymore?"

"I'm in Service now, Dad. I should eat back there."

He stared at me for a long minute, then raised his newspaper. "Fine."

Mom winked again, and I knew he would get over it.

The second we arrived, I rushed to my little work space and shoved my purse—with my contraband— into the file cabinet drawer. Lunchtime finally rolled around, and I ate with Rosalie in her office, chatting about other projects she'd thought up for the remainder of my summer. I couldn't hide my fidgeting, and she finally called me out. "Your boyfriend just walked outside for a smoke."

My head whipped around to the door just as it was closing behind him.

"You gonna go talk to him or just sit here driving us both nuts?"

I popped out of my chair and grabbed my purse. My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel it in my ear drums, but I couldn't stop now. I forced open the heavy door, and Edward startled to see he wasn't alone. We had one of those the-bear-is-more-scared-of-you-than-you-are-of-it moments where we just stared at each other for a couple seconds until I reminded myself I had a plan.

I nodded at him, and he did the same back at me, neither of us the slightest bit relaxed. I took my place a few feet down the wall from him and dug through my purse with shaking hands until I found the cigarettes.

It occurred to me as I was fumbling with the cellophane for the tiny red strip around the top that I was an idiot for not opening these last night. I should've taken out a few to make them look broken in. Hell, I should've practiced smoking. I had no clue what I was doing, and he was obviously some kind of expert.

"Need a light?" he asked, his gravelly voice bumping up against my nerves.

"Sure," I answered, trying like heck to get one of the cigarettes loose.

I saw his feet shuffle closer. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding, maybe even see it through my blouse. I heard a soft laugh, and he took the box from my hand. I gasped when he touched my fingers, and when our eyes met, mine told him every secret I'd been trying to hide.

His told me only that he didn't trust me.

He tapped the box into his hand and a cigarette popped out like a trained circus poodle. He held it between us, and I took it, remembering to put the filtered end into my mouth. He flicked his lighter and brought it to the tip. I took a long pull into my lungs as the tobacco caught fire, and my throat filled with a hot, painful sting. He waited patiently at my side while I hacked up all the smoke, and when I was quiet again, he asked if I was okay.

I was smoking for this boy I didn't even know. I was so not okay.

It worked though—it became our thing. He'd light me up, and we'd both pretend I wasn't doing it just to impress him. We never talked, but we stood there side by side. I liked being close to him, even though I felt pathetic for the pretense and guilty for doing something so forbidden by my parents.

After a few days—three break times per day—I wasn't half bad at this smoking thing. In fact, on Friday afternoon, I didn't even cough when he lit me up. He was watching me carefully, his own cigarette hanging over his lower lip, and I saw his beautiful green eyes narrow into slits. All of a sudden, he reached between my lips and grabbed the cigarette and tossed it to the ground, grinding it out with his heavy boot.

"What was that for?"

"You don't smoke."

I was pissed. "The hell I don't. I've been smoking all w—" Oopsie, "my life."

"Is that why you couldn't open the box?"

I was mesmerized by the way the cigarette shook between his lips while he talked, but I was still pissed. I dug into my bag and tapped out a new cigarette. He got right in my face and batted it to the ground again.

"Stop it," he said.

"You stop it!"

We were at a toe-to-toe standoff, breathing hard and glaring at each other.

"Smoking is a disgusting habit."

"What gives you the right to lecture me?" I fought back.

He shook his head. "You don't want to put that shit into your mouth."

He was so close and I was so angry. "How do you know what I want in my mouth?"

I saw the now-familiar twitch at the top of his jaw. He plucked his own cigarette out and tossed it to the ground. He leaned over me, placing his hands on either side of my head, and trapped my body against the bricks. I could feel his breath on my cheeks; I could see the pink of his tongue behind his teeth. He looked mad and conflicted and desperate.

"Oh, I know exactly what you want." He leaned in so close I couldn't track his eyes. There was fire in my veins; every single part of me was alive, on edge.

"You want this," he whispered. I could feel the heat from his mouth and smell the smoke in his breath. I could practically taste how much he wanted me . . . until he didn't.

He pushed off the wall with an awful groan. His head sagged on his shoulders, and he mumbled more to his own feet than to me, "Go back inside, princess."

A/N: Oh, Bella! How's that plan working for ya now?

I apologize if I didn't get to reply to your review or if your review appears as a "guest" because of the server glitches this weekend. I'm still happy I get to play in this sandbox for free, so I won't complain too loudly, I guess! ;)

Did anybody else find it helpful that Renee packed Bella salami? Oh, sometimes you just have to go for the cheap lunch meat joke.

Have I told you lately that you guys are the best readers in the fandom? MWAH!

XXX ~BOH