His hands were inside my shirt and his mouth on mine before we even got through the door. It fell back into place behind us, locking with an audible click as we stumbled through. Pretty Boy was wasting no time.

"I hate Jane Austen," I mumbled against his mouth.

"You hate Jane Austen? I had to watch you orally pleasure your pen for the last ninety minutes."

"Hmm," I hummed against his mouth as he walked me backwards. "I was chewing. I get fidgety when I'm bored. I hate Jane Aust—" Mid-complaint my heel hit the edge of the mattress on the floor that he called a bed and I went flying backwards, pulling Pretty Boy down on top of me as I grasped desperately at his shirt for balance. "Fuck!"

His hands found purchase on the sheets either side of my head and he popped up in an impressively quick push-up. "Still alive down there?"

"Fuck, no." I groaned. "Your bone-y elbow broke a rib. Say your goodbyes now before I bleed out from my massive internal injuries."

He took his hand and pressed lightly at the bottom of my ribcage. "Does it hurt here?"

I pouted. "No."

He lifted his hand a little higher. "Here?"

I squinted at him, my lips curled in a suspicious smile. "No."

Pretty Boy grabbed my boob through my t-shirt and cocked his brow in faux-innocence. "How 'bout here?"

I swatted at him. "No dice."

Pretty Boy shrugged and sat up straight. "Shame, I was going to kiss it better."

"Oh, well in that case..." I pulled him closer as both his hands sneaked up the inside of my shirt, dragging the fabric higher and higher until we had to separate to get it over my face and stuck on my pony tail. Goddamn hair elastics.

His face pressed into my collarbone muffling his voice. "Why don't you have a front-clasp bra? Make my life easier."

I lay back into the mattress, not bothering to help him. I drummed the palms of my hands aimlessly on the sheets either side of me as I answered, "I don't know anyone with a clasp in front. This isn't a Harlequin Romance. I don't shop in lingerie boutiques; Gap didn't do front clasp."

"The Gap make bras?"

"Not exciting ones."

"Clearly," he muttered.

Pretty Boy's hand wiggled between my back and the sheets, twisting the little metal catches from each other... which was pretty impressive, cause I sucked at doing that one handed.

"I'm going to stop talking now."

"Clever boy," I gasped. I nearly smacked Pretty Boy in the face as I tried to wiggle my arms out of said boring, restrictive, no-fun-at-all bra.

I was laughing and when his lips pressed against my newly exposed breast they were curled in this devastating, heart-stopping smile that felt almost as good as the flat of his tongue dragging across my nipple. Almost.

"Oh." I rocked my head back against the sheets. "Hey, hey —" His mouth was traveling down my ribcage, making the muscles in my stomach jump. I tugged his hair and his face popped up in front of mine — flushed cheeks, pink lips, dark eyes, and one cocked eyebrow.

I replied to his unspoken question in one short breath: "Take off your shirt."


My life had become coffee, and topless make outs, and not enough studying. It had been exciting, and hot, and most of all fun. Pretty Boy was fun.

But as the days went on and I spent more and more of my time rolling around in one or the other of our beds with not much in the way of clothes, I was entering new realms of terror. This was like if the Barefoot Contessa went to the fridge and there was no butter. This was scary. One of those things you never really thought would happen.

So far, I had kept my panties firmly on, and now? Not so firm.

I thought being naked in front of someone was supposed to be fun — that's why people did it right? — but mostly I felt like I was going to throw up and if I was lucky it would be in my mouth and not his.

My wafer-thin tank top was still on with my bra undone beneath it but my panties were dangerously close to being dragged down my legs. Not that I was complaining about that fact exactly... just it could be dark, and maybe under a gigantic duvet where I would be undetectable from layers of cotton and down.

Pretty Boy was smart enough to find his way around down there without a map and a flashlight. I was sure there were plenty of girls who could attest to that.

I knew I was a melodramatic mess, but I had spent most of my life used to being a non-entity. Not in a cruel, hurtful way. My parents weren't neglectful. The kids at school didn't hate me. I just didn't really register anywhere important on the radar — I was out at the edge of the circles no one was aiming for.

My mom had her dreams. My dad had his life settled before I came around. The kids at school probably tried the most, but we never clicked.

My existence didn't rock anybody's world, anyway. That was alright though. I was sarcastic and funny. People liked me even if we weren't besties. It was alright.

Then this ridiculous, fantastical, absurd boy walked into my life and he wouldn't leave. Not that I wanted him to. I just wasn't sure how he was supposed to fit. I didn't know how to make space for people in my life and I certainly didn't know how to be cosy, and comfy, and naked with them.

And apparently — he wanted to be naked with me.

That was just... terrifying. It seemed dangerous to let any one have that much of me. That was the kind of thing people could hurt you with. And, as cute and knowledgeable about girls as he was, Pretty Boy had the potential for mountains of hurt. He could piss it down all over me and then I wouldn't just be back at square one...

I wouldn't just be back at my dad's with a high school full of acquaintances and fake polite smiles. I wouldn't be drinking and partying and still managing to spend almost all of my time alone without really knowing why I couldn't like these perfectly nice people around me, or really trust myself with the ones I did like, without knowing why I moved to college and found myself with a roommate who had no desire to know me, and teachers who thought I was adequate enough to leave alone, but not bright enough to take interest in.

I wouldn't be back in exactly the same place I had always been.

I would be devastated.

It would be worse than any abandonment issues any shrink could try and pin on my parents for not realizing they needed to make space for me. That I wasn't a tiny adult who could get on with their life and share a coffee in the morning across the kitchen table, and never talk about anything that mattered.

It wouldn't be like that. It would be infinitely worse.

I would actually have to feel things, and care about someone, and it was entirely possible that he could destroy me. And, I really didn't want to be destroyed, especially not by him.

I hooked my fingers in the sides of my panties and held them securely, a little too high so the elastic cut into the inside creases of my thighs. It hurt a little. It would hurt so much more though if he whipped them off and tomorrow (or in two weeks, or six months, or twenty years) he was bored with me.

I didn't let just any guy under my bra, let alone in my pants.

I told him as much: "I don't let just anyone in my pants, MC."

Instead of making some obnoxious retort back, he just traced patterns on my arms with his fingertips. His voice sounded much too sincere when he asked: "Who have you let in?"

I could see that there was some kind of backwards emotional entendre in his words, like I seriously needed mind-fucked right then, but even taking into account how emotionally retarded I could be didn't make much difference — didn't make any difference — to my answer. Still, I wasn't going to say things out loud.

I wasn't looking at him when I replied; I was looking at his hands on my arms, and how he was just a little more tan than I was.

I repeated: "Not just anyone."

"I'm not just anyone," he sounded sure. He took both hands and brushed all the stray strands of hair off my forehead, balanced above me on his elbows. I felt exposed with nothing but his hands framing my face.

I huffed out a small, fake laugh on a short, sharp breath, and joked: "It's a highly sought after ticket — feel honored."

My fingers were still crooked around my panties — holding them up. It left us in an awkward position. Me lying straight with my arms stretched downwards. Pretty Boy between my legs but arms to either side of me.

I swallowed hard. He sat up and gracefully swung himself over one of my legs so that he was facing the same way as me, propped up against the headboard. I stayed locked in my position for a moment before I scrambled to sit up, still facing away from him. My bra was still loose, hanging around my ribs under the thin tee.

He still didn't say anything, but his arms knotted across my chest, over my arms, crushing me back into him in an almighty bear hug. His chin rested on my shoulder, and I didn't bother to struggle. It was a nice type of suffocation.

He squeezed me tight once more and belatedly replied: "I bet it's totally worth the price of admission."

I could feel myself laughing. I let my head fall back, cushioned by his shoulder. I turned to look up, stretching to press a quick kiss to his jaw. "You're such a loser."

"Yeah, sure, you started the metaphor, Little Miss Water Park."

"Oh, gross! Seriously, MC. That's disgusting." I was cracking up; I curled into myself trying to breathe through my laughter. He wasn't even that funny but the whole thing had me strung-up tight.

"Hey, you name another ticketed attraction that's wet."

"Ohh, I hate you. I hate you so much." I was still laughing; my face had turned pink, and bright.

"You keep saying that and one day I'm gonna believe you."

I finally quieted myself and turned in his arms to smile against his mouth. "I don't hate you."

"I know." He grinned.

I could feel the curve of his lips as he closed the scant distance between us. He touched my face as we pulled apart. "I'm not seeing anyone else."

My heart felt like it might burst. "Yeah — when would you have time, Clingy?"

He flicked my forehead with his finger and thumb. I scrunched up my nose in response, narrowing my eyes at him.

"I won't, is what I mean," he said.

I felt like my lungs were being squished out of the way by my heart. He was my Cindy Lou Who and my rapidly inflating heart felt like it was climbing up into my throat to find room inside of me. He cared about me. I was not on the fringe of Pretty Boy's radar. I was somewhere near the middle. Maybe just shy of the Bull's Eye? I was somewhere I had never expected to be.

I was still terrified, but it was a whole lot less scary than it was on the outskirts.

He gave me the eyebrow, waiting expectantly.

"Me neither." I bit my lip, trying to hide the tight, expanding feeling threatening to spill out of me.

He kissed me again and before I could say anymore he had lifted me off his lap and my back was hitting the mattress again. Considering we were squished together back in my twin bed it was an impressive feat.

My insides were flip-flopping all over the place again. They were Nemo if he took another wrong turn and ended up on dry land. I felt like I had a thousand upset, out-of-place Nemos flip-flopping in my gut. Still, disgustingly, it was almost a good feeling.

"You know, it's totally hot that you could do that without falling off the bed," I laughed, as he leaned over me.

His eyes were that dusky, aquarium green again when he told me: "Take off your bra."

I blinked once and then fought to get my arms through the loops while still wearing my tank. I pulled the untangled bra through the top between my boobs and threw it on the floor next to the bed.

"Happy?"

His eyes lightened the tiniest bit then. Beer bottle green when light breaks through and it's a thousand different shades. "Ecstatic. You?"

I shrugged beneath him, trying not to smile... or hyperventilate. "I'm alright, I guess."

His head bowed as he laughed. "I am so not the brat here," he defended, as his fingers shrugged my panties to my knees, to my ankles, to the floor under my bed.

"I don't know," I gasped quietly, "I think you're just rubbing off on me."


The 'A' key on my laptop was sticking, and I was unreasonably aggravated at the horror of it all considering I regularly ate grilled cheese over the keyboard. A week old toasted bread crumb wanted me to fail at life! Or, at least at college. I was outraged.

I could never pull the keys off to clean under them properly either. I always broke the little clip thingies and ended up with a key that sort of slid around and body-checked the one next to it. My last three computers could all attest to this fact.

Instead, I bashed at it angrily with my pointer finger — trying to crush the crumb into submission. It kind of worked, especially if you ignored how disgusting all the old food hanging around in there really was. I was especially good at avoiding anything I didn't particularly want to think about, so this was easy — unless it was Pretty Boy. I was particularly awful at not thinking about him. Or, he was really, really good at invading my thoughts when I was trying to be a decent student and actually write my final paper for class.

Boys were bad. They were a terrible, bad thing. You could go along in life without ever really paying them much attention. Boys were sweaty and loud and they fake honked your boobs when you turned fourteen and started wearing a bra. They weren't anything special. Then some gorgeous, obnoxious, terrible smart-ass of a boy shows up and all you want is more and more and more of him.

Who wants to be writing a final paper for English Lit when they could be having sex? Stupid people, that's who. People like me who decided it probably wasn't worth flunking out of college for and now found myself hammering the grubby, disgusting 'A' key on my piece of shit laptop like a lunatic rather than lying on top of the super hottie I was almost, kind of, I guess dating. Since we weren't dating anyone else...

My hormones needed a time out. Seriously.

I looked up from battering my poor, decrepit laptop. The room was empty. Jenna had shown up earlier like she did every now and then, but she'd hightailed it pretty quickly. Pretty Boy was test-taking. I was surprised at how quiet it was without him, I thought I was the loud one. Maybe I was just loud when he was around.

I slammed the lid shut on my computer and tossed it onto the other side of my bed where it bounced daintily but — surprisingly — didn't fall off. I couldn't be bothered to shut it down or unplug it, so I left it as it was, pulled on a pair of flip flops even though it was about three degrees outside, and left the confines of my dorm room.

My room meant studying, and English Lit papers, and books I wasn't really interested in reading. The outside world had other people, and coffee, and cheese doodles. I was willing to trade off cold feet for cheese doodles any day.

When I got outside I heard a familiar call, one that hadn't been present in my life for a couple of weeks. I hadn't missed it. "Yo! Arizona!"

Mike was in my parking lot for some unforeseen reason. He spent a ridiculous amount of time hanging around our parking lot considering he lived off campus. I was beginning to wonder if he secretly slept in one of the crazy, broke down cars that never seemed to move from the spaces they were stashed in on the first day of the semester... my car could easily have been mistaken for one of them though so I hoped not.

The last thing I needed on a desperate hangover coffee run was to crawl into my car and find Mike hanging out in the backseat with a cooler and a ratty blanket.

I stopped and waved as he sprinted over dramatically. "Hey, Mike."

"Swan! Where you been at? We haven't seen you in forever. You've been all up in that preppy kid, Edward."

"You think MC's preppy?" I couldn't stop myself asking.

"He's always wearing shirts and stuff."

"What? The boy lives in hoodies. Did you see him in a button-up like one time, Mike?"

"Whatever, Swan. I missed you! You're coming to my party, right?"

Along with all the other parties Mike threw, he was also planning an end of semester slash Christmas slash fuck yeah winter break party. If I'd been spending the holiday with Renee I would have had to catch a flight out before the party... now that I was just driving to Charlie's my attendance was a little more likely.

I didn't have the patience to have a conversation with Mike about the possibility of me not attending: "Sure, I'm gonna try."

"Okay, cool. You better!"

"Totally. I gotta go, I'll see you."

"Yeah, catch you later, Arizona!"

I started walking toward the main part of campus. It was close and there would be vending machines there full of tasty treats to take my mind off the disaster my study session had turned into.

I got a bag of Cheetos and a Mountain Dew and seriously regretted my choice in footwear. Not only was it cold, my toenail polish was chipped. It was a bad look. I kicked up my pace to a nice speed walk to try and warm up and eventually found myself outside the lecture hall that currently contained Edward. His pretty self was sitting inside writing about math. I was really fucking glad I wasn't writing about math.

It was so lame. I lied to myself about getting a snack because I couldn't get him out of my head. I sat on the low wall that ran down the side of the steps up to the imposing brick building and bounced lightly to try and keep away the chill. I wasn't even wearing a coat, just a thick wool cardigan. I was an idiot.

I finished my snacks and folded the chip packet neatly so I could slot it through the ring pull hole in my soda can before I scrunched it in my fist.

I stretched. I kicked the bricks behind my heels. I pitched the crumpled can across the path into a trash can... and missed. I scrambled over to fix my terrible aim. I picked off the nail polish from my cuticles. I pulled my split ends. I worried my lip. I pulled at the cuffs of my cardigan. I jumped up and down on the spot.

I sat and waited and finally in a quiet, disgruntled stampede of students Pretty Boy walked out through the giant, imposing doorway. He walked over to me, curled one side of my cardigan in each hand, and kissed me.

His fingers had been inside of me, but it was the first time he'd ever kissed me in front of someone, anyone.

"What's X equal to?"

"Treasure," he grinned against my mouth.

I grinned back. "Wanna go find it?"


AN: Oh, if you're wondering where that second plot point is... next chapter. Cross my heart; it's already written.