Chapter Seven

"You're old," I say to Carl as soon as I open the door.

"That's what I hear, but I get to eat my favorite meal tonight. Thanks for coming."

"Of course."

I take a seat at the kitchen table and thumb through a magazine, waiting for everything to get set up for the birthday dinner. I'm not feeling very helpful tonight. I've been studying for a big exam and just feel down lately.

"Hey, Aunt Bella," Rose says from the fridge where she gets herself some water.

"Hey." She turns around and wow! She's stunning. Her long blond hair is curled, and her blue eyes pop with her white top. "You need to stop growing," I say.

"No thanks. It's nice to fit into my jeans better. Hips. Who knew?" she says enthusiastically.

"How're things?"

"Good."

"Any boy news we can rush through before your mom comes nosing around?"

"Oh em gee! Yes. This guy, Emmett, who's a junior! He's friends with Edward, so I see him a lot. Anyway, he told Jacob who told Claire who told Leah that he wanted to ask me to the winter dance. And I checked with Edward because I didn't believe it, and he said it was true and that maybe he could take Jessica so we could double so my mom doesn't flip out."

"That's awesome," I say, all the while feeling irrationally angry that Edward may be going to some dumb high school dance with some dumb girl who's not me. Me, who's awesome, by the way. And sexy, and has way bigger boobs than Dumb Girl Jessica.

"I really hope he asks me. And Mom better be okay with it, or I'm going to . . . I don't know what I'm going to—"

"You're here," Esme says, pulling her hair into a ponytail before checking the oven. "Let's eat."

. . . . .

A week later, I'm still in a funk even though I passed my harrowing test. The problem is Edward. I haven't heard from him. Haven't seen him. Haven't even thought about him.

That last one's a lie.

A big one.

In an attempt to have some fun, and forget about Edward for at least a while, I decide to attend one of Lauren's parties. We've been friends since freshman year where we met in English 101.

Angela and I are hopped up on cute boys and flirting like mad. I've danced with two hotties, and I'm looking for a third when I see him. Edward. He enters the kitchen, some friends at his heels, all surveying the goods—college girls. No, thanks. I do not want to see this. I do not want to see him.

I slip outside before he can catch my eye. I do not need to be talking to him whatsoever. Even though I really, really want to. In fact, I kind of miss him.

I peek through the windows to see him dancing with a few girls. He's got some moves. What I wouldn't give to be able to dance with him, to feel him pressed up against me.

The girl closest, gets on tiptoe to say something to him. He throws his head back in laughter, and I hate that bitch. I want to make him laugh. I want his smiles.

I ignore him after that, turning my attention to Angela. I'm watching her and Ben, her latest crush, play a round of Cornhole when an arm slips around my shoulder. He smells the same—good. I like it. I hate it. I close my eyes. Why is this happening to me?

"Hi, Edward," Angela says. Traitor.

He gives her a wave and leans in. His lips rest at my ear for a brief moment before he speaks. "Come here often?" is his line.

"Yeah, you?"

"Nah, but now I will."

I shake my head. He's unbelievable. "Who do you possibly know here?" I grit my teeth, irritated. If he would just stay away, I could forget about him, move on, find someone my own age. I think.

He squeezes me closer and points across the way to a girl wearing a short skirt and a bright red tank. "That's Jessica. Her sister lives here."

Jessica. Dumb Girl Jessica. The maybe dance date.

"That's Lauren's sister? Seriously?"

I pull back to get a good look at him. His gray t-shirt's frayed at the collar and a little short and tight. It fits poorly, and yet, it fits perfect. He grins like he's figured me out, like he knows I want to throw something at her. I do. This is so annoying. He's so annoying, yet I watch his mouth as he speaks, mesmerized.

"Small world, huh? I mean, we hang out with the same people in the same places. We both like swimming and pizza and T. Swift. It's like serendipity or some shit."

"Did you just use an adult word?"

"Why? Did it turn you on? Make me look more adult?"

"You owe Esme a dollar." And, because I'm slightly intoxicated by his cologne and pissed, I lean in and say, "And it did kind of turn me on."

The cup at his lips drops lower, and the stunned expression on his face is comical. "No shit?"

"None. Wanna go somewhere?"

"Hell yes."

"What about your friends?"

"What about 'em?"

I slip my fingers between his, and his intake of breath is loud. "C'mon."

He follows me through the house and into Lauren's room. I've never done anything like this in my life. Once the door is closed and locked, we stand absolutely still, staring at one another, our hands still clasped. "You can't kiss me."

"Okay." He stares at my lips. "You're holding my hand."

"I mean it."

He nods, peeks his tongue out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip, and I'm gone. I lunge. My lips are on his, firm and steady. My hands in his hair keep him still until he puls me fully into him so we're pressed against one another.

"Is this happening?" he asks, short of breath.

"Absolutely not." I dive back in, and this time I roam my hands down his chest, around his waist, and up his back.

His fingers squeeze my waist and inch under my shirt. My bra clasp is in his hands. I freeze, my lips open, breathing against his. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Nothing. Don't stop." He drops his hands down to my hips and kisses me again tentatively until I forget about the bra incident and just feel his lips on mine.

We stay that way for several minutes and get to know each other's sighs as our pace slows.

"Why do you have to be such a good kisser?" I whine and drop my head to his chest.

"Because I am." I swat his chest, and he laughs, his eyes shining with glee.

"I'm totally going to wipe that smile off your face."

"I doubt it." His smirk dares me.

I grab the hem of his shirt and yank it over his head so fast he looks dazed. I walk straight forward, forcing him to edge backward until he hits the bed with his knees and sits down. I grin triumphantly, but I don't expect him to grip my hips, pull me down, and drag us both to the head of the bed. He's good at this—the touching.

He wraps a strong hand around my back to pull me close and kisses me, slow and deep. I have to keep the upper hand or this is not going to end well. Like I-would-go-to-prison not end well.

I tilt his head back and attack his neck with kisses. He smells amazing. I smooth my lips over his collarbone and across his chest. His breathing's picked up, and he's watching me. His stomach shivers when I lave my tongue across it. He mutters a much more adult word than shit when I grip his jeans and yank before biting his hipbone.

I straddle him again and press a kiss to his pulse point. "You owe more money to the swear jar."

"It was worth it."

"I know," I say and roll my hips slowly while pressing a kiss to his swollen lips. I roll them again, and he sighs, dropping his head back. It hits the wall with a low thud.

"Want me to stop?" I grind again.

"No." It's a gasp.

I yank his head from the wall and kiss him deep while I continue moving my hips over him. I've never been angrier with my clothing in all my life. My shorts are in the way; my shirt strains over my breasts uncomfortably. I hate it all. I suspect Edward does too, though he doesn't complain.

He kisses what little skin he can reach around my neck and even dips his finger into the collar of my crewneck to get to my collarbone. "Can we please—"

"No way," I say, breathless. I'm so close, and so is he.

"Just your shirt."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I—no. I said no."

He groans petulantly, and I feel like a damn kid. A fifteen-year-old at her first dance, dry humping in the backseat of her date's car. Only this is worse because I'm an adult and in my friend's bedroom. What is wrong with me?

That question is answered when Edward rears up, pressing so hard against me. I shatter, my body spinning out of control.

What's wrong with me?

I really like Edward. A lot. That's what's wrong.

I crush my lips to his, opening wide and devouring him the way I wish I could with my body. He follows me over, jerking until he stills beneath me. We both hold still, breathing heavily wrapped in each other's arms.

A knock at the door brings me back to reality. "Lauren! Some guy's asking about the drinks."

"Jessica," Edward mouths.

"She's not in here," I call, embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed. And still hating Jessica.

"Oh, sorry," Jessica says, and then it's silent.

Edward hugs me to his chest and breathes me in, but my arms go limp as my guard goes back up.

"Hey. You okay?" he asks, trailing his fingers down my arms.

"No, I'm not. This is . . ."

"Really great?"

"How can you say that? You're seventeen!"

"And it was hella-awesome."

"You don't get it. This is wrong."

"It's not wrong. It's fine. We didn't do anything wrong. We even stayed within the bounds of the law."

I shake in disgust and swing my leg off him. "This can't happen again. You can't kiss me again. You can't—not even flirting—not even—"

"What?" He tilts his head, looking adorably rumpled and relaxed.

"I can't see you again. I can't. It's not safe. This isn't safe." I'm walking the room now, pacing, running my hands through my hair.

"We did okay." He looks around the room, searching for something. I spot it before he does and toss him a box of tissues from Lauren's dresser. The weight of the moment hits me when he unbuttons and unzips to clean himself.

"What did we do?"

"We made out and got each other off. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is I wanted to do more."

"Yeah, join the club."

"This isn't a joke!" I pull at my hair and turn around as he finishes his cleaning.

"Come here. Let's talk about this like adults."

"Like adults?" I huff a laugh and sit as far away from him on the bed as possible.

"Why are you so scared? We just can't have sex. That's okay."

"Maybe for you."

"Ah," he says, looking me up and down. Like I'm the problem. Like my desire to have sex is what's keeping us apart.

"Don't do that. Don't look at me like I'm some brazen woman."

"You were pretty aggressive. I don't mind. I thought I was going to combust when you pulled on my pants."

I stare at his jeans, more specifically what's under his jeans, and when I meet his eyes, he's grinning.

I'm not. "Look. I know myself. I know how I am and how I like things, and if you'd asked me one more time to lose my shirt, I would've, and then we would've gotten naked—"

"This is a great story. How does it—"

"And then jail!"

That shuts him up.

But he's even cuter now that he's solemn and a bit forlorn. I want to kiss his pouty lips. I have got to get out of here, so I stand.

"I have to go. I'm sorry, Edward, but this just can't happen."

"Bella, wait—"

But I'm already gone.

. . . . .

I feel like garbage as I drive home because I've come to a conclusion: I'm sick. Sick and depraved. I took advantage of a kid. Because I like him. And because I was jealous. And because he was willing.

I can never ever ever ever do it again.

I call Esme for confirmation. If anyone can help me be strong, it's her. She's always been good at lectures and pick-me-ups, and I need both.

"I'm sick."

"Then go to a hospital. Why are you calling me so late?" Esme's voice is rough.

"I'm mentally ill."

"What is going on?"

"I molested him in my friend's bed."

"Edward?"

"Yes, who else?"

"Well, I don't know."

"Of course you know. Everyone knows."

"And no one cares, Bella. Honestly. I mean, I think you should wait. That'd be the responsible thing, but you guys are kind of cute together."

"Don't tell me that. That is the exact opposite thing you're supposed to say."

"Well, it's true. And look at the facts: I started early; Mom started early. Then she basically had two families. The women in our family are unconventional. We do what feels right to us, and that's what you're doing."

"But it's not right."

"It's not right right now, but it will be. Just keep your pants on; you'll be okay."

"I wanted to get naked with a seventeen-year-old tonight. That doesn't concern you?"

"Ew! All right, saying it like that sounds really awful. You're right." A moment of silence, then: "But stop. Take away his age." I do. I think about him. And, damn, I like him so, so much. "Does it feel right with him?"

"Yes," I say.

"Bella, you're being smart about this. You have to be, but I also think you're freaking out a bit too much. Jasper doesn't care. Even Rose is over it."

"What?"

"I overheard Jasper and Edward talking about it the other night, about what it would be like if you two got together, and Jasper was all, 'Whatever, dude, just don't kiss her in front of me. Gross.' And that was it."

"I cannot believe what I'm hearing."

"And Rose had that crush, but she's over it. She knows he likes you, and that's okay."

"And what about Jessica?"

"Who's Jessica?"

"Some bimbo."

"Never heard of her. We good? Can I sleep now?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Just don't have sex; you'll be fine."

I'm quiet for a moment. I can't wrap my head around her words.

She sighs. "Bella, I think he's good for you. And I haven't seen him this happy since his mom got free and clear of cancer."

My heart swells at her words. Really? I make him happy? I do that? I hadn't really thought of that. And he makes me happy. Apart from all the age drama. I need to sleep on all of this.

"Sorry I woke you up," I say.

"It's okay."

"He's a really good kisser."

"Don't tell me that stuff. He's like my kid."

I laugh softly. "Got it. Talk to you later."

"Goodnight."

But is it a good night? I have no idea.

Author's Note: I'm not quite sure why I thought three weeks before school let out would be a good time to post this. I have no time for review replies due to all the last minute parties and water days and field trips. Ahh! Please know I appreciate every review, and I love that you're reading and enjoying the story. Just a head's up, this story is rapidly coming to a close. It's only 9 chapters. Don't hate me. After all, I'm "not bad for Team Switzerland." ;)

Oh! Listen to Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding. It is perfect for this story like whoa. Thanks to at stillfrancesca for bringing it to my attention!