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A very special thanks to my incredible beta, the amazing Lattecoug who puts up with my comma issues. Much love! Check out her latest completed story, Reluctant Hearts.

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads and inspired this story. XO!

Exciting news! Kink is going to be the Featured Favorite this week on TwiFicTrivia (Twitter: Just4TFT). I may have let out a scream that only dogs can hear.

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. You all make my day, but have a little faith! :)

Onward with chapter 9.

Come, join me.


Chapter 9

Bella

I distinctly remember the summer after my first year at Ottawa U. It was hotter than hell in the tiny apartment that was about the size of a matchbox above the tattoo shop. Dad let me stay there for free, so it's hard to complain about it, but I'm going to.

It had exactly three windows, only one of which opened, allowing the lovely humid air to linger in a way that only disgusting humid, summer air can. It seeps into everything- your clothes, your sheets, and your hair. It makes you cranky and angry. You buy fans that promise to make everything better in your sweatshop of an apartment. It's all lies by the evil marketing geniuses at Canadian Tire. No matter how many fans you buy, they only serve to move the repulsive air around in the oven you live in.

You head outside, seeking relief anywhere you can find -the frozen food section of Loblaws, the overly air conditioned Rideau Centre, anywhere that has AC. Your relief is short lived. Inevitably, you must go back to the sad reality that is your sauna.

It's actually a bit worse once you've been in manufactured cold zones. It only serves to heighten the nauseatingly hot air. You don't sleep well. You toss and turn in bed, unable to get any relief that lasts more than a few fleeting minutes. You wake up agitated and sweaty, and it's only seven a.m.

I thought I was going to die that summer. I thought there wasn't anything that could be worse than the sweltering heat of that apartment. I was wrong.

I'm leaning out of the window of the Creamy Dream, practically gasping to take in fresh air- any air that isn't stifling. I never would have associated ice cream with this kind of heat, but clearly, I know nothing. The truck is a sauna, a cramped space, with little ventilation and the constant hum of the soft serve machine that is now permanently planted in my brain.

The day started out great- well, besides not hearing from my Casanova- but I'm trying not to dwell on that at the moment. I was happily cruising suburbia, the light, old-time music blaring from the truck. Doors opened rapidly. Kids emerged, seemingly from out of nowhere, racing down the street, waving their hands and shouting for me to stop. The truck was practically swarmed, and it was only eleven a.m.

I did receive a few dirty looks from soccer moms who were clearly questioning why an ice cream truck would be making an appearance at this time in the morning. God forbid their children should indulge in anything outside of their regimented meals. I didn't care. Seeing the looks on their faces as they clamoured to get to the window, and then took their first bite of cold, creamy goodness was all I needed.

We can learn a lot from kids. It's the simple things in life that should make us happy. That first taste of ice cream on a hot day, when summer is just beginning. Sitting on the curb as it drips over your hand and lands in tiny pools on the pavement. What in our lives as adults brings us this much joy?

But now? Now, at almost six p.m., things are very different. I'd like to stick my head into the freezer and never come out. My hair is a tornado trying to be tamed by a flimsy elastic, little wisps peeking out and sticking to my face just because they can. I can feel a thin trickle of sweat slowly inching down my back.

I feel gross, grungy, and annoyed. It's not a good combination. I know I shouldn't be complaining. The line outside the truck seems to be endless and this, I know, is a good thing. Thank fuck people like their ice cream. It's one of the very few things you can count on in life. Maybe I'll write a book about it-Solving The World's Problems One Soft Serve At A Time. I cackle out the window. I'm clearly losing my mind. The heat has gone to my head and nothing makes sense anymore. My entire body aches. It has since I woke this morning and now, after nearly eight hours of serving out cones to the entire population of Selkirk, I feel like I could collapse.

This morning... it seems like a lifetime ago when I awoke, my thigh muscles complaining from the previous night's activities. After a much-needed shower that did little to erase the memories of Edward, I made a beeline for the Tim Hortons drive through. Coffee, glorious coffeewas needed. Stat. I really don't function well in the morning without caffeine pumping through my veins, particularly after a night like that. Truth be told, I've never actually had a night like that. One-night stands? Yes. Taken to places you only read about? No. The experience has done things to me, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

Caffeine fix satisfied, I sat in the parking lot and finally turned my phone on. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't nothing. That's what I got from him. Nothing. No text, no voice mail- though that may have put me over the edge. It's like it never happened, though the tingling ache that remains between my thighs reminds me it did.

So, I tried to push away the nagging feeling of being disappointed to concentrate on the task at hand. I may not be what he wants, but I can make a whole hell of a lot of people happy with this truck, and damn if I didn't do just that.

Throughout the day, I've been surprised with visits from quite a few people who were at the bonfire. Emmett and Rose stopped by when I was parked at the Marine Museum. Rose wondered why I wasn't wearing the Viking helmet she threw in when I purchased the tank top yesterday. I burst out laughing at the suggestion until I realized she wasn't kidding. Emmett actually thought it would stir up more of a crowd. "Kind of like a little gimmick," he offered in total seriousness. "You know, like Don Cherry with his bad suits."I've been speechless a lot since arriving here and this, yet again, was one of those times.

Shortly after promising I'd at least think about wearing the helmet, Alice arrived with a set of colourful bells she said would bring good luck. She proceeded to hang them so they chime every single time I pass over a cone through the open window.

It really was a sweet gesture, and I found myself smiling at their sound. Until right about now. Now, I want to rip them down and hurl them into the Red River. I do realize that is the sheer heat and exhaustion talking, but believe me, it's tempting.

The visits continued over the afternoon with Mrs. Cope and a group of her city hall workers, trundling out for a cone and chattering away as if they had known me my entire life. Jane's been by and promises to hang up posters for the Creamy Dream if I can get some printed. Hell, Mike has even been by... twice. I'm trying not to dwell on those particular visits. His Days of Thunder sunglasses straight from the nineties and the perma-white manufactured smile only add to his general level of creepiness.

All of these people have stopped by to wish me luck and show their support, but no sign of the one I can't stop thinking about. And I've tried. Believe me. I. Have. Tried. Unfortunately, everything seems to remind me of him.

I need to down about a litre of water to hydrate myself. Water...which leads me to the boathouse...which leads me to the Jet Ski... which leads me to...

Maybe something stronger? Vodka. Which leads me to the gummy bears... which leads me to the feel of his soft lips as they brushed my fingers when he sampled that first one... which leads me to...

Okay, maybe I just needrest? My bed. Which leads me to a middle of the night phone call... which leads me to the enticing sound of his deep, sexy voice... which leads me to... You guessed it.

"Fuck!" I shout at the top of my lungs in utter frustration. Immediately, I cover my mouth, frantically looking from side to side, and see a wide-eyed little boy, maybe ten years old, in a soccer uniform and wearing thick glasses, his mouth dropped open.

"You didn't hear that!"

"I did! You said the F-word!" he whisper-yells, taking a stealthy look over his shoulder.

"No! No! You misheard me. I said...Fudge! Here. You can have some on top of your cone for free." I scramble to the liquid fudge topping, hoping to hell I have some left.

"Maybe you should give me the whole cone for free." His sweet little voice drifts through the window, and I turn back with a grin, lifting a brow, impressed at this little entrepreneur.

"Oh you do, huh? A whole free cone?"

He nods quickly, giving me the big brown puppy dog eyes that are amplified a million times by his glasses. Of course I'm doing this. Who could say no to him?

"And this stays between you and me? I can't have everyone coming and getting free ice cream." I try to put my serious face on, leaning an arm on the frame of the window.

"Just mine," he says, his eyes lighting up.

"You've got a deal, kid." I hold my hand out the window and down to him, grinning as he slips his little palm into mine and shakes it firmly. "One cone with fudge topping coming right the house."

And just like that, my foul and annoyed mood changes. He's practically vibrating with excitement, and it's contagious. The look on his face is enough to make my borderline heatstroke worth it. I carefully make the cone and dip it in extra fudge, spooning out a healthy serving of sprinkles over the top.

I watch him with a smile as he races back to his parents with the cone. It 's like he's won the lottery. He turns and gives me an enthusiastic wave, and his parents do the same. I wave back, watching them happily wander away down the boardwalk.

Parents spend a fortune trying to make their kids happy. Countless video games. Untold thousands dropped on various sporting teams and the latest and greatest associated equipment. Expensive trips to cram in as much as humanly possible into a hectic and short vacation. Turns out, all you need is a free ice cream every now and then.

I can't seem to get rid of the grin as I work to wipe down the machines and counters. I turn off the endless loop of children's classic tunes and switch the radio on, pressing a few buttons until I hear a familiar Hedley melody.

It seems damn fitting right now.

Forces you just can't fight
You're trouble but it's alright

I shake my head, singing along. Edward is trouble. Big trouble. I know this. The rational, level-headed side of me knows this all too well. Hell, I could probably write another thesis about just how much trouble he really is. That doesn't change the way he made me feel last night... or how that feeling has lingered with me all day, or the fact that I'd like to indulge in him again. Maybe I was too quick to brush him off at his suggestion last night.

I gaze out to the boardwalk while I consider this, seeing a couple in the distance, strolling blissfully along towards my truck. I chuckle at the woman who loses her footing, the heel of her ridiculous stiletto getting caught in the slats between the wooden boards. The man reaches an arm out, wrapping it around her waist to keep her from falling. Chivalry isn't dead it appears.

Maybe I should call my Casanova. Under the carefully constructed I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude he puts out there for everyone to see, I know there's something very different inside him. I close my eyes, unable to stop the erotic memories that come crashing back to me from last night. Maybe I should ca-

And then, I hear it. That distinctive, raspy, tempting tone that pushed me so far over the edge last night, I may never recover. With my heart racing, I narrow my eyes in the direction of the couple. He wouldn't fucking dare. Would he? Of course he would.

The world stops turning as they move to the edge of the boardwalk. There is no mistaking that giggle. I heard it last night- only it was intoxicated, high pitched, and he seemed annoyed by it then.

Today apparently, in the waning hours of daylight, he's amused by little drunken Julia. Only she's no longer drunk. Her hand grazes over his firm chest, and he does nothing to stop her. As they close the distance to my truck, she blinks up at him like he's the only man in the entire world.

My gaze travels over his lean form as I remember how it felt to feel his body pressed to mine in the most sensual of ways, and I feel something I haven't felt in a very long time. I'm jealous even though I have no right to be. I have absolutely zero claim on this man. I try to push back the annoying thought of wanting to have one.

Turning away from the window, I try to focus on anything but the sound of his enticing voice drifting to me and the knowledge that he's got his arm around another obviously willing woman less than twenty-four hours after we-

"A large vanilla please." I welcome the interruption of yet another customer to my wandering thoughts. I ride the uninvited wave of disappointment that washes over me.

No regrets? I didn't think I'd have any until right now.

KINK

Edward

Julia is nattering away about a weekend of camping, the details of which are sketchy at best. I can't focus on a single goddamn thing she's saying. The only thing that I can see, the only thing that seems to matter is that I'm treated to glimpses of my Naughty One. She's moving around inside the truck, talking to each and every person in the never ending line that snakes around the Creamy Dream and onto the boardwalk.

And the closer we inch up in the line, the worse this feeling deep in the pit of my fucking stomach gets. I shouldn't be doing this. I curse the sudden emergence of a conscious. Of course, it has to fucking appear now. Why the fuck now? I'm not sure I have all the answers to that, but I'm damn sure it has everything to do with her. She 's gotten under my skin in a way few women have before.

I can hear her laugh, though it doesn't sound genuine like it did last night. I get occasional flashes of the lines of ink on her arm as she passes over cone after cone. She doesn't seem bothered at all by the chaos of kids that hover around in the window in varying states of whining and shouting. In fact, she seems to enjoy it.

I told her last night there was something about her. Something that draws me in and makes me want to learn more. So what the hell am I doing here with Julia? Maybe it's the brush off she gave me last night. Is that all this is? The chase? The excitement? The anticipation?

"Edward?" I'm brought back to reality as Julia's hand tightens around my bicep.

"Hmm?" I glance down at her, seeing a familiar look of longing.

"You haven't heard a single word I've just said, have you?"

I shake my head."Sorry. No."

"Is there something wrong?" she asks, blinking up at me.

I pull her out of the line and off to the side, away from the truck. "We shouldn't do this."

"This?" She gestures to the truck, lifting a brow. "It's just ice cream," she states.

"No it's not. I'm being an asshole." I go with the truth.

"Because you want to get ice cream?" She looks at me like I'm fucking crazy and she's probably right.

I nod, raking my hand through my hair. "Julia, you're a nice girl, I just - "

The look of longing changes quickly to one of disappointment. "Oh. I get it. Say no more. At least we didn't... you know. That would have been awkward." She lets out a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry," I offer. Fuck, I'm an idiot. What the hell was I thinking? Let's hope Julia's not some psycho who likes to cause scenes. I really don't need that shit right now, though it would be all my fault, and I probably have it coming.

"That's okay," she says, waving me off as she starts to back away. "I appreciate the honesty. And maybe I'll see you around sometime. The girls and I are here for a few weeks, and well... you never know. You might change your mind."

"You never know," I reply, even though I'm very fucking sure I do know.

She gives me a little wave, and turns away, twisting a bit in her high heels she has no business wearing, making a beeline back to the boardwalk.

Huh. That was relatively painless. I hope to fuck she's not some closet stalker. She seems normal enough, but don't they all at first?

I contemplate stepping back into line and waiting to talk to Bella, but the line has grown even more at this point. Jasper was right. She's having a kick ass first day.

Reluctantly, I move away from the truck and start to make my way back to Kink. Her laughter drifts to me, and it takes just about everything in me not to turn around. But, I need to check on the drying job on Jasper's bike and see if Emmett is still on schedule with his repairs for the day. If left to his own devices, who the fuck knows what he'll get up to. Besides, the conversation I know I need to have with Naughty One will take time... If we get around to having a conversation at all.

KINK

It's fucking dark by the time I send Emmett home and lock up Kink for the night. Of course, Murphy's fucking law- on the one day I wanted to get the fuck out of work, we're slammed with emergency repairs. It's good for the wallet. Not so much for the plans I had that involved one brunette that I can't stop thinking about.

I'm not even sure if she's still going to be parked where she was earlier today. But this is Hellkirk. It won't take long to find her. I did say I would, and I don't break promises.

Making my way down the aged and worn boardwalk, I see her truck highlighted under the muted glow of the street lamp. I feel the spark of anticipation that has been boiling under the surface all fucking day, the adrenaline kicking in as I close the distance to the truck.

I falter on the way, my eyes narrowing as I distinctly see some fucker way too close for comfort to her. It looks like she's pinned up against the front door of the truck. Some baser instinct takes over and before I can stop myself, I'm picking up the pace, my hands balled into fists, heart pounding harder with each step I take.

I'm laser-focused on them, muscles coiled, ready to take control. Naughty One looks unimpressed by this asshole's presence to say the least, and a few more steps closer only fuels my rage.

Mike. Fucking. Newton.

The slimeball is currently trailing the neon coloured arm of his sunglasses over the chaos of ink on her arm. She shrinks back slightly at the contact, but maintains the scowl. If looks could kill, he'd be dead. Even I can see that from a distance. Why the hell doesn't he?

"What the fuck are you doing?" I don't recognize my own voice. It comes out as an animalistic growl, and he wisely takes a step back from her as I stop a few feet from him. Something raw and possessive has taken over, and I cock my head to him.

Newton shifts nervously, his almost blindingly white high-tops shuffling back against the gravel beneath his feet.

"Is he bothering you?" I ask, my focus never wavering from Newton. His eyes grow about the size of fucking plates and he breaks my gaze, looking back to Bella like he's asking for her help. Fucking coward.

"I can handle -"

"Is he fucking bothering you?" My voice rises, every muscle coiled and ready to strike.

"She's not bothered," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Um... She's standing right here, and actually she is bothered." It's hard not to smirk at the tone of annoyance in her voice.

"You heard her, Newton."

"Edward, I can handle this."

Mike looks between the two of us as I fight to hold on to some thread of sanity. It's slipping very fucking fast. "Wait a minute. Did you fuck him?" he asks as if that's a concept he can't quite grasp or believe. Like I'm not good enough for her.

And that's it. I've had enough of this shit, and I fucking snap. I vault myself at him, my shoulder making impact with his chest as I haul him to the ground. I'm vaguely aware that Bella is shouting, but I can't even register what she's saying. Newton needs to learn his fucking place, and it sure as fuck is nowhere within a forty mile radius of her.

He's gotten softer since the last fight we had, and his back hits the gravel with a resounding thud. It all becomes an adrenaline fuelled blur from there. There's arm flailing by him as he tries unsuccessfully to push me off.

He squeals like a girl as my fist makes contact with his jaw, and I unleash all of my pent up anger and frustration. He brings up both hands to try to block me, not before landing a quick shot to my balls in the process.

I try to block out the searing pain, throwing a hard jab to his ribs, and then I feel a tiny hand fisting my shirt and tugging. "Edward..." Her panicked voice manages to cut through my haze of rage, and I lift off the sorry excuse of a man, glaring down at him.

"If you so much as look at her the wrong the way, Newton..." My voice is strangled and broken, like I've run a marathon or something.

He holds both hands up from his position on the gravel, slowly pushing up to stand. "My bad, Cullen. I didn't realize she was yours." He winces, his hand running over the red mark on his jaw. That will bruise nicely I think, fucking asshole.

I shift uncomfortably, the numbing ache in my balls radiating. What a fucking pussy. Hitting me in the balls? Seriously? From past experience, I know Newton hasn't got a clue how to fight, but come on.

"She's not anyone's." Bella's edgy voice does nothing to soothe to me. I want her to be mine. That much is very fucking clear now if it wasn't before. My chest heaves as I struggle against the instinct to beat the living shit out of him. I feel her hand slide up my arm and over the bottom of the crest tattoo, my muscles flexing under her touch.

"Let it go," she says quietly.

I cut my eyes from Newton to her, seeing concern, heat, and excitement. She's fucking turned on, her big brown eyes drinking me in like she wants to devour me. A mumbled, "Fuck," falls from my lips and the corners of her mouth turn up. What I'd like to do to that mouth.

Newton clears his throat, bringing me back to reality. I level him a look. "I mean it, Mike. Stay the fuck away from her." Her fingers tighten around my bicep as the words leave my mouth.

"I got it. No harm done, man. I'd say we're even." He smirks at me, his eyes lowering to my belt as he rubs his jaw. He has no idea how far from even we are.

As he gathers his cheap sunglasses from the gravel and slinks away like the snake he is, I open and shut my hand repeatedly, hoping to fuck it isn't bruised or worse. How fucking idiotic would I be if I was out of commission from my job because of a fight? Though, it would be worth it. Seeing the look on her face makes it worth it.

I keep my gaze locked to him as he climbs into his absurd, gas guzzling white Cadillac parked behind the ice cream truck. I'm surprised he hasn't gotten bull horns to mount on the hood of his stupid car. I wouldn't put it past him.

He gives us a nervous wave and then disappears, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake. I feel the tension ease only slightly as the sound of the engine fades into the blackened night.

"That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen." I fight between wincing from the dull ache in my balls and smirking as I stare down at her.

"This is the hottest thing you've seen? Me getting hit in the balls?" I ask in amusement, lifting a brow.

"No, you idiot. Someone standing up for me...You standing up for me. No one has ever done that before. Not like this."

"What did I tell you last night, Naughty One?"

She lifts a brow, taking a step back from me. "You said a lot of things last night."

"Mmm... Maybe you haven't been with the right guys."

She wets her bottom lip, her gaze intense and hungry. "And you think you might be the right one?"

Without hesitation, I lean forward, breathing her in like she's the air I need. "I think I'd like to find out. The question is, Naughty One, do you?"


Chapter end notes:

Canadian Tire - Iconic Canadian hardware/automotive parts store that now sells everything from bread and milk to motor oil and lawn mowers.

Loblaws - Massive Canadian grocery store chain. Annoyingly busy at the best of times.

Rideau Centre - Iconic shopping centre in downtown Ottawa. A nightmare to find parking, but so worth it-particularly if you have a shoe problem... not that I have one.

Days of Thunder sunglasses- I hope you're old enough to remember these. If not, Google them. They were Ray Ban-like, had neon green, pink or yellow arms with black frames. You could get them at Burger King in 1990 when Tom Cruise decided he wanted to drive race cars around like an idiot.

Crazy For You - by the fantastic and Canadian Hedley - See them in concert if you can. Loads of fun.

Next Monday - A plan and Jasper's bike race. Sounds innocent enough, right? Mhmm.

In case you missed it at the top, Kink is going to be the Featured Favorite this week on TwiFicTrivia (Twitter: Just4TFT). :)

Are you counting down to Nashville like I am? 18 days to go! Woo Hoo!

Twitter: CarLemon