[AN: calm your tits.]

Paul set me gently in the passenger seat and buckled me in before heading around to the driver's side and getting in himself. He started the truck up and turned the heaters on full blast, aiming them all at me before actually putting it in gear and pulling out on the road.

I turned in my seat and rested my head against the door and just stared at him, enjoying the view. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he kept looking over at me every few seconds and smiling.

"HEY!" I protested once I'd finally looked out the window at the scenery flying by. "Th-this isn't the w-way to Jakes." I stuttered, the cold getting to me again.

"I know." He replied simply.

"So...wh-where are we g-going?"

"My house."

What? Had I heard him right? Did he said we were going to his house? I sat up straight and looked at him, nervous.

"B-b-but you t-told Tawny..."

"I know, I know. But I can't take you to Jake's. Billy will be there. And if he sees you like this, he'll feel obligated to tell your dad. And I don't want you to get in trouble."

Well, that made sense. But I was still a little suspicious. I mean, me going to his house was exactly what Tawny had been trying to avoid. Saying he was taking me to my cousin's house was probably the only reason she let me leave with him.

So...what did this mean? Should I be scared...I didn't feel like I should be scared of Paul, but...what do I really know about him...

I mean, it did look bad. He'd taken my phone and told my friend that he was bringing me to my cousin's, and now he's saying we're going to his house?

"Soooo, why'd you tell her we were going to Jake's then?"

"Because I knew that's the only way she'd let you leave with me." He said - exactly what I'd been thinking before. "She's a good friend - seems like she really cares about you...I like her." He continued, totally missing the point I'd been trying to make. Then he looked over at me and seemed to realize what this looked like. "Whoa whoa whoa! Hey, no. Not like that!" He reached over and took my hand. "We're just going to my house because you're probably going to crash soon, and you'll need someplace safe to sleep it off. And this way you won't get in any trouble for drinking." He reassured me. "I would never..." He growled and trailed off, like he couldn't even finish the sentence. "I-I just thought it made the most sense...if it...bothers...you, I can take you somewhere else..." He offered, somewhat reluctantly. But he seemed genuine enough.

The truck was actually slowing down, as if Paul was preparing to take directions from me on where to go.

"No no, you're right. Your place is perfect." I said, relaxing back onto my seat once again, now that we'd gotten that cleared up.

It was only another ten minutes or so (filled with me dancing and singing along to every song on the radio like the drunken idiot that I am - much to Paul's amusement) before we pulled into a gravel driveway.

"Home sweet home." He remarked dryly, and I squinted through the dark to try and get a better look at the place.

It wasn't much. Just four walls and a roof with a small porch warped by Washington's extreme weather. It was kind of small, but homey. Like most of the rest of the families of La Push, I guess the Lahotes were pretty hard up.

Never the less, the place looked pleasant. Comfortable, even though I hadn't actually gone inside yet. I liked it.

Paul hurried around to my side and helped me out - how sweet. I love it when guys do that! Anyways, he wrapped an arm around my waist so I wouldn't stumble around as much and helped be up the steps to the porch. He let go of me for maybe fifteen seconds - just long enough to dig his keys out of his pocket and unlock the front door, but that was long enough for me to lose my balance and nearly fall over.

"Whoa!" Paul had to lunge to grab my arm and keep me upright. "Easy there."

I started laughing again, clutching onto his arm to keep my balance. My sides were splitting, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't even tell you what I found so funny...

"You're so wasted." Paul said, staring down at me with just a hint of laughter in his eyes - one hand still keeping me upright and the other resting on the doorknob.

He looked at me for a moment - a long, intense moment - and my hilarity finally stilled. It's like his eyes were boring into me - but in a good way, a totally good way. Actually, nothing about his eyes were boring. They looked so deep and intelligent. It's like I was drowning in them.

Almost unconsciously, I started leaning in closer to Paul, and I could have sworn I saw those beautiful black eyes of his flicker down to my lips - only for a split second, but I'm pretty sure it happened. My heart jumped, and then started beating double overtime. I really thought something exciting was about to happen, but instead he just looked away and sighed.

"Come on." He pulled me through the living room and all the way down to the last room at the end of the hall.

Paul's room.

Like a typical teenage boy, his room was messy: clothes thrown all over the floor, a family sized bag of chips on his nightstand, three or four plates stacked on top of a dresser with half of its drawers left open and stuff spilling out of them. The sheets and comforter from his bed were just lying on the floor, and his closet had been left open so I could see there wasn't a single thing in there on a hanger. Everything was just thrown in the bottom of it, spilling out into the room so that he couldn't close the door if he wanted to.

"Messy messy messy!" I sang, teasingly. Paul just rolled his eyes at me and started riffling through his dresser drawers. "Whacha looking for?"

"Dry clothes."

Oh yeah. I forgot he'd gone sloshing through the ocean after me. I mean, my dress was short enough to not get wet, but Paul had been wearing jeans. They were soaked through and hanging even lower on his hips than normal. His shirt was even a little wet - probably from me, when he picked me up and carried me back to shore. Whoops.

Since the only thing to even get wet were my legs, and they had dried on the ride over here, I was good. Just cold. Like, really cold. My fingers were red and, even though I couldn't see them through my boots, I was willing to bet my toes were even redder.

I wrapped my arms around myself to try and conserve body heat.

"Here." I turned to look at Paul, just in time to see something come flying my way. I didn't catch it because my reflexes were a little...diminished…at the moment but after a second I finally registered that it was a sweatshirt. I quickly picked it up and pulled it over my head, on top of my dress.

"Here, sit down." Paul said, pulling me over to the bed. I plopped down obediently and he picked the covers up off his floor and threw them over me. "Just a sec, I'll be right back." He set the dry clothes he'd found for himself next to me on the bed before jogging out of the room. It wasn't long before he returned with a big bottle of Gatorade. He knelt next to me and unscrewed the lid before trying to hand it to me.

"No. I'm not thirsty." I said trying to push it away, but he kept pushing it on me. "Noooo. I don't want it!" I groaned.

"Yeah, come on. You've gotta rehydrate. This'll help with your hangover tomorrow." He said patiently.

I looked at him. Who can argue with that logic? "I've gotta drink the whole thing?" I asked in a small voice.

He nodded and brought the bottle to my lips, so I sighed and gave in, gulping down Gatorade even though I didn't want it. But, Paul had told me to drink it, so I drank it.

"Alright. So you can go ahead and go to sleep. You can sleep here," He pointed to his bed, "I'll just go get changed and sleep on the couch."

"I can't go to sleep yet!" I exclaimed, and pointed at my face. He gave me a look like: 'um...what?' "My make up." I said in my duh voice. "I can't sleep in my make-up...That's bad."

He looked at me like 'are you serious,' and I nodded my head like 'yeah.' I don't wanna break out just because I don't feel like taking off my make-up. Plus, my friend Stacie from back home says that her mom's dermatologist friend told her that sleeping with your make up on ages you, like, two weeks every time you do it. Not for me. Not uh, no thank you.

"Allllright...okay. I guess I'll show you to the bathroom then." He grabbed my arm and helped me up, guiding me out of the room and back down the hallway to the bathroom at the other end. "You can use this." He said, handing me a bottle of soap before starting to leave. "I'll go change in my room."

I stuck my head out the door to watch him leave, and to my extreme delight (it would have been embarrassment had I been sober, but I wasn't, so...), he turned back to smile and wave at me right before he went back into his room. I swear my heart stopped...that smile, man! It kills me! He's so freakin hot!

So, after I finished ogling Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome, I stepped back into the bathroom and turned the faucet on and holding back my hair with one hand and splashing my face and lathering soap on it with the other. It was pretty clumsy, what with me being drunk and not used to washing my face with only one hand and all. It didn't feel like I was washing my face very well. I couldn't even tell if I'd worked up any suds yet.

What was the point of me getting out of my comfy spot on the bed to come wash my face if I'm not washing it well? Exactly. So I decided to take a little peek to make sure I was lathering enough.

Good news: I was.

Bad news: The soap got in my eye.

"Aaaaah!" I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut, hoping the burning would stop soon. "OW OW OW OW OW!" I yelled, hopping from foot to foot.

I heard a bang from behind me, and blinked my eye open long enough to see Paul falling through the doorway.

"WHAT?! What is it? What's wrong?" He asked frantically. I had squeezed my eyes shut again because of the burning soap, so I sensed rather than saw him rush to my side and look around, trying to figure out what's going on.

"SOAP!" I squealed. "Soap! In my eye!" I raised my hand and started rubbing my eye - probably not the best idea since it still had soap on it. But what can I say. I wasn't thinking clearly.

Paul let out a relieved breath. Given the noise I was making, he'd probably thought the worst.

"All right, all right. Come on, I've got you." he murmured as he wrapped an arm around me and gently led me back to the sink. "Don't rub it, you'll just make it worse." He pulled my soapy hand down, away from my face. "Here, hold your hair back and lean down."

I gathered my hair back up in my soap free hand and bent down like he'd told me to, and it wasn't long before I felt him splashing water on my face. He rubbed his hands over my face gently, rinsing away all the soap, taking special care on my eyes. It wasn't long before the burning in them died down.

"Better?" He asked in this low, smoky, sexy voice that sent a tingle up my spine. I couldn't find my voice, so I just nodded and started looking around for a towel to dry off with. "Here." I turned, and he handed me a towel, like he could read my mind. Maybe it was the state I was in, but it just seemed like such a sweet gesture. Like he was in tune with my needs or something.

Or perhaps I'm developing a little crush on Mr. Lahote over there.

Well...he is hot...but I just decided to chalk it up to the alcohol and ignore all those fuzzy little feelings popping up.

I wish I could say that I reached this decision by looking at the facts and realizing that: A) this is only my first week here, and B) Zane and I had barely broken up a month ago and, though I am definitely 100% over the guy (more than, actually, because I had been the one to break up with him), it just feels like too soon to start something else. I'm not one of those girls that just hop from relationship to relationship - I hate those girls, and I'm not about to be one of them.

Like I said, I wish I had decided to nip these feelings in the bud based on logic, but really it was just because I got distracted and stopped thinking about it...I'd just realized that Paul is shirtless. I must have caught him in the middle of changing…Shirt. Less. And, let me tell you, Shirtless Paul is veeeery distracting.

I quickly dragged my eyes away hoping he hadn't noticed me eyeballing him and started patting my face dry, but the first thing I saw when I'd finished and looked up was the mirror over the sink. And reflected in that mirror? Paul's perfectly sculpted drool-worthy abs. Seriously, I think I might have been drooling. My mind kind of went blank and I couldn't make myself do anything except check him out. My eyes slowly traveled up his body from his abs, to his chest and shoulders. Tentatively, I looked up even more, to his face. He was looking back at me. We locked eyes in the mirror.

Oh God. He totally saw me checking him out. I guess that should have been embarrassing, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Besides, Paul hadn't looked like he'd minded. We stared at each other for a moment. His gaze was so intense…we were totally having one of those moments…And it was completely one-sided, because instead of making a move (like I sort of thought would happen) Paul broke eye contact, grabbed his toothbrush, and started brushing his teeth.

Yeah. Pretty anticlimactic.

I was surprised to find that I was disappointed. And a little hurt. Just a little…but still. Did he not like me? How could he not like me? Wait…did I like him? No…I don't even know him? So what's the problem here? Why do I care? 'Must be the alcohol,' I decided, 'making me think all weird and emotional and stuff.' I don't remember having any of these fuzzy little feelings any of the other times I'd been around Paul. He was rude when I originally met him, and acted weird every time I've seen him since (excluding tonight). I was probably letting my imagination get the best of me. I do tend to romanticize things.

It's probably for the best anyways. I didn't want to start something only to sober up in the morning and regret it. Then I'd have a real mess on my hands. Yeah. That'd be bad.

I jumped when Paul put his hand on my waist – startling me out of my thoughts. I'm ashamed to admit that for a second there, my spirits soared, but he just gently moved me out of the way. I was still standing in front of the sink, and he needed to spit.

"HEY! I need to brush my teeth too!" I realized. If I wasn't going to sleep without washing my face, do you thing I'll go without brushing my teeth? Um…no. "I've gotta brush my teeth. I'VE GOTTA BRUSH MY TEEEEEETH!" I screeched melodramatically, grabbing onto one of his arms and shaking it.

"Okay okay!" He chuckled, wiping his mouth off with a towel. "Geez, you're a fun drunk." He turned away smiling and started digging through a drawer.

I giggled a little bit, then walked a couple steps back and leaned up against the wall. I was starting to feel tired. I must be crashing. I hope he finds that toothbrush soon. I'm still cold and I'm getting sleepier by the second. All I wanna do is go curl up in bed and sleep – preferably through the hangover that's probably coming my way tomorrow.

"Ugh. Hold on. I can't find a stupid toothbrush." Paul groaned, closing the drawer. "Let me go check the kitchen."

"The kitchen?..." I wrinkled my nose in confusion. Why would there be a toothbrush in the kitchen? I don't get it.

"Our junk drawer's in there." He explained as he walked away. "There's usually at least one of everything in there."

He was only gone a couple of minutes, but I was having trouble keeping my eyes open during that time. They keep wanting to drift close. That wall I was leaning against was getting more and more comfortable...

"Found one. Pop went to the dentist a couple weeks ago and they gave him a free one." I heard Paul's voice getting closer, so I forced my eyes open again. He walked back into the bathroom tossing a toothbrush still sheathed in cardboard up in the air and catching it. "Getting sleepy are we?" He asked once he got a good look at my face.

I nodded and stifled a yawn.

"Come on then," he grabbed my arm and guided me back in front of the sink. "Let's get those teeth brushed." He then proceeded to help me brush my teeth with infinite gentleness and care. It was really sweet of him and it kind of made me feel like a kid again – having someone brush my teeth for me. I was probably looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, but I couldn't help it. Paul was just so attractive in this moment – butterflies were rising up in my stomach. Again, that could have been the alcohol…

Paul ran the brush against my teeth one last time before nodding – signaling I could spit the toothpaste out. So I did, and Paul turned the facet on and cupped some water in his hand, bringing it to my lips.

I'd never drank out of anyone else's hand before. It felt strangely…intimate. But in a good way! Like, he knew me well enough to know how to position his hand and like I trusted him enough not to slosh water all over me. Once again, Paul's being really sweet.

'I really like this version of him.' I thought as I wiped my face on the towel yet again. When I'd finished, Paul set my toothbrush down next to his in the toothbrush over, and I smiled like an idiot at their proximity.

"Come on. Bed time for the drunken girl." Paul murmured, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and leading me back down the hall to his room. I stumbled along next to him obediently, wrapping my arm around his waist – purely for balance purposes of course.

I plopped down on Paul's bed fully prepared to pass out in a matter of seconds, but Paul stopped me with a hand on my leg.

"Hold on Bex, we've gotta take your shoes off."

I looked down and realized he's right. I'm still fully dressed – except I had Paul's hoodie pulled over my tiny little party dress.

"Boots." I yawned. "They're boots."

"Okay, we've gotta take your boots off then." He rolled his eyes before kneeling in front of me and grabbing my ankle, pulling my foot closer to him. He negotiated the zipper up and gently pulled a boot off, tossing it over his shoulder carelessly. He set my foot on his knee and pulled my other boot towards him before doing the same.

"You still cold?" He asked, cradling my socked feet between his warm hands.

"Freezing." I replied, pulling the comforter towards me and wrapped it around my shoulders.

"Yeah, your feet are pretty cold." He murmured worriedly, rubbing my feet a little to try and warm them up. "That little swim of yours wasn't a very good idea."

"I'll be okay." I sighed.

I thought I heard him say "You better be," but it was too quiet for me to be sure.

We were quite for a moment, and I found myself thinking back to my second day in town – when I'd gone to the Blacks to pick up some paint brushes and Paul had been rude to me. I wonder why? I'd only bumped into him – and it's not like it even hurt him.

And yet, here he is, a week later, messaging my feet for me and trying to get me warm – and being really sweet in the process, even though he'd had to leave a party early because of me. But every time I'd seen him in-between, he acted all weird and creepy. He's a really confusing guy.

I decided to ask him about it, but my addled brain mixed up what I'd wanted to say.

"You were mean." I told Paul suddenly. He looked up in surprise. He'd been lost in his own thoughts and had no idea what I was talking about.

"What?" He asked confused. His hands stopped messaging my feet for a moment as he tried to figure out what I was thinking.

"In Jake's kitchen. You were mean."

Paul thought for a moment before realizing what I meant. "Right. Sorry. I was in a bad mood. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." He apologized before sending a heart-stopping smile my way. God he's gorgeous. "Forgive me?" he asked as he started rubbing my feet again.

I couldn't seem to find my voice, so I just nodded.

"Good." He gave my feet one final pat before letting them go and standing. "Now get some sleep."

I lied down obediently, and he situated the blankets so they would cover me. I shivered, once again realizing how cold I am.

"I'll be right in the living room if you need anything." He said, hovering next to the bed. He didn't seem to want to leave and, to my surprise, I found that I didn't want him to leave either.

I didn't know what to do with that, and I didn't know how to tell him that without sounding awkward. So I didn't. I didn't let on a thing. "Goodnight Paul." I whispered.

He looked down at me really intensely for a second, looking like he was having some kind of internal struggle. Then he leaned down and gently kissed my forehead. I blinked in surprise. Oh my God, he'd kissed me!

"Night Bex." He sighed huskily, before leaving his room in a hurry.