You know I like my chicken fried, a cold beer on a Friday night...

"Calla? What the hell am I listening to?"

I reached over and turned up the stereo, singing along. "Well, I was raised up beneath the shade of a Georgia pine- Hey! The hell are you doing?" I tried to snatch my iPod from his thieving paws, but he just held it out over the dashboard, out of reach unless I wanted to let go of the steering wheel and run into a ditch and kill us all.

"Changing the song from cheap-ass country music, to... oh, look, more cheap-ass country music. Cowgirls Don't Cry, Mud On The Tires-"

"Those are not cheap! You know nothing! Says the person who listens to freaking radios having sex or whatever you want to call that dubstep crap."

We had had this argument already, and he didn't bother to defend himself nor his crappy taste in music, instead preferring to swat me absently in the face with the hand that was resting on the shoulder of the driver's seat. He pretended to gag as he scrolled through my iPod. "Do you have anything on here that is not country? Anything at all?"

"Yes," I insisted, making another grab towards my iPod before he could eject it. I was really enjoying that song. "I have-"

"The Hairbrush Song, from a- from a Veggie Tales Album? Really?"He asked, giving me an incredulous look.

"Don't make fun of me! Josie loves them, I'm telling you-"

"Would you please pay attention to the freaking road-"

"I am paying-"

"Then what about that car-""

"What car-Oh, shit! Shit! Embry, help!" I let go of the wheel completely, screaming to high heavens, panic taking over common sense as I saw a car parked on the side of a bend in the road looming towards us way too fast through the rain-drop ridden windshield.

This, of course, caused Embry to cuss profusely and lunge over to grab the wheel, steering his car away in the nick of time from what probably would have been a casualty-causing crash, righting us in the middle of the road while I covered my face with my hands, fully expecting my face to be smashed into a wind-shield pancake.

And just like that, it was over, leaving only the sound of the gentle hum of the car and my shaking heartbeat. When I finally opened my eyes, Embry still had his hand on the wheel, his arm stretched across my body.

I started laughing.

"I just saved your life," he said indignantly, having slowed the car to a mere crawl.

"Thank you," I crooned, giggling uncontrollably into my hands, still placed half-protectively in front of my face. "I'm still a better driver, though."

"Are you going to take back the wheel or not?" He asked, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as a smile fought its way to his face. As I reluctantly did so, mourning the loss of the gold-brown skin of his bicep disappearing from in front of my face, he took the chance to slander my superb vehicular skills once more. "And, yes, I suppose you are a better driver, if by better you mean you drive like a feral cat is clawing at your face-"

"I think it's just your car. I think your car just sucks."

He leaned the seat back and clasped his arms behind the headrest, stretching out as much as nearly seven foot tall guy could stretch out in a puny little Chevrolet. "Maybe you're right. Allie nearly killed me, too, on multiple occasions."

"Are you suggesting something, Embry? Are you suggesting that just because Allie-the-bich couldn't drive and I may drive like a freaking cat is on my face, that does not mean that women are in any way inferior-"

"You know, you tie way too many conversations in to feminism?"

"-because we are totally strong enough-"

"Strong enough, yeah, I'm just a little worried about the fine-motor skills-"

"Oh, shut up."

To any other person listening to our conversation, it probably would have sounded like we were a couple of bickering siblings. Or maybe some kind of married couple on the verge of divorce. In fact, though, we were none of those things.

I wasn't really sure what me and Embry were.

Friends? Definitely. At least, from my perspective. He could insult my taste in music, I could insult everything else about him, but in the end it seemed like one of us would always end up laughing. If that's not the sign of a friendship, then I do not know what is.

But at times, it was... complicated.

Like right now, for example.

It had only been three weeks since we had first officially met, but there was kind of a routine with me and him that already seemed like second nature. Nearly every day I would put away my books in my locker, going as slow as I could, wondering and hoping and yet anxious that he was going to show up, as if a gorgeous guy like him wasn't tired of me already.

And then, everyday, he appeared. And there would be a moment where our eyes would meet and I would think, Please, God, don't let this ever stop. I like him too much for him to ever stop.

Stop doing what? I don't know. Being Embry. I found myself smiling when I thought of him without even noticing it, something that seemed to be happening a whole lot lately.

There would be a split seconds where I would worry what to say. A split seconds where I started to batten down the hatches, be prepared to change my attitude like I did with every body else to make him happy- should I play it cool? Try to be sweet? Ignore him completely?

But then he would launch into conversation, and we would start talking and I would forget to be awkward and I would forget that he was heart-stoppingly beautiful and that my mother was dead and I was just a freakishly tall runner girl with no hair.

In times like those, I knew we were friends. Good friends, even, but just friends.

But then...

He did things. Certain things. Certain things that made my stomach clench and my heart race and my brain start wondering if "just friends" was really the way to go.

For example, he had this way with endearments. He would call me 'honey' or 'sweetie'- usually after I had done something stupid and hurt myself. Always on accident, though- whenever I did something stupid on purpose (ie: the Bike Incident) he just got angry, but in a stern, I'm-going-to-cuss-but-not-actually-raise-my-voice kind of way, like my dad did when he realized I was sneaking out to go to slummy parties. At least, before he stopped caring.

I knew that it should annoy me. Because he called Josie 'honey' too, which basically meant that he was comparing me to a helpless five year old.

But, no matter how hard I tried to make it bother me, it didn't. Like last week, when we were both in the french class room, watching some horror movie for extra credit. And, I mean, it was in freaking french, so it wasn't like I even really understood what was going on even though I've been taking the language for four years, but all the same I was about piss myself, but I was trying really, really hard not to show Embry how scared I was. Except when the serial murdered attacked the girl in the shower with a butcher's knife (those french sure aren't creative-The Psycho, anyone?) I totally screamed and was so scared that I kind of jerked back and fell halfway out of the desk, hitting my head on the corner of a bookshelf.

Embry himself seemed to be more scared by the blood that started oozing out of a tiny little nick in my forehead than the freaking killer rapist on screen, but I just remember how he had looked down at me, with my hand pressed to my head, eyes kind of laughing and yet gentle and worried, all at the same time.

"Oh, honey."

That's all it took. And I just kind of melted right there on the french class room floor and he freaked and thought I was hemorrhaging or something.

In this certain instance, he had offered to drive me home. And I had told him that, just because you insist on being so utterly and annoyingly chivalrous, I'm gonna say no. And he was like, "What, are you afraid to be in a car with me for three minutes?" and he totally turned it into a dare which was not in any way fair, because then I just had to ride home with him. Except I insisted on driving. And after our near-death incident and he had dropped his arm to let me take the wheel back, he had kind of let it rest on the cup holders between the front seats, his fingers absently grazing my thigh whenever there was a bump in the road.

I don't think I have ever been more aware of a two inch section of my upper thigh in my whole entire life. I couldn't tell if he was doing it on purpose or if he was trying to make my skin burn and shiver whenever we went over a speed bump, or if he just honestly did not notice.

Anyways, enough of that. We arrived at The Forks Coffee Shop.

I pulled up and we both got hurriedly out of the car, trying to avoid as much of the cold rain as possible, me heading towards the shop and him switching to the driver's side so that he could drive himself home. Except neither of us got that far, because we met in the middle in front of his Chevrolet, and I couldn't go to the side one way because his car was there and I couldn't go to the side the other way because Embry was there in all his gigantuousness.

I suppose you could say that I was stuck between Embry and a hard place.

I expected us to do the awkward little side step 'dance'-you know, where I go one way and he goes the same way and so I step the other way except he goes that way, too-

Instead, he hugged me.

I mean, not really, it was more of a mauling kind of motion, but it had the same effect, which was that in my jerking alarm and his- I don't know, Embry-ness- I ended up with my back (not to mention my butt) pressed up against him, his arms wrapped around my waist.

"You idiot!"I half-screamed into the rain. "What are you doing?"

He was laughing in earnest, guffawing, really, his chest rumbling through me with laughter.

"I don't really know," he confessed, tightening his embrace on me. I wasn't sure if it was the laugher of if it was just him, but he had kind of brought his shoulders in so that I was all wrapped up in a nice Embry-burrito. I tried reaching down to his hands to pry him off, but he was so hot and his shirt was so soft and he smelled so good, like something spicy and warm over just a bit of sweat and WD-40 from the auto-body shop where he worked, and he was holding me and I couldn't bring myself to make him let go.

"I tried to move you aside," he said, his face against the curve connecting my neck and shoulder. "But you're so skinny that I kind of ended up-"

"Attacking me?" I meant it to come out sternly, but I found that I was laughing, too. And smiling my face off. I could feel his breath on the skin of my neck, the warm muscles on his stomach against the slope of my back.

"What, you're saying that you would you like me to get off now?" He teased, his mouth close to my cheek.

"Yes, please," I near-whispered, totally lying. Another thing about Embry. I swear he made me bipolar. One moment I would be annoyed and the next I would be back to the blushing-girl-next-door. It was exhausting.

When he finally let go I regained some of my composure and had the good sense to huff dramatically and knock elbows with him (well, more like upper-arm to elbow) on my way past.

I hadn't even made it a step before I felt his warm hand catch mine, driving away any sense of the cold from the rain. "Calla?" He asked patiently.

I turned slowly on my heel, half-smiling. I knew what was coming. It was somewhat of a tradition by now, stemming from that second day, when I brought him to my house.

"See you tomorrow?" He asks, blinking into the rain, looking ridiculously cute as his dripping black hair curls around his ears.

"Yes," I answer, trying not to smile. "Now would you quit touching me?"

He just laughed, and drove away.

Allrighty, so, now marks a kind of turning point in the story! Some very...ahem, exciting developments are coming, including an important new character and an argument (gotta love me some drama), so buckle your seatbelts and get ready to...well, to keep reading, I suppose. Anyways, it's gonna be great!