Chapter 13

I was doing some laundry. Again. In Edward's apartment.

I hadn't actually slept in my own bed in the past three weeks, and for reasons that made sense in my head, I refused to bring over more than three clean outfits. You know because, clearly, taking more than that would mean I'd be far too close to moving in with him. And something about taking things slow. I don't know.

Having no clean panties after three days got kind of annoying, though. Hence me walking around in nothing but an oversized button-up I stole from Edward's closet and doing laundry— -again.

Also, doing laundry, alone. Because it was my day off—no school, no restaurant, no tutoring job—but Edward still had to work, and he had unfairly used his words and lips (but mostly his lips) to convince me to stay at his place for the day.

"I love the idea of coming home to you," the smooth motherfucker had said, and then I swooned and caved because A- How could I not? And B- I was just going to do homework anyway, and while I had limited my pile of clothes, I had brought over all the books I needed for classes.

The brightly colored walls provided a distracting environment as I plowed my way through two Williams who could not have been more different if they tried: Shakespeare and Burroughs. It was times like these that had me contemplating an entirely different major because, for the life of me, I could not bring myself to care about Naked Lunch, an entirely random, seemingly story-less piece of drug-induced babbles. And something about a man who taught his asshole to talk.

And while I liked and appreciated Shakespeare, I really didn't feel like dissecting every single iambic pentameter he ever wrote and ponder all the possible meanings the words held.

Sigh.

Time for a break.

What to do, though? I had chatted with Alice, I had done my homework—well, some of it anyway—and I had done laundry. What I really wanted to do was call Edward, make him come home, and jump his bones because he did very nice things to my body, and I was a little insatiable. Obviously, that wasn't possible right now.

Meh, porn it is.

What?

I liked porn every now and then. Apparently, that's still taboo for a girl to say, but whatever. I liked erotic literature, but sometimes, I just wanted to see some action. Hey, it's the twenty-first century; I can totally own up to watching porn sometimes.

I closed the empty Word document that was supposed to become a 2,000 word essay in the next forty-eight hours and curled up into the couch's comfortable cushions. I started clicking away on my laptop, quickly finding my way to a random site where I worked my way through a shit ton of obnoxious advertisements and found a video that did not have cumshots (eww) or teenage masturbation (eww again). I had learned not to click on random videos the hard way … all I can say is "triple penetration." Yikes.

Before clicking play, I turned off the volume. Now that was a lesson I learned awhile back: videos like these tend to feature women who try very hard to break the fucking sound barrier with their moans and groans. Sorry, neighbors.

I skipped the first six minutes of look, we're serious actors blah blah on the video like I'm sure everyone always does. If I owned a porn company, I would never waste time on making my actors pretend to be pizza delivery boys or plumbers or teachers. No, scratch that. Teachers can stay because that shit's hot.

Anyway. Skipping to the good stuff.

The guy was digging his face into the girl's crotch very enthusiastically. Something I, with my newfound love of oral, definitely appreciated, so I sat back and enjoyed the … scenery. Well, you know. Wasting no time, my hand traveled to the bare skin below the button-up, teasing my clit lightly, like I was just slowly getting ready for the good stuff.

Then I heard a key being turned in a lock, and I was fairly sure we'd passed the hello-and-welcome stage in the video already. There was no other explanation: it must have been the front door. To Edward's apartment.

Oh, shit.

I couldn't see the front door from my position on the couch, but it was easy to hear the door opening. It took another second to register in my brain what this meant.

Someone was coming in.

Someone was two seconds away from walking into the living room where I was lounging on the couch, clad in only a man's shirt, watching porn.

Oh, SHIT.

Panicking, I jumped up, causing my computer to fall off my lap. It tumbled off the couch and landed on the floor with a thump that made my heart stop for a second. Magically, it didn't stop working, and it was now lying face-up on the floor, with a close-up of a tongue licking a clit gracing the screen.

I tried my best to think quickly but ran out of time as I heard footsteps walk in the hallway. In mere seconds, someone would see me standing in the middle of the living room, barely dressed. There was nothing I could do about that. Except accept defeat.

The couch was probably enough to block an immediate view of the laptop from the doorway, but that wouldn't last long.

Shit. Think, Bella. Think!

I may as well have hung an "out of order" sign on my brain. I just stared stupidly at the screen, which was still silently playing porn, but had now progressed to an impressive sixty-nine.

"Hello," a masculine voice called out, and I whirled around.

A tall man with shiny glasses, immaculately combed gray hair, and an equally immaculate three-piece suit stood in the doorway, giving me a head-to-toe once-over. I'd be sort of disgusted but I would totally do the same if I ever encountered anyone dressed in only a shirt, so I let it pass. His brows were furrowed in the exact same way Edward's tended to be when he was thinking. His cleanly-shaven jaw was as sharp as Edward's, and his eyes were just as green. He was like an older, dressed-for-the-office version of Edward.

Oh. Shit.

"Um … h-hi."

The man said nothing, as if he was waiting for me to introduce myself, but really, shouldn't it be the other way around? I mean, I was already here. He just barged in.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the video on my laptop had now progressed to a rough doggy-style. I glanced back and forth between the visitor and the computer screen, realizing that if he took a few more steps forward, I would be showing the man, who was probably Edward's father, a screen full of porn.

I tried to swallow my nerves away.

"And you are?" he finally asked, eyebrow raised.

Pshaaawww, trying to intimidate me, Mr. Suit?

I stood a little straighter while trying to tug down my one and only piece of clothing, covering as much of me as possible. "I'm Bella. And you?"

He mimicked my movements, also attempting to stand up straighter, but the man was already looking like his posture was modeled by a plank. "Carlisle Cullen. Edward's father," he stated and started to walk toward me, already stretching out his arm to shake my hand.

My eyes went wide as I watched him approach. I could not let the laptop be seen. Instead of focusing on Mr. Cullen, I looked down, said a little silent prayer of safekeeping for my poor, poor computer, and in a fantastically coordinated move—especially for me—swiftly kicked it out of the way. It slid across the floor, and the screen disappeared beneath the couch. The keyboard, pointing upward, hit the bottom edge of the couch, halting all movements as the keys clashed against the wooden frame.

Please don't accidentally press the unmute button, I prayed. I composed myself just in time to shake Mr. Cullen's hand, fully aware the fingers that were touching my boyfriend's father had been stroking my pussy only a few minutes earlier. I tried not to visibly cringe at that thought.

And then, nothing happened.

We stood there. He was ignoring the fact I was a barely dressed girl hanging out in his son's house, and I was ignoring the fact he'd just barged in without even ringing the damn doorbell, at a time when his son would never be home anyway.

"So um … would you … like some coffee maybe?" I asked, trying to be polite.

"Yes, I'd like that," he replied, to my utter horror. Why wasn't he leaving? Who accepts an offer like that? He was supposed to say "no thank you, I have to go now."

"Um. Okay."

I didn't actually know how to work Edward's coffee maker. I tried to stay away from coffee these days, and Edward tended to be the one taking care of people, as if he had a server's gene that alerted him to everyone's needs before they knew they needed anything. Obviously, I lacked this natural ability. This was the first time Edward wasn't here to make coffee, and the machine looked very fancy and shiny and expensive, and, Oh God, what if I broke it?

I pressed a button that had a little coffee cup drawn above it and wished for the best as Mr. Cullen made himself at home and plopped down on one of the bar stools.

The coffee machine made a grinding noise—a familiar one, the same one it made every morning when Edward made his coffee—and I exhaled in relief. I had pressed the right button.

I just hadn't put a coffee cup underneath the damn thing.

Coffee splashed in all directions: drops hitting my bare thighs and Edward's pristine white shirt and the shiny expensive kitchen cabinets, and, oh God, this was a complete disaster.

I glanced at Mr. Cullen. He was still sitting on the bar stool with a blank expression on his face, thoughts completely indecipherable.

The coffee fountain finally came to an end, and I quickly grabbed a dishcloth to clean up the mess, carefully maneuvering my body into awkward crouching positions just to ensure I didn't accidentally moon or flash Mr. Cullen.

After quickly wiping away all traces of coffee, I found a cup—in only the seventh cupboard I tried!—and tried, again, to make a cup of coffee for a man I really didn't want to be talking to. Okay, Swan, manners. I turned around to face him, plastering an incredibly fake smile on my face.

"So, Mr. Cullen, it's nice to meet you. Edward didn't mention you'd come by today."

There. That was both polite and making clear I wanted to know what the hell he was doing here.

"I came to borrow his drill. My wife's making me fix some shelves in the bathroom," he muttered, the picture of a husband annoyed with his wife's demands. Not really the way you'd want to portray yourself to someone you just met, but hey, no judging.

I nodded because what was I supposed to reply?

"So you're Edward's new girlfriend?"

The tone of his voice made it clear that he and Edward had not had a conversation about me. Great.

"Um, yeah?" No clue why that came out like a question. Or where my confidence flew off to, for that matter. Great first impression this was turning out to be.

"You know," he said slowly, as if he was really thinking about his words, "Edward's relationships always end quickly because of his long hours at the restaurant."

Say what now?

"Okay … I'm not sure how to respond to that. But really, I already know what hours he works. Hasn't stopped me so far."

"Do you think you'll be any different, really?"

My jaw dropped, and all I could do was emulate a fish and gape at him.

"What, do you have some rose-colored glasses that makes you think you've found true love, and you'll live happily ever after?"

I was fairly certain my eyes were about to pop out of my skull.

"Chances of that aren't very good, you know. But it's good to see a girl around here. I was beginning to think he was gay."

No words were forming in my brain, but it didn't matter; Mr. Cullen kept talking anyway.

"Anyway. You're squatting here now?"

My mouth snapped shut for a second at the realization there was a question in there.

"I'm not squatting, Mr. Cullen. Edward asked me to stay today, and since I didn't have to work, I agreed to study here instead of at my place. This apartment is a beautiful place to study."

"Ah." He nodded, seemingly pondering my answer. "So, you're a student?"

That seemed innocent enough. "Yes, I'm at UDub."

"So you're probably living in a cheap, tiny apartment while trying to work your way through college?"

I was beginning to have second thoughts about this line of questioning. "Um, yes …"

"So you're just using my son for his money, then." It was a statement, not a question, and nothing could have baffled me more.

"Excuse me?" My voice jumped an octave from the indignation I felt. "If I wanted a sugar daddy I would've gone out to find a fucking millionaire somewhere. I'm not sure if you got the memo, Mr. Cullen, but your son's a chef not a CEO, and this place isn't quite a mansion in Hollywood. Right now, you're insulting me, and if you think I'm going to let you just because your Edward's dad, you are very wrong."

He narrowed his eyes at me and waited a beat. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I like you."

That was unexpected.

"Well, if this is the way you show people you like them, I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to reciprocate those feelings." I had my hands on my hips, the most defensive posture I could think of, and I was glaring daggers at Mr. Cullen. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to take a shower, so if you'd please find the drill you need, I'll escort you out."

Cullen senior seemed to get the message and left the room to rummage through a closet in a guest room. He quickly returned, holding some kind of hand drill.

"You know," he said with a sad smile, "I'm really just looking out for my son."

I raised an eyebrow. "I can understand the sentiment but I strongly disagree with your methods. Good day, Mr. Cullen."

I didn't bother walking him to the door. I had pranced about in Edward's shirt long enough. It was time to end this conversation and take a shower.

Mr. Cullen nodded at me and left the apartment without another sound. I slid down to the floor right where I'd been standing, slumping down in an awkward position with my legs straight in front of me and my arms in my lap, pushing down the button-up just enough to cover up the lady bits. Not that there was anyone there to see them, and thank heavens for that.

I just needed some time to recuperate. What a mess.

Then, because today wasn't quite enough of a shit show yet, the door opened again, and a gangly teenage boy with pimples, thick glasses, and long skinny legs sticking out of work-out shorts walked in, yelling, "Dad, you here?"

He stopped short as he caught sight of me, eyes wide, mouth open. I saw his eyes travel to the nakedness of my legs and cleavage. He gulped, and in an automated action, his hands flew together to cover up his crotch. "I ... I'll come back some other time," he said as he turned around and promptly ran out of the apartment.

I should've known better to declare today a mess before it had a chance to get even worse.

Fuck my life.

A/N

Book referenced (besides the obvious Shakespeare): Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. It really does contain a passage about a man teaching his asshole to talk (it grew teeth and everything). Incidentally, this book was my nemesis in Contemporary American Literature class.

Last chapter I recced a story, that was then instantly flooded with horrible guest reviews, threats and insults. MissBreakingSanity took her story (Divine Black Rain) down to protect herself. It's now back up, prologue only, so please show there that this fandom is not just hatred, but also a lot of love.

My new favorite story is Compass by . and it's not just because she messes with the idea of calling yourself Lotus, muahahaha. It's amazing and you should all read it.

Last but not least, I have a new beta, Alice's White Rabbit, who is amazing and deserves a lot of credit for not only fixing my mistakes but making me understand them. As I say goodbye to Fran, I'd also like to use this opportunity to say thank you for everything, because she's done so much for me and I'm fairly sure that without her, 99% of you would not be reading this at all.

See you soon(ish!)