9.
Angela, my boss Carmen, and I are all sitting at lunch on Wednesday when our conversation takes an unexpected turn.
"Bella, is Edward seeing anyone?" Carmen asks, causing me to nearly choke on my burger. I take an extra big bite to give myself enough time to be nonchalant about Edward, but that only buys me a few seconds, when I really need a few years, maybe the rest of my life.
"Ummm…" I shrug. "No."
I say the word slowly and strangely because the lie doesn't really want to come off my tongue. It's a strange feeling; I'm still not comfortable talking about my personal life to anyone except my close friends, and barely them most of the time. But I feel like I can't hide this thing between Edward and me for too much longer. I feel like I may not want to hide it for too much longer. However, I've never been the gushy girl, and although I do consider both Carmen and Angela friends, they're still co-workers, so my keep my mouth shut.
"Oh good!" Carmen says. Good? Why the hell would that be good? "I want to set him up with my friend, Gianna." That's why.
"You do?" My voice sounds all weird and shaky, like I've swallowed a bunch of pop rocks but they're stuck in my throat.
"Yeah, she's really great," Carmen says. I tell myself calmly that it doesn't really matter. Not only will this set up probably never happen, but if Carmen ever did ask Edward, he'd say no.
"Is she the wildlife photographer?" Angela asks.
"Yeah, she just got back from a shoot in the Amazon rainforest."
Okay, he loved Anaconda, but that was probably more for JLo's ass than anything. He'd say no. He wouldn't be interested in this Gianna chick.
"That's amazing," Angela says. I nod woodenly in agreement. "Wait, she's also the part time model right?"
For the love of God.
"Yes," Carmen says, nodding. "But she donates all the money she makes from her modeling job to Unicef."
Goddamn, when did people stop being normal and doing just one thing? Like say, working at a real estate agency.
"So anyway, I just think they'd get along fabulously. Edward's such a wonderful guy, he's funny, and there's no doubt she'd find him attractive," Carmen says.
Angela giggles. "Seriously. Bella knows what a crush I have on him."
Carmen grins. "Who doesn't? If I were ten years younger, I would hit that daily, nightly, and ever so rightly."
I nearly choke on my burger again. I mean, I'd always known women find Edward attractive; I'm not that much of an oblivious dumbass. But approaching this from a different side—the side where I get to hit it daily, nightly and ever so rightly, as Carmen so aptly put it—feels weird. I'm half proud over the fact, half sort of annoyed, because he's mine, god damn it.
Luckily, Angela speaks again. Not so luckily, she says, "Honestly, there's no doubt that he'd find her attractive either—she's go-o-orgeous." Apparently, she's so gorgeous, Angela had to add extra syllables to the word.
"Oh, yes. I'd kill a cute bunny for her legs," Carmen agrees.
"Right? Or her boobs. She's got great boo—"
"Edward is my boyfriend!" I blurt out.
My eyes widen and then close as I shake my head, unable to believe that I have reached this level of idiocy. Not only did I tell them about Edward and me, I told them something about me and Edward that isn't really true yet. I mean, we're heading there, clearly, but only I would be dumb enough to let my boyfriend be the third person to know that he is, in fact, my boyfriend.
"What?" Angela shrieks. "Edward is your boyfriend?"
"Ummmm…" I manage to pull my foot out of my mouth and say, "Yeah. Kind of. Yeah. Kind of…. Yeah."
Angela and Carmen both frown. "Is it 'yeah' or 'kind of'?"
"Both?"
Angela apparently only hears "yeah" because she asks, "Since when?"
"It's new. Really new," I tell her. Like about twenty seconds old. And sort of one-sided right now.
Angela and Carmen barrage me with questions through lunch, but I manage to get through the conversation without further damage. I do this mostly by mumbling and taking big bites of my food—so many, in fact, that when I'm done eating my burger and cramming the steak fries in my mouth, I start on Angela's leftover quesadillas.
I take stress eating to a whole new level.
By the time I'm seated in front of my computer, waiting for Edward to log on, I'm a nervous wreck. I could easily not tell him about the conversation—no, scratch that. I'm so used to telling Edward pretty much everything that I can barely imagine not telling him this.
And though I know the outcome—that by the end of this conversation, if all goes as planned, Edward will, officially (and more importantly, with his knowledge) be my boyfriend—my stomach is in knots. It feels a little silly and immature, like we're in middle school and have to declare it to each other instead of having the title sort of evolving more organically. That's my fault, of course, but I have other worries, too. If I can barely hold the conversation about being his girlfriend, what does that say about the kind of girlfriend I will be?
However, the minute his face comes on the screen, the knots fall away. Then he grins at me, and my heart flips, and the knots come back because even through the grainy screen and his sunburn, he looks so good, and I realize just how much I want this.
"Hey."
"What's up? How was your day?" he asks.
"I did something today…" I say, trailing off ominously.
He frowns. "Okay… what'd you do?"
I mumble a fast-forwarded version of the story.
"Uh what? I can't understand you," he tells me.
Chewing furiously on my cuticle, I tell him again.
"Bella!" he says, getting frustrated. "Take your finger out of your mouth, don't mumble, and speak like a real person. What did you do?"
I take a deep breath. "I told Angela and Carmen you were my boyfriend."
His eyebrows climb into his hairline. "Okay. Any particular reason, or did you just get up on your desk and shout it to the office—"
"Shut up. It wasn't like that. We were at lunch and—and Carmen wanted to set you up with her friend, Gianna, and she's like a wildlife photographer and model—"
"A wildlife photographer and a model?" he asks, sounding a little impressed.
"Yes! And she's a philanthropist, who helps with Unicef, and she's got legs and boobs!" I tell him unhappily.
He chuckles. "Wait, she's got legs? And boobs? No way!"
"Shut up! It's not funny! Angela said she was really hot, and Carmen kept saying how she'd like you, and you'd like her and—damn it, you wouldn't like her, okay? You like me. And that's it." I cross my arms to mark the end of my tantrum.
Edward grins and looks down, hiding his face from me. Only when I see his shoulders shake do I realize that he's laughing.
"Shut up!" I whine for the third time. "You should be happy I'm getting all possessive."
"I am," he says, between laughs. "I absolutely am. But you know… that's kind of rude of you."
"I know," I groan.
"Not to mention presumptuous," he adds.
"I know."
"I mean, you could have at least mentioned it to me first before your co-workers."
He's literally repeating everything I've been worried about. Granted, he's teasing, because his eyes are twinkling and the corner of his mouth keeps twitching in effort to not smile, but still.
"I know," I repeat, mournfully.
"I mean, you have no idea whether I actually want to be your boyfriend or not."
This stops me short. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah, that's right," he says, assuming a haughty tone. "You just assumed that bam! Bella wants a boyfriend, so Edward should just go along with it. That's not the way a healthy relationship works."
"But… but… " I sputter. He's so good at teasing me; he sets up these little traps, and I just fall right into them.
"You know what assuming does, right? It makes an ass out of you and me. But not so much me, in this case. Just you," he quips.
"So you don't want to be my boyfriend?" I ask. I raise my eyebrow the way he taught me once—I mean, I can raise it about one millimeter, but I'm sure it's really effective.
"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't." He shrugs. "Won't know till you ask me, will we?"
I narrow my eyes at him. "You're such an ass."
"An ass you called your boyfriend. Come on now, Bella. You said it. Take responsibility and ask me."
I roll my eyes. "Fine. But for the record, I feel like I'm fifteen years old."
"For the record, you act like it too," he says.
"Hey! Just because—"
"Quit stalling and ask me, Bella. Your window of opportunity is slowly closing."
"Is that so?"
"Oh yeah," he says. "These Cali girls love me."
"Even though you and Elmo have the same color skin right now?"
He glares at me. "Boy, when you ask me, it's going to be really easy to say no."
"In that case, let's get it over with," I say. Adopting the most disinterested tone I can muster, I say, "Edward. Do you want to be my boyfriend?"
"I'm considering it." His smirk gives him away, but I play along. "I need to be fully informed first. Does it come with any special privileges? Particularly those of the breast viewing variety?"
I laugh. "Sure, why not? You get unlimited breast viewing."
He grins widely. "Really?"
I see where he's going and amend my statement. "You get unlimited live breast viewing."
He scoffs. "Not good enough."
"Alright then," I say, shrugging. "Guess you're not my boyfriend."
He shrugs too. "Guess not."
We sit there for a few minutes, not talking. At one point, I pull out a nail file and start giving myself an at-home (aka shitty) manicure. He twiddles his thumbs. I whistle the theme from Jeopardy. He pulls out a magazine.
But as soon as he opens to a page, he shuts it and slams it on his bed saying, "Alright, fuck it. I want to be your boyfriend."
I can't even be bothered to pretend I'm not absolutely smitten. "And I want you to be my boyfriend. Though, I'm not sure why we needed to go through all that fuss."
He smiles. "Are you kidding me? That's the first time I've not been the one pushing this thing along. It was nice to kind of have the ball in my court, even if we both knew how full of shit I was."
Maybe I'm getting better at this stuff, but I see through his words. For the first time, I gave full indication that I was as deep in this as he was. He's so confident and sure all the time, I forget that he needs reassurance—and that the person he'll probably want it most from is me.
"Hey Edward?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're my boyfriend."
Yes, I feel fifteen, but in this wonderful way. It's as if the cutest boy in school—or in my opinion, the world—likes me back and getting to call him my boyfriend is this wonderful privilege that is solely mine. All mine. (Jeez, that only child thing is really coming out strong these days.)
But that fluttering in my heart is only amplified tenfold when he smiles, almost shyly, and ducks his head down. I can't see his blush under his sunburn, but his posture tells me everything.
When he looks up again, he's back to his normal cocky, joking self. "I mean, in the future, just so we're clear, it'd be nice to have a little heads up. Like, if you're going to, I don't know… move in with me, just make sure to let me know before I walk in to my place and wonder where all the extra furniture came from."
I roll my eyes. "Alright, one step at a time there, buddy."'
He nods. "Okay. So you're my girlfriend."
"Yes. And you're my boyfriend."
"Alright." He grins.
"Alright." I grin.
"We're the dumbest people in the world for doing this over the computer," he says, sighing and still smiling. "I don't even get to kiss you."
"I mean, you do." I correct him. "Just not right now."
He smiles. "True. But it feels... very unceremonious, this whole thing."
"More unceremonious than me blurting it out to Angela and Carmen with a mouthful of cheeseburger and A1?" I ask.
He sighs. "Yeah, I guess none of this is particularly romantic."
My heart melts a little because he wants so badly for this all to be perfect. I'm having my Pinocchio comes to life moment, where I'm suddenly a real person with emotion and empathy. It occurs to me that this is what feelings feel like. This is may even be what lov—
Whoa. My thoughts stop short. Not quite ready for that yet.
"I just think," Edward continues, snapping me out of my thoughts, "that it'd be nice to have something seal the deal, you know?"
"You're right."
His words, my thoughts, they've all reminded me that I'm still really new at this—and that I'll probably mess it up, and I need Edward to be on board with my messing.
He looks at me suspiciously. "I am? You never say that."
"You're right about sealing the deal, at least. I feel like we need to maybe set some rules."
He groans. "Bella, no. I meant like… you flash me again, and we seal the deal. We don't need rules. We're not a board game. "
"See, I think you're wrong!"
"We are a board game?"
I roll my eyes. "No! I mean, I think that we can't do everything like we did as friends and just expect it to work."
"Yes, we can. We absolutely can. Friends who have sex sounds like the perfect relationship to me."
"Then you and Emmett should date."
He makes a disgusted face. "Let me rephrase that. Friends, sex, and you sound like the perfect relationship to me."
I blush and smile and swoon a little, I do. But I'm still me, even if I'm this enamored, girlfriend version of myself. "No, it's not! Friends have a higher threshold for annoying each other than boyfriends—" he gives me a look "—fine, and girlfriends—do. So that can be rule number one. No annoying each other."
His shoulders drop. "You're an idiot. Our whole friendship is based on me annoying you, you liking it, and me liking that you like it."
Hmmm. He's correct—not that I'll say that out loud again. "Alright. No annoying each other too much."
"Alright," he says. "If we're doing this, then rule number two: no acting like it's inevitable that we're going to break up."
"Alright, I'll try not to. But I can't help that I'm realistic—"
"Cynical," Edward interrupts.
"Realistic about relationships. I mean, look at my mom."
"Look at my mom and dad," he counters.
"They're a fluke," I argue.
"Cynic."
"I'm just saying that people break up a lot."
"But all it takes is one to stick."
"You think I'm sticky?" I blurt, wondering when did I turn into such an idiot?
He smiles and chuckles. "Like glue."
"Okay—"
"No, wait, ask me again."
"Are you kidding me? I can't even believe I said that the first time."
He knits his eyebrows together and I hate that on him, it looks adorable; if I tried the same expression, it'd look like I was counting eyelashes or having a conniption. Maybe both. I also hate how irresistible I find it. "Just ask me, Bella."
"Fine. You think I'm sticky?" I deadpan.
"Like a fourteen-year-old boy with HBO." He snickers, pleased with his own wit.
He needs someone to keep his ego in check, so I quickly change the subject saying, "So, rules."
I'm a little surprised when he says nothing and his smile fades.
"What's with the face, Cullen?" I ask. He's got his little boy pout on, where his eyes get inversely big to the size of his mouth.
He shrugs. "I don't know..." His tone tells me that he is somewhat serious. "I just... I don't want to make the mistake of over-thinking this."
I sigh. "Edward, that's what I do. I over-think about what toothpaste to buy at the store, even though I always end up with the same one."
He nods. "I know. And I get it, I really do. That's how you are; I'm not looking to change that. I just... you're fun, Bella. We're fun. That's my favorite thing about us. I..." He trails off before seemingly gathering his resolve and saying, "I don't want that to change now just because you're my girlfriend."
All of a sudden, I am filled with an almost overwhelming pang. I know we're talking it out, and that's probably the best thing we could do, but I need him here. I want to hold his hand and see his eyes without the filter of a screen, HD though it might be. I want to touch and kiss him to remind myself, to remind both of us of this thing between us, that it's really as strong as I think it is. I just want him here. Where he should be.
Quietly, I admit," Edward... I don't really know how to be a girlfriend. I might mess it up."
It's like my admission of insecurity gives him strength. Maybe he needs to see how much I care more often than I think he does to know I'm right where he is.
He smiles. "That's kind of my point. You don't need to be a girlfriend. You don't need to be anything. I fell for you when you were just being yourself."
I smile back at him. "What if 'myself' is kind of a bitch?"
He snorts. "'What if'?"
"Hey!"
"Come on, just face it. I know you like you know me. Warts and all."
"I don't have warts."
"Yeah but you do have a birthmark on the inside of your thigh," he says. He waggles his eyebrows with a strange but signature mix of humor and innuendo. "How many other people know about that?"
I live to wipe that smug smirk off his face, so I pretend to think about it before counting off on my fingers. "Well, my first boyfriend—"
"Alright, alright. I get it. Rule number three: No being stupid and all jealous and possessive." I don't say anything. "What?" he asks.
"I think I really am jealous and possessive," I confess.
He grins. "Oh yeah?"
"Isn't the whole lunch fiasco proof enough?"
His laugh is clearly making fun of me, but it's alright. I clearly deserve to be made fun of. What I don't know if I deserve is him, especially when he says, "Ah, whatever. I kind of like it. It's hot. And if it ever bugs me, you know I won't hesitate to tell you."
I want him to know I heard what he said; that I want to make this as good for him as he's making it for me. So going back to the original subject, I say, "We could have fun rules too! Like once a week, we must do something awesome."
'Like what?"
"Like... I don't know. Try and cook a new cuisine."
He snorts. "Of course, your idea of fun would be food."
I make a face but can't really deny it. "Your idea of fun is probably... I don't know, staring at my boobs."
He gets that glint in his eyes where I know he's either about to say something really sexy or really funny. Lots of times it's both; either way, I can't deny how much I like it.
"That's pretty much exactly my idea of fun. Topless Sundays."
I roll my eyes, but the idea doesn't sound all that ridiculous to me. I may not be as much of a fiend about it, but I can hardly say no to the idea of seeing him shirtless. "We could do Topless Cooking Sundays?"
He laughs. "Done. Rule number four: Topless Cooking Sundays. Nothing that splatters, though." I laugh at the face he makes.
"Rule number five: don't be offended if I don't feel like snuggling every night," I tell him. He chortles. "What?"
"Nothing," he says, still laughing. "It's just that when you're slee—never mind. That rule is fine."
"Alright... what else?" I ask.
"Please keep your house stocked with Coke."
"... caine?"
"Cola." He looks at me like I have a second head. I kind of wish I did. At least then I'd have one brain.
"I'm a Pepsi girl but that's fine. Compromise."
"Don't get whiny if I don't shave," he tells me.
"You don't get whiny if I don't shave," I retort. If he can agree to this, I've scored a coup. I hate shaving my legs.
"Fair enough," he agrees. Yes! "You have to let me see your breasts at least once a day."
I roll my eyes. "Fine. And if we break up—"
"Bella..." he warns.
"No, hear me out. I'm not being a Debbie Downer."
"Okay."
"If we break up, I get your Snuggie as relationship alimony."
"You gave that to me for Christmas!"
"Yeah, and I was really hoping you'd think it was so ridiculous, you'd give it back to me. But you liked it!"
He rolls his eyes. "Fine. You know what? It's yours."
"Really?" I ask, delighted.
He laughs. "It takes so little to please you sometimes."
I shrug. "It's the simple things in life, like blankets with sleeves."
"Alright. But if we break up, you have to remember how nice I was about the Snuggie and let me still see your boobs for the first few weeks of our break up as therapy."
"Sometimes, I feel like you only want me for my boobs."
He shrugs and smiles. "Sometimes, I will. But rest assured, no mater what, I will always love yo—"
"Edward!"
"—ur breasts," he finishes.
"Oh," I say, lamely, realizing that he wasn't going to say what I thought he was.
It could get awkward. By all means, it should get awkward and I wait one, two, three seconds for that burning embarrassment that comes with being a total moron to set in.
But it never does, because with a ridiculous snort, Edward cracks up and tells me just what I was thinking. "You are such a idiot, Bella." He's laughing so hard—and it doesn't even matter that it's at me, and not with me because it's better than any reaction anyone else would have had.
Once he regains his composure, we talk for a while longer. I keep expecting things to be different because we've taken this huge step in going from friends to officially more. But we're still just us, exactly the same. I hope we stay like this always, and that prompts me, just before we both sign off for the night, to add more thing.
"Rule number… whatever," I tell him. "Don't stop being my best friend."
"C'mon, Bella," he says, grinning. "I couldn't stop being your best friend if I tried. And I'd never try."
This moment should be monumentally romantic, but instead, it winds up being kind of goofy—I'm looking at him on the screen, and he's looking at me on the screen so even though we're trying, we're not actually looking into each other's eyes, just at them.
"Goodnight, Bella," he says. His voice is so soft with affection, it gives me goosebumps and stomach flips.
"Goodnight. I'll see you soon."
His smile is hot and warm all at once. "I hope you know I'm not just going to stop at seeing."
"I'm holding you to that."
—|—
I manage—through a coaxing combination of whining, pleading, and kisses to the side of your neck—to convince you to sleep without your shirt on. You stick to your guns about the boxers, but I guess I can compromise on that.
You curl on your side, and this is where is gets weird. I've slept with you, but can I sleep with you? I'm a bit of a cuddler—something I'm ashamed enough of to have hidden from you guys all these years—but I don't know if you are. I slide my arm around your waist, tentatively moving it up and down till I can be comfortable—till I know you're okay with it.
After a few moments, you mutter, "For God's sake", and move backwards into me so we're spooning. You take my hand and place it on your breast.
You fall asleep a few minutes later and turn around. I would have never pegged you for a cuddler, but you snuggle right into my side. Two seconds later, I find out you really aren't a snuggler—you're a freaking burrower, and you dig, dig, dig into me until I'm nearly falling of the bed, teetering on the edge of it on my side.
This might be a problem. Falling on my ass once can be passed off as goofy and charming. Twice and I'm a moron without motor skills.
I nudge you.
"Edward," you mutter. I don't know if you're answering my movement or talking in your sleep. I thought I already knew which way I liked you saying my name best. But this one, as you attempt to be as close to me as physically possible—maybe even closer—is pretty great, too.
Suddenly, you roll over, clutching my arm as you do, and bring me with you toward the middle of the bed.
Doesn't really matter. I've already fallen.
thanks for reading, guys. Edward comes back next chapter, then we have one more and an epi. I'm sticking to my guns; no more chapter splitting.
americnxidiot (aka needy robin) betaed this and used Rob gifs to demonstrate her feelings about certain sections. I won't say how awesome she is because the previous sentence just did it for me.
So I realized I sort of suck and rarely get to review replying. And I hate to pull out the busy card because every author is busy and a lot of them do it anyway, so I'll just say sorry. I hope you guys know how much I appreciate it. You're so so lovely and I love to hear what you say whether its in a review, PM, twitter, discussion, whatever.
So tell me things: Do you like Coke or Pepsi? Do you do Topless Sundays? Do you own a snuggie?... do you want to?
Or if you want to just wanna talk about the story, that's great too.
