~ 26 ~

"We're gonna what? Now? How'm I s'posed to . . . Can't it wait 'til . . . I don't know if I can," I decided in the end.

"Hunh," Edward scoffed. "You don't know if you can? Do you have any idea how long I've been smoking, Bella?"

"No, but I always thought you were really good at it."

His eyes popped for a second in surprise. "Good at it?"

"You're sexy when you smoke. Don't tell me you don't know that."

"Thanks, I guess."

He eyed me carefully while I scooped up a fry and pulled it toward my mouth. I left it between my lips for a second before gobbling it in. Would I miss the cigarettes? Absolutely. Would I rather have Edward quit, kick the filthy habit myself, and earn back both his respect and mine? Hell, yes!

"So, what's the plan? Tapering off? Illegal substances?"

"Cold turkey."

That was a chilling concept. "Damn."

"Yeah."

I snagged another fry. "When are we doing this?"

He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. "I was thinking we'd each have one last smoke after your classes tomorrow, and then take a little shopping excursion to load up on candy, gum, and toothpicks."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Are you scared?" I asked.

"Yes, but not for the reasons you think."

"How do you know?" My own reasons seemed good enough for him to be afraid, too: withdrawal, weight gain, failure.

"Because I still don't think you trust my feelings for you." I swayed into the back of the metal chair, and I couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say. With his lips curling into a bit of a smug smile, he continued. "Right. I hope you can handle this, Bella. What scares me most is not being strong enough to get you through."

Gobsmacked. That was the word for it. "I honestly don't deserve you, Edward."

Edward smiled as if he knew I'd react that way. "Of course you do, Bella. You just don't know it yet."

Surveying the wreckage of the discarded meal between us, I ticked off what we'd established thus far. "So, I make up with my father, catch up in all my classes, and quit smoking?"

"Yep. And if I could get a little meat onto your bones, that would be nice, too."

I burst out laughing, not just because the sexual innuendo was too blatant to ignore, but also because I know what happens when people try to quit smoking. "I think we're both gonna be busting out of our jeans soon enough."

"Hmm," he grinned again, "then we'll just have to find a way to work it off."

Now, we're talking. "And what did you have in mind?"

Edward stood, pushing his chair back with his knees. "Exercise. The literature says it helps."

An unpleasant noise escaped me, a tiny growl of frustration, which made Edward laugh.

"What's the point of making me eat all this food if we're just going to work it off?" I complained, not really expecting an answer other than the smirk he gave me.

I took his extended hand, finding the comfort of his touch enormously reassuring once again. He tossed out our garbage with his free hand and started us back in the direction of my dorm. As we turned the last corner toward my building, I stopped and tugged on his hand so we were facing each other.

"Edward, before we get back, let's just finish this part so we can put it behind us and start moving forward. Are there any other conditions I need to know about?"

Everything he'd already asked of me was more than I felt I could handle individually, let alone all dumped together in one massive makeover, but I was prepared to make my best effort. How could I back away from this challenge when he was willing to give up three weeks of his life to stand beside me, to dig down and do things that were equally hard for him?

He took my other hand and laced our fingers together. We were so close, I could feel his warm breath in the air between us. My heart was hammering against my rib cage.

"Edward Cullen, if you don't want to see how my Oreo shake looks on your boots, you better start talking."

"Okay . . . so, this is the part where my white horse comes in." His eyes, those beautiful, deep green eyes, flipped into bedroom mode. Just like that, I was melting like a marshmallow over a campfire. "This last condition is going to be way harder on me than it is on you."

"What are you gonna do, Edward, spank me?"

The moment the words left my mouth, heat flared on my cheeks.

It was Edward's turn to be stunned—it seemed we were playing ping-pong with the privilege—and a glimmer of excitement illuminated his face. "Now, there's a thought," he said.

The imagery hit me so forcefully that I nearly swayed on my feet.

Edward, dressed only in those jeans and black boots, naked from the waist up, perched on the end of my bed.

Me, completely bare for him, stretched face-down across his lap, my wrists forced together into the small of my back by his firm grasp, his other hand poised to strike.

"Okay, no. That really wasn't helpful," he was saying, shaking his head to clear away what undoubtedly was a similar picture lodged in his brain. "Bella, I disrespected you the first time around."

"I was a heinous slut who threw myself at you."

"No, I was cruel. I knew I couldn't have you, so I wanted you to suffer the way I was."

"It worked." We both laughed a little, each taking our share of the blame. "Edward, the truth is, I'm the one who disrespected myself—and you. You were clearly putting out a 'back off' vibe, and I ignored it. I was selfish and needy and immature—"

"And horny. Like me."

God, yes! Just the word coming off his lips caused a trickle between my legs. I was right back there on that dusty lot, his body covering me, pressing me into the dirt, my legs opening for him—

". . . So this time around," he was saying, "we're going to do things right."

"I don't even know what 'right' is, Edward." It certainly hadn't been James's so-called patience or the cold, forced act behind the library.

"I'm not sure I do either, but I want to figure it out together."

I liked the sound of that. A lot.

A/N: I promised a little touch of Domward, and there it was! So what do you think of the last condition?

Apparently "gobsmacked" came into being in the late 70's (phew) but the nicotine patch did not (thank you, Shell). So these kiddos didn't have quite the options we have today. But then, they have each other! :)

So, would you believe 40 fine ladies collaborated on a fantastic hot potato-style birthday drabble for me, which posted yesterday (a couple days ahead of my birthday)? I remain incredibly touched that so many people worked out all these details, created a gorgeous banner, and pulled together to surprise me-many of whom are first-time writers. If you'd like to check out the story, it's called Born To Be Loved by Pumpkin Patchworkers.

Mr. H is whisking me away to warm climates that don't necessarily have internet access (smart guy) so I'll do my best to answer and post, but I'll see you Sunday for sure. Until then, have a safe and festive Halloween and fill your pumpkins with lots of nice treats!

XXX ~BOH