AUTHOR'S NOTE: When this was previously posted, I received a review from a reader who said the scenario in this chapter sounded "contrived". It's not. It's actually based on a real-life experience I had when I younger. WARNING: a bit of angst coming your way. But just remember, there IS an HEA for all characters in this story!

Chapter 10: Saturday

BELLA…

My mother always told me, "You can't make someone love you if they don't", and she was right. No matter how much you cared for someone or wanted to make a relationship work, if the other person had no feelings for you, or was unwilling to commit themselves to you, then it was all wasted effort.

It had been a little over a month since the incident at Bossa Nova, and some days it felt as if Edward had never even existed. Sometimes I wondered if I'd dreamed that night. When I doubted, my gaze always strayed to his tie hanging off the edge of my vanity mirror. I could see it from my bed, and its very presence reassured me that that night had indeed happened. The scent of his cologne had faded from the silk fabric long ago, but the memories still lingered. That was one thing my mother had failed to tell me. How did you make the memories go away?

Alice and Jake were an official couple now. They "dated" every Friday night—not a real date, because that was against Leather and Lace's stupid rules. Instead, Alice paid to spend the evening with him as an "official" client. They texted each other constantly and Skyped each other to death, but I wasn't jealous of them at all. In fact, I was thrilled for Alice. She'd finally found a man who was interested in her for more than just her bank balance or the fact that she was Dane Brandon's daughter. She was giddy, and who could blame her?

She continued to pump Jake for information about Edward, but it was a lost cause. He politely, but firmly, refused to talk about whatever it was that had hurt Edward so badly. He told Alice that, although he adored me and thought I was perfect for Edward, he valued Edward's friendship too much to talk about his private life without his permission. But he reassured me through the Alice Grapevine that he was still rooting for me and bringing up my name in conversation whenever he could. He had good intentions, but it was useless. Edward obviously had no interest in pursuing the connection we'd made the night of my birthday. If he had, he could have contacted me anytime he'd wanted through Jake and Alice. He didn't care about me enough to trust me with his heart, so I had to take my mother's advice and convince my heart to quit holding on to hope. It was time to move on.

The mundane soon overtook my life as it always seemed to do. First a broken water heater and two days of taking cold showers before the super got around to replacing it, then a shake-up at work, with talk of layoffs and shuffling of company "resources". Luckily, my coveted desk job (rolling eyes) survived the day. And then there were the three days of arguing with a collection agency over a thirty-eight dollar and sixteen cents doctor bill that I had already paid once and damned if I was going to pay again. And finally, the last straw: Henrietta suffered the automotive equivalent of a massive stroke. I had the poor girl towed to the dealership, where they promised to have her back in working order by mid-morning Saturday. Real life was such a fun bitch to hang out with.

Saturday

Sitting in a deserted auto dealership waiting room trying to block out the sound of the droning television perched on the wall like a giant fly, and reading an outdated magazine article about how to have the best sex of your life: yeah, a lovely way to spend a Saturday. The author of the article obviously knew absolutely nothing about how to have the best sex of your life since she'd made no mention of booking two exquisitely beautiful hookers for a night of meaningless sex, and then falling in love with one of them, after the most heavenly lovemaking you'd ever experienced. I snorted softly and turned the page halfway through the article. Boring. Turned the page. Boooorrring. Turned the page. Yawn.

Suddenly a pair of scuffed and worn Reeboks walked into my line of vision. Somebody needs to go shopping for some new shoes. Jeans, with frayed threads tickling the rubber soles, were bunched up in a wad around the person's ankles. And buy some jeans that fit. Hello? I returned my attention back to the magazine. Boring. Turned the page.

"I'm here to pick up my car."

My head shot up, the magazine forgotten. I knew that voice.

"Name?" the guy behind the window asked.

"Edward Cullen."

While he talked with the man at the window, I studied him from behind. He looked nothing like the sophisticated GQ "model" in the tailored suit who had so smoothly seduced me. His jeans were out-of-style-faded and ill-fitting, sagging in the seat and hiding the tight ass that I knew lay underneath. They were also way too long and puddled at the tops of his shoes, the hems nothing but tattered threads in some places. His blue shirt had seen better days, too. It was faded, and the hem had fallen out on the lower left side, making him look lopsided. His bronze hair was sticking out here and there, like he'd just crawled out of bed a few minutes ago. Immediately, I thought about that night in the apartment, and how I'd smoothed his messy hair. He'd blushed, but had allowed me to run my fingers through the tangled strands.

Stop it, Bella. Remember, this is the man who opened himself up to you and made you fall in love with him and then slammed the door in your face. The same man who couldn't even stand the sight of you that night at Bossa Nova.

He turned around and after he'd stuffed a wad of bills back into his wallet, our eyes met. In seconds, a myriad of emotions flashed across the stubble-covered canvas of his face: shock, sadness, and finally that inexplicable fear and longing I'd caught a glimpse of that night. I wondered how long it would take for him to come to his senses and bolt out the door, his gray eyes blazing with fury, but time dragged on with no reaction from him, each of us just staring silently back at the other. The longer the silence continued, the angrier I got. How fucking long was he going to stand there and gape at me like I was a three-headed dick?

I saw the very moment in his tired eyes when his indecision turned to calm resignation. He jabbed his wallet and keys in his pocket, took a breath and then crossed the room in several long strides, settling into a chair next to me, our bodies at right angles to each other and our knees inches from touching.

"Bella."

Hearing my name roll off his tongue sent shivers crawling down my back. Luckily, my inner skank who also doubled as the Beotch From Hades when the need arose, gave me a good bitch-slap to the face.

Don't listen to that velvet voice. He could have contacted you any time he wanted. Remember that, honey. He's had pleeeenty of opportunities. He's only talking to you right now because he knows how badly it would look if he just walked out.

"Edward," I responded coolly.

Another prolonged and uncomfortable silence.

"So, your car is broken down?" he asked finally.

Duh. We were sitting in the service area waiting room of an auto dealership. "No, I just brought Henrietta down here to hook up with her favorite mechanic. They're probably going at it right now behind a stack of tires." I was being a total sarcastic buttface, but the way I saw it, I had a right.

He frowned. "Henrietta? A friend?"

I rolled my eyes. "My car, Edward. Henrietta is my car, and yes, she's broken down."

I saw a glimmer of a smile, but it left as quickly as it came. "You name your car? That's kind of strange."

I gave him a flat, sarcastic look. "We name guys' penises, but somehow naming a car is strange?"

Edward's eyes flicked away from mine and focused on the tiled floor between his feet. Neither one of us said it, but I was pretty sure he was thinking it. Pale silk…

He continued to stare at the floor and I pretended to read my magazine. The television droned on in the background, providing very little relief from the awkward silence between us. How could anyone possibly think that some eternally long infomercial about the dealership's latest chunk of shiny metal to roll off the assembly line would be entertaining?

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly in that soft, velvety voice of his.

"For what?" As if I didn't know.

"For my behavior at Bossa Nova that night. I over-reacted…a little."

"You think?" Testicle torpedoes armed and bitch thrusters engaged, Captain.

We looked at each other and then looked away. Despite his apology, my cat claws were still fully extended, razor sharp and ready to slice-and-dice. But instead of being angry at my bitchy attitude, he just looked pitiful, like he wanted to crawl under a rock somewhere and hide. Why wasn't he pissed and throwing the bitch word around like Mike always had? Why was I suddenly feeling guilty when he was the one who'd acted like a total ass?

"You look amazing in red, and I loved what you did with your hair."

He'd noticed the dress, the hair. OMG, he'd actually noticed. A familiar warmth spread through me, heating my neck and face and wetting the crevice between my thighs. My cat claws instantly retracted. The loathsome bitch inside of me deflated like a stuck balloon and fizzled away in defeat. This man had my heartstrings wrapped all around his beautiful self. I just couldn't be mean to him for very long.

I lost the sarcasm and thanked him. "And you were rockin' that black suit pretty good yourself. You look nice in black."

He gave me one of his confused smile slash frowns, which was apparently his standard reaction to any compliment.

"Uh…thanks." The man truly had no idea how attractive he was. "So, what do you think about Jake and Alice?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. "Who would have thought?"

"I think it's great," I answered, relieved that he'd switched topics. "Alice is the happiest I've ever seen her. Most of her old boyfriends were only interested in her money or getting a job at her daddy's company. Jake seems to be different."

Edward snickered, causing his eyes to sparkle with mischief, which made me smile. "Trust me. Jake isn't the least bit interested in Alice's bank account." He tapped the side of his head and grinned. "He's obsessed with her brain. Gray matter turns him on."

I giggled as I imagined Jacob holding a glob of lumpy gray brain-goo in his arms and gazing at it lovingly. "I'll have to tell Alice to stop flaunting her lobes around everywhere, then. She's a danger to men all around the world."

He laughed at my joke, his brilliant smile overtaking his face, his eyes shining a vivid blue. I'd almost forgotten how animate his eyes could be. I couldn't look away.

"Yeah, those lobes, they're hard to resist," he said, shaking his head and snickering.

Laughter faded to smiles. He held my gaze for the first time since we'd started talking. His eyes drifted down my face, settling on my mouth for several moments and then slowly rising back up. I squeezed my pelvic muscles together in reaction to the heat I saw in those eyes. I let my own gaze drop and linger on his mouth for awhile. A lot of guys looked shitty with day-old stubble, but not Edward. It dotted his upper lip and swept across his chin and jaw in the sexiest way. Smooth shaven or scruffy, Edward Cullen was a beautiful man. When I raised my eyes back to his, they were blue-gray and smoky, intense and full of longing.

"Bella Swan!"

The man behind the window called my name and shattered the sexual tension in the air. Edward swallowed and relaxed back in his seat, his cloudy eyes still fixed on my face.

"Wait for me?" I asked.

He nodded. I took care of the payment details and retrieved my keys. Edward rose from his chair and beat me to the door, pulling it open and standing aside to allow me to leave first. I made a bee-line for Henrietta, after making my way around a multi-colored, rusty piece of crap parked right beside of her. Edward trailed behind me and leaned back against the dilapidated car.

"So this is Henrietta?" he asked, appraising my car from head to tail lights with a discerning eye.

"Yep, this is her. Where's yours?"

"I'm leaning on it."

My mouth fell open in complete shock. I'd imagined Edward driving a shiny new stud-mobile, not a bucket of bolts held together by iron oxide. "Somehow I pictured you in a Jag," I said, chuckling in an attempt to smooth over my stunned reaction.

"I decided that I needed my money worse than Nationwide did. This little guy is ugly, but the insurance is cheap and he runs, most of the time." He shrugged and grinned.

I studied the pitiful little compact car with its colorful patchwork of sand jobs splotched along the side panels and hood. So many things about this man weren't adding up: the ratty and worn clothes (of course, they could have just been his weekend slouch clothes, but for some reason, I didn't think that they were), the piece of shit car he drove, and a monthly paycheck that I imagined to be more than I earned in a year, especially if $5,000 a pop was their standard fee. Where did his money go? Was he in debt to the Mob or something? Did he have a gambling problem? Or was he just your ordinary garden-variety cheapskate? A money-grubbing girlfriend was another possibility, but I just couldn't see it. No high-maintenance trophy babe worth her salt would be caught dead in a car like that, or hang out with a guy who dressed like a bum. The more I learned about Edward, the more mysterious he became.

"He looks like a Harvey," I mused thoughtfully.

"I was thinking more along the lines of POS, but I guess Harvey will work," he said, chuckling.

I made the introductions. "Harvey, meet Henrietta. Henrietta…Harvey."

He rolled his eyes and laughed at my silliness. I loved the sound of his laughter and how it transformed his face and forced the sadness from his eyes, even if just for a few short moments.

We finally ran out of cute small talk. It was time to say goodbye. It was Saturday. I had things to do. He probably had things to do, too. He had his hands buried deep in his pockets, staring at the ground and digging the toe of his shoe into the concrete. He reminded me of a shy little boy who was too scared to ask the prettiest girl in the school to go to the prom with him. Where was the sophisticated Leather & Lace escort with the sexy lean, the tailored clothes and the smooth lines? Not that I missed him all that much. I was seeing the real Edward today, and he intrigued me much more than the high-paid hooker. Escort Edward was polished and smooth. He said and did everything perfectly, as he'd been trained to do. But the man standing before me and avoiding my eyes was normal, flawed and seemed so very lonely.

Suddenly, Alice's perky disembodied voice spoke to me inside my head: You need to take time to smell the roses, Bella, because sooner or later, you'll inhale a bee and die. I smiled inside. I had the smartest bestie a girl could ever ask for.

"Have you had lunch?" I asked.

He looked surprised at my question. "Uhm, no. Just coffee for breakfast."

Go for it, Bella! This is your last chance, girlfriend. You can't just let him walk away. You'll never see him again if you do.

"My apartment isn't very far from here. I could make you something."

There it came, and I wasn't a bit surprised to see it, that glimmer of hesitation in his eyes, that inexplicable fear. My conniving inner self searched for and found the perfect carrot to dangle in front of him.

"I have the ingredients for lasagna."

He smiled, and relief flooded into the tense moment. "You're not going to put any of that eggplant and zucchini shit in it that Jake uses are you?"

"Nope. Just meat. Lots and lots of meat." I grinned and nibbled at my lip.

Oh hell. That did NOT come out right. Or maybe it did. Maybe my inner slut had finally slithered out of hibernation after a month of having nothing to do. Edward seemed to have that effect on me. His lips parted as his gaze lingered on my mouth. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh SHIT. Who was I fooling? He intrigued me, yes. He was broken and I wanted to fix him, yes and yes. But the skank in me wanted him naked in my bed so damned bad that it wasn't even funny, a million yeses. I'd forgotten the feel of pale silk inside of me.

He swallowed and then nodded. "Sounds good." His eyes lingered over my mouth. "And maybe you can even double the meat, just for me."

Oh god. Edward had an inner slut, too, and he'd just come out to play. Fireworks were exploding in my nether regions at the feel of his eyes on me and at the soft, seductiveness of his voice. Who knew that discussing lasagna in the middle of an auto dealership parking lot could be so stimulating?

I gulped, wondering if I still retained the ability to articulate an intelligent sentence. "Uh, tell Harvey to just follow Henrietta."

Edward leaned to the side, took a closer look at the rear of my car, pursed his lips and whistled softly. "With a bumper like that, Harvey will follow that chick anywhere."

We laughed, but his joke did nothing to damper the tension between us. We stared at each other for way too long. Passersby probably thought we'd lost our minds. Perhaps we had.

I said a silent apology to my mother because I was about to completely ignore her advice. For the first time in my life, I was going to go after what I wanted and do whatever I had to do to get it.

And I wanted Edward Anthony Cullen.

Never in a million years had I imagined that the sophisticated man in the expensive linen suit, who'd rocked my world on my birthday, would be standing inside my small apartment, his striking incandescent eyes wandering curiously over my thrift shop décor. But with the ragged jeans and faded shirt, he blended right in with my cheap cotton curtains.

"Nice apartment," he observed.

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "No, it isn't, but thanks anyway. It's all I can afford right now, so I just roll with it."

He slid his eyes back to mine and held them. "There's something to be said for understated elegance."

My breath hitched at his compliment, not of my apartment, but of me.

"And shabby chic," I added, lowering my gaze down to his faded shirt and worn jeans.

He laughed, and I was pleased that my interior decorating reference hadn't gone completely over his head. "You got the 'shabby' part right, but I'm not sure about the 'chic' part."

I was in this too far to let my shy side hold me back. This was a time for confidence, for power, like the kind I felt when I was belting out a song and letting the music control me. I moved closer until our bodies were inches apart. He tensed slightly, but I pressed on. I touched his hand and trailed my fingertips along his fingers, his wrist, and slowly up his arm.

"For something to be shabby chic, it has to be solid and sound," I explained softly as my fingers moved up his arm and over to his chest, my eyes fixed on his. "It has to survive the passage of time and all that life throws at it. You peel back the worn layers of living and you can see the beauty and strength underneath. It's strong, but soft and comforting, too."

He sighed and there was intensity in his eyes. "I never thought of it that way."

And then he slid his hand underneath my hair and kissed me, soft at first, and then deeper, pulling my body against his and folding me into his embrace. His smell enveloped me, not the cologne he'd worn the night of my birthday, but the ordinary scent of his soap that lingered on his skin from his morning shower. I breathed him in and tightened my grip on his body. His strong arms belonged around me; his mouth should be mine and no one else's. This felt right.

He pulled away and stroked his thumb across the corner of my mouth. "I didn't shave this morning. Sorry."

Like I gave a shit about that. I pulled his face to me and covered his mouth with mine, his stubble prickling against the inside of my lips. I didn't care. Strangely, his imperfections and his shabbiness only made him more attractive.

"I want you," he murmured against my mouth, and that was all it took for any last bit of lingering hesitancy on my part to evaporate.

Our lovemaking wasn't about him, like the first time he'd taken me so roughly, and solely for his own pleasure. Nor was it about my desire to please only him, as had been the case later that night. Today, it was about both of us, together.

We explored each other bodies, touched and kissed each other with equal measure. I watched in rapt fascination as my nipples disappeared from my view, each alternately sucked gently into his mouth, his tongue flicking the hardened tips until I moaned from the sensations. He tasted me, gently kissing and licking my folds until I was teetering on the edge and begging him to enter me. He smiled but ignored my pleas. He was such a tease, but I loved it, and him.

I finally discovered the taste of silk when he let to take him into my mouth for the first time. When my lips touched his tip, he balled the sheet up into his fists and groaned, low and hoarse and deep. When I slid his hard shaft into my mouth as far as I could take it, breathless curses poured out of him. He stopped me way too soon, gasping painfully that he needed to be inside of me.

We were patient and loved each other as if we had all the time in the world. I gave him what I knew he needed: intimacy. I held his eyes and ran my hands across his skin everywhere I could reach. Only once did I get rough with him, digging my fingers into his ass and begging him to push deeper.

And whether he knew it or not, he gave me what I needed, too. He spoke to me quietly as he rocked his body above mine. He whispered to me that he'd missed me. That he'd thought of me all the time, even when he shouldn't have, that he'd dreamed about me. He made such sensual sounds in my ear, his warm breath blowing across my neck and face as he moved.

He loves me. He never said the words, but he didn't have to. His tenderness spoke for him. I could feel the love in his touch, taste it in his kisses. I heard it in his whisperings and felt it as he stroked me slowly. Never had I felt so loved and cherished.

Only when the end grew close did he get rougher, his thrusts urgent and hard. He guided my hands to the rails of my headboard, letting me know without a word that I was going to need to hold onto something solid. His hands grasped the wooden rails just above mine, and then he began pummeling my body, punishing it in the most beautiful way. I rode it with him, arching my hips up against his, matching him thrust for thrust. His rhythm faltered. He grunted painfully, his body tense and still, as he fought to hold back his release.

Breathless and dangling on the edge myself, I threaded my fingers into his hair. "Let go, Edward. Let go."

My name rolled out of his throat, gruff and with the painful longing I'd heard before. He gathered me up into his arms and drove deep into my body, catapulting me over the edge with him. I found myself near tears as the pleasure crashed through me, as his fingers dug into the tangles of my hair, as I listened to the animal sounds raging out of his mouth. I fought it, but I yearned to do what I'd urged of him: let go. Let go and just let the tears flow unimpeded. Never had I felt the urge to cry during sex, but then again, never had I felt such incredible love for another man as I did for Edward.

This was what pure joy felt like.

We lay in each other's arms with the sheet tangled around us and talked, continuing where we'd left off on my birthday with our version of Twenty Questions. He wanted to know what I liked to do on a rainy day. I liked to cook. He liked to play the piano and write music. We both liked to read, nap, and we unanimously agreed that if the right person was around, then lovemaking would come first.

He told me of his family. He was an only child, raised in a very strict and religious household, where music has been his best friend and had gotten him through a lot of lonely times. Luckily, his parents had nurtured his musical talents and he'd been immersed in lessons and performances from a very early age.

In turn, I told him about the dysfunctional Swans. He laughed quite a bit as I tried to put a humorous spin on my messed up childhood. When my parents had met, my mother had emotionally been in Pampers, while my dad was already wearing Depends, not a good combination. Immaturity and maturity did not go together like a 'horse and carriage'. The divorce hadn't surprised anyone, including me, their only child. Unlike Edward, my musical talent had gone unnoticed, un-nurtured, ignored. Paying bills had been a struggle; music lessons were a luxury we could have never afforded.

After awhile, we'd pretty much covered all of the harmless topics. We knew all of the fluff about each other, but none of the filler. I wanted to know where he saw himself next year, or the year after that, or even five years from now. A person's goals spoke more about who they were than anything else, in my opinion.

"Do you ever want to have kids?" I asked boldly. I knew it was a dangerous question to ask a man I'd only seen twice, well three times if I counted the scene at Bossa Nova, but I needed to know. He smiled, not even hesitating with his answer.

"Yes, I do, and more than one. I've always envisioned a bunch of kids bouncing around on my bed in the mornings and running through the house. My childhood was way too quiet."

"I never wanted to have just one either. It's lonely."

He nodded in agreement. It was good to know that we had this one very important thing in common. I could never be with a man who didn't want a family as much as I did. Even with the Swan track record, I held out hope that I could do a better job than my parents had.

"So, how long have you been living a life of crime?" he asked, chuckling softly.

I frowned, confused. "What?"

"You're a thief." He pointed at his tie hanging off the side of my mirror.

"Oh, sorry. You left it, so..." I blushed, embarrassed. "You can take it back."

He shook his head and smiled. "No, you keep it."

I sighed in contentment and snuggled in close against his body. Resting my head against his chest, I closed my eyes and just relaxed. I could lay in his arms the rest of the day and night and be perfectly happy.

He idly trailed his finger up and down my forearm. I'd noticed that Edward was a very touchy-feely kind of man, so unlike Mike in that regard. He'd only bothered to touch me when he'd wanted some. Edward's hands were a constant presence on my body: fingers threading through my hair and caressing my cheek, sliding down my arm and drawing invisible circles on my stomach.

"I like the way I feel when I'm with you," he said softly.

"And how is that?"

"Hopeful," he answered. "Like anything is possible."

His answer struck me as strange, but I decided not to press him. I didn't want to scare him away with too much heavy conversation. I'd been pushing it with the children question, so I let his enigmatic statement go by without comment. But that didn't mean I didn't wonder. Hopeful about what? That he could love someone again? That he could maybe trust me with his heart?

Not long after that his fingers stilled and his breathing grew deep. He'd fallen asleep. And since I was too hyper to close my eyes, I slid out of bed, careful not to disturb him. I had no time to waste lounging around between the sheets, even withthe most gorgeous hunk of man flesh I'd ever seen. I had important things to do. I smiled down at him sprawled out all over my bed, looking so sexy and happy and relaxed. Poor guy had just had a very strenuous workout. He was going to be one hungry puppy when he woke up.

"Who needs an alarm clock when you have Mozart and lasagna?" Edward said, wandering into the kitchen just as I was pulling the lasagna from the oven. He was dressed only in his black knit boxers with his hair stuck out in all directions like someone had given him noogies. Adorable.

"I always cook to Mozart."

He looked at me with this strange, intent gaze and then smiled. "Really? You cook to classical music?"

"Yeah. Music is not just something to enjoy, it's actually functional, too."

The sweetest, most quizzical look swept across his face. "Functional?"

I laughed, pulled off my oven mitts and tossed them on the stove, and then turned off Mozart's 40th Symphony. Leaning against the cheap formica counter top, I explained my quirky philosophy about music. "I cook to Mozart because it's been proven that his music stimulates the brain. You can play Mozart for elementary school kids before a test, and they score higher. And…" I shrugged. "It makes me cook better. I clean house to rap. The beat is perfect for dusting and vacuuming. I drive to slow music, any kind." I grinned. "It keeps me from getting a speeding ticket. I work out to pop because it's perky and rhythmic and it makes me think I can actually get this scrawny body of mine into shape. I listen to slow, romantic country songs in the bathtub, and Marvin Gaye when I….uh…" I stopped, realizing I'd almost completely gone overboard into TMI territory.

"Double-click your own mouse?" he supplied, chuckling.

My face went hot with embarrassment, but Edward didn't seem to notice. His smile had faded and he was staring at me so strangely again.

"Do you like the symphony?" he asked quietly.

"I love it, but the tickets are a little pricey." I gestured at my shabby little kitchen, and he got the point. I loved the symphony, the ballet, concerts, and all of that, but my funds for such indulgences were pretty much nonexistent, and I refused to let Alice throw money down on me all the time.

He leaned against the door jamb and just stared at me, his eyes focused and intent. I imagined if I'd been standing closer to him, they'd be dark and penetrating.

"What?" I asked, after the silent staring went on for way too long.

"To quote someone near and dear to both our hearts: 'I'm in fucking love'."

My heart thumped wildly in my chest, and chills ran all over me. Then he laughed, and the seriousness of the moment was gone. He was making fun of Jacob and his silly antics, not professing his love for me. So, I did the only thing I could do. I laughed with him.

"The lasagna's ready. Let's eat."

"So, how did you and Jake meet?"

We'd finished eating, the kitchen was all neat and tidy again, and we were now lounging on my second-hand sofa, my feet propped up on the coffee table and his head in my lap. It had seemed like a pretty innocuous question, but Edward suddenly looked uncomfortable. I started to change the subject, but he beat me to the punch. Despite the fact that he seemed hesitant, he started to talk.

He'd been visiting friends in La Push, an Indian reservation in Washington state, when he'd first met him. Jake had been seventeen at the time and still in high school, Edward twenty. They'd crossed paths accidentally and had struck up a friendly conversation. It hadn't taken Edward long to realize that Jake was not where he needed to be. He was intelligent, restless and bored with life on the reservation. He found that he liked the dark-haired boy with the quick smile and the jokes and had enjoyed the short time he'd spent with him.

It wasn't until two years later that things changed. Edward returned to La Push, (and he didn't explain why, but I could have sworn I saw a deep sadness in his eyes as he spoke). Jake was nineteen by then, and when Edward sought him out to see how he was doing, he was troubled by what he found. Jake was floundering. He was the sole caregiver for his father, who was wheelchair-bound from diabetes, and was doing nothing constructive with his life. Edward suggested college but Jake mumbled something about not having the money and then changed the subject. Eventually, talk turned to Edward's life in the big city and what it was like. He asked specifically what Edward did for a living. When Edward told him that he'd just gotten hired as an escort for Leather and Lace, Jake's eyes lit up with interest. He peppered Edward with questions: How much did he make? What were the hours? The working conditions? The requirements for the job? When Edward left the reservation later that week, Jake left with him, intent on using the money from the escort job to pay for his education himself.

"With Jake being Native American, he could have gone to college for free," I observed. "The government would have given him a full-ride."

Edward pulled his head up out of my lap and sat up beside me. "You don't understand Jacob Black. He refuses to take money from the government because he's Native American. Trust me, I argued with him until I was blue in the face, but I couldn't budge him. He's proud, Bella. He wants to make his own way in this world. He doesn't want anything handed to him on a silver platter. He's one of the most dedicated and driven men that I've ever known, and he's going to make good, but I think his pride might be causing a little friction between him and Alice."

Now certain things made sense. Alice had expressed her extreme frustration to me about Jake's refusal to let her spend money on him. Bestowing gifts and helping people when they needed it made her happy. She needed to do it like other people needed to breathe. She was metaphorically pulling her hair out at the moment because Jake had refused to let her buy him a new car. I'd tried to tell her beforehand that a car was probably a bit much to start off with, that maybe a tie would have been more appropriate, but she hadn't heeded my advice, and Jake had flipped completely out.

"I tried to tell her the Ferrari was a bad idea."

Edward snickered. "I've never seen Jake's face turn that shade of purple before. He was furious, but they were cooing at each other on Skype two hours later, so he apparently got over it."

I could picture Alice cooing, but the thought of Jake cooing made me laugh.

"Yeah, I know," Edward said, rolling his eyes. "But, enough about them. Come here, you." He grinned, grabbed me around the waist and pulled me onto his lap for a nice bit of garlic-y kissing.

"Mmmm." I was wearing a long, baggy t-shirt that barely made it over my thighs and tiny cotton panties. I felt him getting hard through the thin fabric of his boxers, and helped matters along by grinding his boner.

"I love the way you feel," he murmured in between the kisses, his hands roaming tenderly over my body.

"I love the way you taste," I murmured back, devouring his mouth.

His hands made their way to my ass. He dug his fingers in and pushed his hips hard against me. "I want inside of you."

It was at that very most inconvenient moment that Dracula waltzed in the room and interrupted our make-out session. The most horrible ringtone I'd ever heard, obviously turned up as loud as it would go, blasted through the apartment, causing me to jump.

"That has to be yours," I groaned and then laughed. "A Count Dracula ringtone? Seriously?"

"Gotcha," he said, grinning. "It's not Dracula. It's Bach's Tocatta and Fugue."

"Whatever. Ignore it," I said, although I wondered if that was even possible.

"I can't ignore it. Sorry."

Without ceremony, Edward maneuvered me off of his lap and crossed the room to find his phone. He dug it out of his jeans pocket and thankfully the haunting organ music came to an abrupt halt.

I watched him punch a button, bring the phone to his ear, and then everything changed. He went from joking about his creepy ringtone to pure, unadulterated fury in a matter of seconds. Whoever was on the other end of that conversation was seriously ruining Edward's day.

"Give me 30 minutes!" he barked angrily into the phone, and then he disconnected. "I have to go." He whipped the jeans out of the floor and yanked them up his legs. "Where's my shirt?!"

I jumped up to help him, dashing into the bedroom and picking it up from the floor.

"My socks!" he yelled from the living room.

"There in here!" I shouted back. I gathered everything up and dashed back into the living room.

Edward was angry, nearly as angry as he'd been that night at Bossa Nova. He was also frantic.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't talk about it." He whipped around, searching for something, and found his shoes near the door.

"Is someone sick or hurt?"

"I told you I can't talk about it!" he snapped angrily.

Alrighty then. Message received loud and clear.

He pushed his feet into his Reeboks, checked his pockets for his keys and then headed to the door.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I asked, giving this trying-to-be-understanding-thing one last shot.

"Nobody can help," he said. His voice sounded so bitter that I barely recognized it.

I moved closer to him, thinking I would give him a hug of support before he left, but he pushed me away.

"I'm sorry." He grimaced like he was suddenly in physical pain. "I shouldn't have done this; I had no right. This is all on me, my fault. I'm so sorry. Goodbye, Bella."

He walked out and slammed the door behind him. That 'goodbye' was final. I'd heard it in his voice. One step forward and ten steps back.

Edward Cullen had just walked out of my life for the second time.

I cried.