Previously, in Chapter Seven ...

"My dad owns a car dealership in Seattle," Cullen tells her. "Maybe you should check it out sometime."

Mama grins up at him, bobbing her traitorous head.

"Maybe I will."


Pre-read by Jonesn, my sister from another mister. Beta'd by 'the voice of reason,' SunflowerFran. We all love each other to bits, but you wouldn't know it from our group, Facebook chats. hehehe.


Chapter Eight: Jack and Jilling

I attempt to sleep after Cullen leaves that night, but I find it impossible. My body is a live wire, sparking and flaring, ready to a raging inferno under the buttery softness of my bed sheets. My eyes wander around the dark room and land on the vanity mirror from time to time, and my skin tingles with the memory of watching him strip down bare right in front of me,well technically behind me, but you get my drift.

It's around ten o'clock when I hear the familiar rumble of 'The Beast,' as my mama calls it. I shoot straight up in bed, then wiggle from beneath the covers. The sheets become entrapped around my ankles, the thin cotton fighting against my protesting legs just as the flash of headlights filter through the window. I stumble from the bed, kicking aside my cotton confines.

I'm shockingly stealthy once I reach my window. I hide behind the curtains, my heart skipping in my chest as my truck lights go dim. Cullen slips out of the truck, and then slams the door behind him. Another flash of headlights approach and Jasper's blonde hair comes into view. Jasper parks an unfamiliar, blue pickup-truck on the curb and joins him beside my truck. I watch in confusion as Cullen pops the hood, seeming to give everything under the monstrosity of rusted metal another once-over. He says something to Jasper who walks to the blue truck, digs around in a toolbox in the back, and returns with some tools that are too far away for me to identify.

Not that I'd know what they were anyway.

I watch the boys for what seems like hours. The rain is long gone, but Cullen's shirt clings to his body regardless. My incisors embed into my bottom lip once Cullen pulls that sweaty shirt from his body, wipes his forehead with it, and later tosses it over one shoulder. The moonlight spills on his back, and even from this height, I can see the contrast in his skin, light to dark, the ink creeping over his shoulder blades and down his arms.

My hand finds its way into my panties about ten seconds after they leave. I fight with Cooch for hours until my wrist goes sore, then numb. I jill-off long after my joints hurt, protesting in lust-induced pain. My clit feels as though it's about to explode, but no matter how much I stroke, rock my hips, or pinch my nipples, my orgasm evades me.

"I hate you, Cooch. Just give me one, good O. Please."

Cooch is silent, other than the stubborn throbbing of my clit. I curse her to the fiery depths of the coochie hell from whence she came. I even threaten to get that piercing Cullen claimed would look good on me. I totes googled that shit five minutes after he left my sight of that piercing on my laptop aroused some sick part of me, but the wuss in me could never go through with something like that. That piercing looks painful, but Cooch feels no pain.

The whore is a masochist.

I eventually fall asleep, with my hand in my underwear no less. But my sleep is restless. My dreams are filled with a tatted back, chest, and arms. It's filled with a jutting cock and warm breath on my neck.

In other words, it's the first night I dream of Edward Cullen.

Unfortunately, it's not the last. For the next few weeks, I dream of him every night and with every night the dreams grow more explicit. They turn into fantasies, really. Fantasies of the night I saw him naked in my bedroom. In the fantasy, I stand from where I sit on the edge of the bed. I approach him and tell him exactly what I need.

And he gives it to me.

Over and over and over.

I wake up every morning with an over-heated body, and my skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat. As hot as I am, I find myself shivering. And Cooch? That bitch is drooling, throbbing, and begging for friction, which I give her. But still. No O.

In other words, I'm miserable.

Things only get worse as the days dwindle by. I'm jumpy around him now, and it doesn't help that we continue to share a locker with one another. Every time I see him, my body bursts into flames with the memory of my late-night fantasies. And Cullen? It's as if he's got ESP or something. Like he can sense it.

Maybe I'm being paranoid, but since the night he worked on my truck things have become ... strange. The teasing is not so brutal, and the insults have completely stopped. Sometimes he brushes himself against me, oh-so-innocently, but I could almost swear that the heated look in his eyes is less than innocent.

~c00ch~

"My mom and I are going to your dad's car dealership after school today."

We're standing beside his locker, well, our locker. The dial of the lock clicks in his hand, and I shift in place waiting for him to respond.

"Maybe I'll see you there," he murmurs, his honey-laced voice making my heart spin and sputter. "I help out in the garage ... changing oil and shit."

A mental image appears before me, taunting and teasing me.

Shirtless Cullen.

Shirtless, tatted, hot as fuck Cullen ... smeared with grease.

Before I can formulate a halfway intelligent response, I notice Lauren Mallory approaching in the distance. My lips press into a hard line, and my nose wrinkles in disgust, and all fantasies of Cullen's lean, grease-smeared body fizzle away before my eyes.

I can't stand Lauren Mallory.

It's not only the way she cheapens herself by hanging all over Cullen in the halls, it's her demeanor in general. There's an air of indifference towards others that aren't in her crew that surrounds her, her crew, consisting of other brain dead losers such as Jessica Stanley. They all snub anyone who is not in their clique, as though they are the superior ones roaming the halls in their designer duds, while everyone else is just ... nobody.

There's a stern look of determination taking control of her pretty face today. The makeup she wears is applied to perfection: smoky eyes, thick eyeliner, and pale lips. The normally straight do she wears everyday, now has endless waves running through it. Her shoulders are squared beneath an expensive, tight sweater, which peeks out from beneath a trendy raincoat. She's beautiful.

Well, she would be beautiful if she weren't such an ugly person inside.

"Here comes your girlfriend." I poke Cullen in the ribs, hating myself for finding any excuse to touch him, especially a pathetic excuse such as Lauren. "I'm sure she hates this October weather. Having to cover up all that skin with extra layers of clothes."

Cullen groans and turns. That unruly hair of his is tousled between his fingers as he watches Lauren pick up pace, her heeled boots clacking loudly. The sound bounces off the walls of the nearly, empty corridor.

"She thinks I'm taking her to the Homecoming dance."

My heart jumps, then speeds out of control. An ominous cloud of dread hangs over my head with those few words. Cullen turns back to face me, but I pretend to busy myself with my phone, refusing to glance up.

"Are you taking her?" I casually ask.

"Meh. Maybe. Beats staying home and jacking off all night."

Cullen's words slice through me, and suddenly I feel so very stupid. Here I am, dreaming of his touch night after night, jilling-off until my hand cramps up, goes numb, then practically falls off. And he's probably been doing the same.

He's jacking. I'm jilling.

Except, I'm sure he's not jacking off to mental images of me … or anyone else in particular for that matter. He just needs a willing, warm body to satisfy his cravings.

I'm ridiculous.

I feel his stare as his eyes roam my face, searching for a reaction to his words, but I never look up. Instead, I walk away just before Lauren plants her skanky ass next to our locker. I shove the jealousy aside and exit the building. The cool, October air slaps me in the face and hopefully knocks some sense into me. I climb into my truck, reminding myself for the millionth time that he isn't mine.

Never has been, and never will be.

~c00ch~

Edward Cullen looks nothing like his father.

Carlisle's hair is so blonde that it's almost white, and slicked-back, not a haphazard mess like his son's. Cullen's hair is the color of copper … or warm, summer sunsets, or maybe melted caramel.

Definitely melted caramel.

Cullen's eyes are the deepest green, as green as the trees and wet ferns surrounding us on our ride to Seattle. Carlisle's eyes are bright blue, with fine lines in the corners, caused by years of hearty laughter and boisterous smiles, I'm sure. He's done nothing but smiled at me and Mama since we arrived at his car dealership.

And I don't think it has a thing to do with a possible auto sale.

What the father and son duo lack in physical resemblance, they more than make up for in looks and swagger. Cullen commands attention with his coy smile and smoldering stares. Carlisle draws it in with his kind attentiveness.

Carlisle lightly touches my mother's arm from time to time as we leisurely stroll around the puddle-filled parking lot. My mother's turned into a thirteen-year old girl, giggling and shit. Her southern accent has become thicker during our visit, and I swear I saw the bitch curtsey one time from the corner of my eye. She's sashaying beside him through row after row of shiny, new cars.

We walk until my legs nearly fall off, but I don't focus on the pain. I can't, not when I get a glimpse of Cullen from time to time through the garage where they change the oil and rotate tires. His tight jeans are hanging from his hips, and the white, wife-beater he wears is sticking to his body, just as it did the night he worked on my truck. Grease is smeared across his arms, and smudged across his high cheekbones. A dirty, red rag hangs out of his back pocket, coming into view along with the band of his boxers as he bends down and checks the pressure in some lucky person's tire.

I'm staring so hard that I trip over my own two feet and nearly face plant, but a warm hand saves me just in time.

"So, Bella," Carlisle says, making sure I'm standing upright before he releases my arm. "See anything you like yet?"

"Oh, yeah," I mutter below my breath. Carlisle gives me a strange look. I clear my throat and shove away, for the millionth time, the memory of his naked, teenage son. "Um, I mean, not really. I'm sort of … attached to my truck, you know?"

"I understand." He nods knowingly and shoots me a soft smile. The warmth in his eyes tells me that he's honest in his sincerity and not just trying to get laid … by my mother.

Ew.

"Maybe we can change Bella's mind and come back to take another look around, Carlisle."

Mama winks at him. Fucking winks, as if she's some nineteen-eighties porn star or something. I leave the two of them behind and shuffle across the slippery parking lot. I feel his eyes, Cullen's eyes, following me as I climb inside my vehicle. I sit inside my truck, wrapped up in stony silence as I wait for Mama, and thinking.

Thinking about him.

Him and Lauren.

I'm so lost in my own, troubled thoughts that I scream when my phone sends me a text alert. I press my hand against my fluttering heart and take a deep, calming breath. I dig the phone out of my raincoat pocket, my eyes bugging out once I read the words flashing across the screen.

Go to the homecoming dance w/me? - Jasper

"Wow. You get an F for originality," I grumble.

I should tell him no. I don't like Jasper … not in that way. Not in the way he or Cullen wants me to …

The words 'no thanks' are already typed on the screen, but my thumbs pause before I can hit send. The flash of a silver sports car whirls by me, a very familiar silver sports car. The car comes to a screeching halt near the corner of the garage where Cullen stands, apparently sneaking a cigarette out of view of his father.

God love his bad-ass.

My brain is telling me to look away, but I don't. Instead, I remain the masochist that I am, watching as that slut Lauren slinks out of her car and makes her way towards Cullen. My stomach feels queasy and even queasier once he thumps his cigarette to the side and pulls her into his arms. My body finally takes my brain's advice, and I drop my eyes back to my lap.

Mama opens the passenger door, letting in a rush of wind. I pocket my phone, then turn on the engine. The truck cranks up right way. Not only does it crank now without a problem, there's also no loud whine as I drive it down the wet streets.

Thanks to Cullen's magic fingers … that I'm sure Lauren gets to appreciate.

"Bella, Edward is walking towards us. I think he wants to-"

I peel out of the parking lot before she can finish her sentence. Mama lets out a startled gasp, but I never glance her way. I'm concentrating too hard on my grip, praying that I don't rip the steering wheel from the dashboard.

Better the steering wheel than Lauren's skinny, skanky neck.

"Bella, that was rude! What's gotten into you?" Mama asks.

"It's more like what's not gotten into me," I grumble, low enough so she can't hear.

Cooch frowns at my mother and nods at me in agreement.

"Okay. Well, whatever. You won't believe what Carlisle gave me." Mama squeals a little, then bounces in the busted seat beside me.

I side-eye her, noticing a white business card in her hand.

"He gave you his card so he can make some money off you for the next five years?" I question, dryly.

"Ugh. No! He gave me his cell number … and his home number! He wants to take me out for dinner sometime soon."

"That's great, Mama," I say, sans enthusiasm.

"Try to contain the excitement in your voice," she mutters. A sense of awareness seems to wash over her as her eyes widen. "Oh, I see. Gosh, I'm so silly. I can't go out with Carlisle. Not when you and Edward …"

Mama's voice trails off. Truth be told, it creeps me out to think of her dating Edward's father. Why? Because sometimes dating leads to love, which leads to marriage, which leads to …

Cullen as my stepbrother? Gross. I don't even wanna think about it!

I keep my selfish thoughts to myself, as silly as they are. There's no way there's a chance for me to be with Edward. Not when he's made it more than clear who occupies his mind.

Lauren Mallory.

Bitch.

The cab of the truck goes quiet as I maneuver through the Seattle streets. I struggle to remember the direction we came from. It's hard when my mind is so muddled. Mama gives a little sniff beside me, garnering my attention. My heart slowly falls along with a tear that's gathered in the corner of one eye. Panic builds inside my chest, thinking that maybe she's in some sort of pain or something.

"Mama, what's wrong? Do I need to pull over?"

"No, no. I'm just being silly. That's all. It's just …"

"What?"

"Carlisle's the first man to ask me out in five years," she blurts, her cheeks going red at the admission. "Forget it, sweetie. Just forget it."

Mama rests her head against the seat and stares through the window. She wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at the swirl of buildings and cars that we pass.

My throat feels tight, thick with sadness … her sadness. I know my mother is lonely. The extra hours at work, endless amounts of yoga, and the child-like way she sometimes acts still doesn't fill the void that I sometimes sense surrounding her. I've held her back from so many things for most of her life, by just being alive: finishing college on time with her fellow classmates, going out with friends, being young and unrestrained.

Finding a good man.

She'd never admit it, but I know it's true. I remember the few dates she had with men when I was younger. One glance at me and they were gone. Now she's met a man, who, not only knows about me, he has actually met me. A man with kindness in his eyes. And even if it doesn't work out, why should I get in the way of her finding true happiness? Why should I let some silly, unrequited crush stand between her and this nice, handsome guy.

Besides … it's not as though he's asked her to marry him, Bella. It's just a date.

"Mama, can you look up some dress shops around here on your phone?"

Mama shoots me a bewildered glance, but pulls her cell from her pocket.

"Why am I looking for a dress shop in Seattle?"

I make a choice in that moment, a choice to get over Cullen the best way I know how. A choice to take the reins from Cooch, the no-good, orgasm-withholding whore.

"Because, I'm going to the Homecoming Dance with Jasper Whitlock."


Long-ass A/N:

TypoKween (insert Hoodie fan-girling like a One Direction pre-teen here), author of 'The Slowest Burn' (such a bad-ass, swoon-worthy Edward in that fic) and blogger extraordinaire, made a fuck-awesome, kick-ass, animated banner for my fic 'Dirty South Drug Wars.' You can find it, along with an amazing review of DSDW, at Ms. Swan's Bookstore (swansbookstore dot blogspot dot com). DSDW also came in third place for best fight scene at the fanfic-n-tastic awards. Thanks to all of you who voted!

The Bad Boys of Twilight Contest- I'm hosting this contest, along with some other awesome peeps and an amazing combination of writers and readers who will be judging. Author search 'Bad Boys of Twilight' to find contest details. We begin accepting entries on Feb. 1st. There's a first-time writers award category, so get to work potential, new authors!

Tatted Hips - there's a couple of first dates coming up ... Esme and Carlisle, Bella and Jasper, plus a little drama and a sweet moment at the dance. You don't wanna miss it. Thanks to all who not only read, but review. I'm a fail most of the time at answering reviews, but just know that it's only because I'm so busy writing. I'll try to reply to them sometime this week.

Hope you had a wonderful holiday season. I'll see you Friday!