Quick A/N: I forgot to mention this last chapter, but the lyrics used during EPOV were from Jimi Hendrix's song Love or Confusion. My bad. And I take full blame for that ridiculous cringe-worthy poem about Edward's headboard, but the original poem that I used and butchered was Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats.

Now on with the show!

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

A Betting Man

Chapter 29

EPOV

The entire week is pure hell.

I'm fortunate enough to be preoccupied with work for a day or so, but that isn't enough to keep this girl from my mind. I think about her constantly. Even when trying to focus my energy on something else, my thoughts always seem to drift back to the same place – the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin and lips, the way her brown eyes seem to shine when she's happy. She even has a tiny cow-lick in her left eyebrow – an insignificant thing, to be sure – but even that tiny feature has haunted me in her absence.

I'm consumed. Utterly, pathetically, painfully consumed.

I try calling Alice, but the first time she doesn't answer. When she finally calls me back, she's in such a rush that I'm not able to reveal the shit-storm that has taken place in my life this past week.

"Oh, Edward! It's good to hear from you!" she says.

"You too, Alice. Do you have a second to talk?"

"Oh, I wish I did, but I'm already fifteen minutes late to meet Jasper and some friends for drinks. Can I call you when we're finished?"

What choice did I really have? I wasn't about to spoil her night.

"Sure, Alice. Just don't forget, okay?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Edward. Of course I won't."

But she doesn't call me back.

The next morning, she leaves what sounds like a very painful, hung-over message on my voice mail while I'm in a meeting. It's from Jasper's number. She says something along the lines of "fucking Screwdrivers" and "stupid bathroom stalls with broken locks" and "straight from my back pocket into the toilet." She then moans a bit about having to stick her hand in toilet water to retrieve her cell phone – they wouldn't allow Jasper to come into the ladies' restroom, apparently – before promising to call as soon as she has purchased a new one.

I feel antsy at work. It's a slow day; I take my lunch break early and decide to leave the office rather than have my assistant pick something up. There's a deli downtown, so I drive nearby and park, hoping the short walk and time spent outside will help clear my head.

While passing a small boutique, something catches my eye. In the window, on display among various plus-sized women's clothing, is a fat, stuffed, black and white cat with its pudgy arms sticking out at its sides. It's not identical to Ursula, but the resemblance is still uncanny.

Emmett had reluctantly revealed the true origin of Ursula the night I left Rose's place. That part didn't really surprise me; Emmett's involvement in the entire affair did.

"You knew?" I had hissed at him. "And you helped her?"

"Dude, I already told you before. Rose and I tell each other everything. If she knows, then I know."

"You didn't have to encourage her, though!" I'd said angrily. "You practically handed her the ammunition."

He thought about this for a second. "Yeah, I guess I kind of did," he agreed, shamelessly.

By that time, I was emotionally spent and no longer had the energy to argue.

"Whatever, man. I hope it was worth it." I shook my head and turned to walk away, but he quickly grabbed my shoulder and spun me back around.

"You've always gone through women like they mean nothing," he said seriously. "Consider this a friendly intervention."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Em. I've never blatantly disrespected women."

Well, except with Bella. But I didn't say this.

"Oh? So the women from the bars that you've fucked...what do you call that?"

"It doesn't happen that often and it's their idea! The redhead invited me back to her place. She was practically trying to give me a hand job in the middle of the club. You can't tell me that girls who sleep with strange men after knowing them a half hour are expecting flowers and marriage proposals. They know what they're getting themselves into, Emmett."

This is true. I've slept with Lauren plenty of times, but random women – women whose names I can't remember – are few and far between. But I can't lie and say I've never done asinine things while drunk. That's so far from the truth that the mere idea is comical.

Emmett huffed. "Yeah, but still."

The argument ended, and after that night we proceeded to carry on as if nothing had ever happened between us.

Now, I stand staring at the fat cat for what feels like ages. I'm pretty sure Ursula did more damage to Bella's emotional well-being than she ever did to mine. But Bella never tried to bring her to my place, and for that reason I dare to hope that maybe she was beginning to feel some remorse for her actions. Maybe she knew that we had both taken this nonsense too far.

I enter the boutique. A tiny bell jingles from the door handle, alerting several women to my presence. I'm the only man in the store and I instantly feel out of place.

"May I help you?" a saleswoman asks. She eyes my work clothes – a buttoned, fitted shirt with slacks and a tie – and I'm sure she assumes I'm a man with money shopping for someone else. Which is true.

"Yes, I want to buy the cat in the window," I say, already fishing out my wallet from my back pocket. She looks confused.

"The cat?"

"Please."

"That's a display item, Sir," she says patiently. She gives me a small smile. "It's not for sale. We sell clothes and accessories here. Perhaps I can interest you in something else?"

Jesus Christ. I really don't have much time to argue about this if I want to make it to Bella's office before the end of her lunch.

"I'll give you a hundred dollars for it," I say briskly.

"Sir-"

"Two-hundred."

"But Sir-"

"Four-hundred dollars," I say impatiently, slipping four bills from my wallet and holding them out to her. Her eyes glaze over for a second before she takes them.

"Alright, Sir. It's yours. Have a good day."

I grab the cat on the way out. It's an ugly little thing, its beady eyes protruding from its overly stuffed face, but I don't consider any of the money to be wasted. I buy a card from a Hallmark store across the street and race to Seattle with my new purchases.

She's not there when I arrive. I'm simultaneously disappointed and relieved, but her absence grants me an opportunity to leave the cat while still, hopefully, giving her the space she requests.

Bella sends me a text that night to thank me for the cat. Every word from her sends my adrenaline racing; I stare at each message, hoping and praying that the next will be the defining statement. I irrationally hope that she will forgive me – or at least try – and will possibly hint at wanting to see me again in the future.

But this doesn't happen. She requests more time, more space, which has me groaning into the silence of my living room.

Time is obviously what she needs, and I find myself willing to wait a thousand lifetimes for her forgiveness. And this realization – the simple fact that I'm suddenly putting so much thought and care and persistence into one person – is terrifying in the most gratifying of ways, and I decide I wouldn't give it up for the world.

It's been so long since I've felt this way. It's horrifying and fantastic, comforting and torturous. I want to rip my hair out and beg for forgiveness and – admittedly – see Bella naked all at the same time. I can't make sense of the swarm of overwhelming emotions.

I decide to give Bella her space. Perhaps it's what she really needs. Perhaps I'm driving her further away when I bother her.

I don't doubt this conclusion until Alice calls me.

It's early in the evening and I've just gotten home, having avoided another call from Lauren and the subsequent guilt-trip I would have received for abruptly ending our contact. When I answer, Alice instantly begins raving about her new phone.

"You should see it, Edward! It's a touch screen and has a qwerty keyboard and I can listen to music on it and check my mail – even my school mail – and I can get on Facebook and Youtube and manage my bank account and do pretty much anything else I feel like!"

A bought of static interferes with her words. "I can't hear you well, Alice," I say.

"Yeah, I had to swap to a different provider to get the phone," she says, a slight hint of disdain to her voice. "The service is kind of crappy here. Hold on, I'll go stand by the window."

"I see," I say thoughtfully. This light conversation has offered a welcome distraction, putting me more at ease as I anticipate the grueling conversation to come. "So basically you can do everything on it except actually call people?"

"I can call people!" she exclaims with a huff. "I called you, didn't I? And I get better service outside."

"Right," I say teasingly. She huffs again and I picture her rolling her eyes.

"So what's up?" she asks conversationally, moving the discussion along. My heart rate increases at just the mere thought of what I'm going to say. Without waiting for me to answer, she adds, "How's Bella?"

It's as though my heart has plummeted right to the bottom of my stomach. I hate that I'm going to have to bring this news.

"We're not seeing each other anymore," I finally answer. The words are cautious, fearful of an impending explosion.

But she's silent. I begin to worry, but finally she says, very slowly, "Uh huh. Why?"

Her tone is incredulous and accusing. She already blames me.

"It's a long story," I say with a sigh. "But it actually has a lot to do with you. I need to talk to you about some things."

"It has a lot to do with me?" she squeaks. "All I ever did was say how great she was! There's no way you can blame me for this! What did you do, Edward Anthony Masen!"

I cringe at the sudden, static-y rise of her voice, not to mention her use of my former surname.

I figure it's best to just purge myself of this information all at once. Before I can dwell on the repercussions of what I'm about to say, I begin relaying the story, all from the beginning, and include every tiny, sordid detail. I ignore her gasps of surprise and little exclamations in between; I ignore the silence from her end when I reveal that Bella knew about the bet the entire time.

I ignore it all, because otherwise, I won't be able to finish.

When I'm done, I allow a silence to hang in the wake of my confession. I can hear little particles of static that indicate she hasn't hung up, but I'm otherwise at a loss.

I imagine she's wondering where to begin. The bet? The wager? My interaction with James? Bella's knowledge? It feels like a lifetime has passed before I finally lose my nerve and break the silence.

"Alice? Are you okay?"

"I…" She hesitates. "No, I'm not okay," she finally says. "Why would you do that, Edward?"

I groan. "I don't know."

"I mean, I guess I understand why you did it," she goes on, as if I hadn't spoken. "I mean, it really means a lot to me that you care so much. And that you want to help Jasper. But why would you bet your company? You and Carlisle built that company from the ground up. I know it would have crushed the both of you to see it go to a skeeze-bag like James. It would have crushed me."

She's right. I don't even have to agree, because the truth in her words is so glaringly obvious.

"And Bella? She didn't deserve any of that," she says sadly. "She's a really nice person. And I just…I had this feeling about the two of you. I know you always think I'm crazy, but my feelings are always right. They just are. But this is just…I don't know…it's so messed up!"

She seems genuinely upset about this. Though I don't reveal this, her emotions are actually an exact mirror image of my own.

Had Bella and I met under different circumstances, things would have just been...right. Things would have been normal, and perhaps she would be here with me tonight rather than demanding time and space and likely never wanting to see me again.

But would I have given her an opportunity to get this close without the bet? I would have pushed her away at the very first inkling of attachment I felt, scared and without an ulterior motive to keep her around. And would we have even met? I never approach women in bars; I have a few drinks and women normally sidle up next to me for small talk and flirtation. I highly doubt Bella would have been one of those women.

"I know it is," I say morosely. "I'm sorry. I really liked Bella, too."

"You did?" she asks hopefully.

"Yes," I say, hoping to pour every ounce of honesty I can into that one word. "I like her a lot, Alice. I haven't stopped thinking about her since all of this has gone down. She consumes me. I can't take it anymore."

Spilling my guts to my sister – to the one person who truly understands me and won't judge – actually feels good.

"Then why are you apologizing to me? You need to talk to Bella!"

"I've tried, Alice. She doesn't want to hear it anymore. She wants space."

Alice gasps. For a moment, I wonder if I've said something wrong.

"Are you giving her space?" she inquires. I'm relieved that I may actually be doing something right.

"Yes, yes. Of course," I quickly assure her.

"No!" she exclaims, causing me to jump in surprise. "She doesn't want space! God, men are so dense!"

I'm alarmed at her sudden outburst. "What are you talking about?"

"What have you done for her? Flowers? Card? Poems? Carved an ice statue commemorating your love?"

Now I'm very confused. "I sent her flowers," I say, my voice somewhat defensive. "But that was before she talked to me. And when we talked, I promised her I'd leave her alone if she wanted me to – that all I wanted was to explain myself."

"You haven't sent her anything since then?" she asks, appalled.

"I, uh…I took a stuffed cat and put it on her desk at work yesterday. She wasn't there."

As I say it out loud, I realize my one little attempt at contact was actually kind of pathetic. In fact, it's probable she didn't even like the cat – it was kind of ugly. And then a horrifying thought crosses my mind.

Dear God, I hope I didn't offend her!

Before I can voice any of my fears, Alice asks, "A cat? Why a cat?"

"Oh, um…she babysat a cat for a friend of Emmett. It just made me think of her. It was probably a stupid idea—"

Alice interrupts my rambling.

"No, no. I like that. You're right, it is thoughtful. You need to send her more stuff."

I still don't understand. "Are you sure about this? She said she needed space…"

"If you give her space she's going to think you don't care! You don't want her to think that, do you?"

"No…"

"Alright, so just listen to me. You need to keep it thoughtful. Girls like that. So tell me something about her."

Crap. I suddenly can't think of a thing. It's as if my whole brain is seizing in horror at being put on the spot.

Then a thought occurs to me.

"She likes the movie The Big Lebowski."

"Perfect! Get her something to do with the movie. Maybe a soundtrack CD if it has good music or an autographed picture from one of the actors. What else you got?"

"Umm…she made me Tiramisu once."

"God, I love Tiramisu!" she gushes in excitement. "You should have some sent to her work during her lunch break! And send me some too while you're at it!"

I chuckle, feeling lighter than I have in days. Prior to talking to Alice, the heavy weight on my shoulders had been crushing. Now it's manageable, and perhaps, in a perfect world, Alice's plan will work and I'll be free of it completely.

I start the very next day. I begin small, choosing something simple. I have my assistant deliver a scooter lesson gift certificate to her office and pray that she will see the humor in the gift.

For lunch, I have Tiramisu catered to her work.

She doesn't contact me. I have no indication that she's received the gifts at all, despite Jane's hurried assurance that she placed the gift certificate on her desk herself.

The next day, I have all five Lost season DVD's delivered to her apartment, unable to remember which ones she already owns, and I also send a Grease soundtrack CD. I refrain from delivering them myself, wanting to give Bella the option of making the first contact.

If she ever chooses to do so, that is, because I get nothing from her once again.

On Wednesday, I receive a confirmation that The Big Lebowski rug replica was delivered to her apartment and signed for. I receive comfort from the fact that she is, indeed, receiving my gifts, but the fact that she isn't contacting me to acknowledge them is disheartening.

On Thursday, I leave work early with another gift in mind. I take a Polaroid picture of my replacement headboard and write a ridiculous poem on the back – hopefully something to get her attention and make her smile. I deliver it to her office myself and ask the secretary to carry it to her desk.

I head back to my home in Olympia when I'm done. I'm disconcerted by the fact that I'm running out of thoughtful gift ideas, but I try not to dwell on it at the moment. I just need to clear my head for a bit. I need to decompress after the emotional toll that this entire week has offered.

The next day, after work, I head over to my home in Seattle, debating the entire while on whether to just show up at her apartment and demand that she acknowledge my efforts. It seems desperate and needy and something that will likely push her further away, yet Alice insisted that girls are more apt to that kind of persistence.

"That kind of attention is romantic," she'd said to me.

I juggle through my reasoning with my keys in my hand, on the verge of leaving at any second. But the thought alone makes me nervous. I'm still just not sure.

Perhaps I should stop over thinking things.

My phone beeps as I'm heading out the door and I pause on the porch to check my message.

Thank you for the gifts. They were…unique. – B

My insides clench. This is what I'd been hoping for all week, and now I'm terrified that it's all I'll get.

You're welcome, Bella. I hope you didn't find any of them offensive. I just wanted to make you smile. – E

I feel ridiculous as soon as I send the message. I've finally received an excuse to talk to her and this isn't what I wanted to say.

Well, mission accomplished. Thank you. – B

And I smile, taking much relief in knowing that I made her smile.

How are you? – E

I'm feeling brave; I'm not ready for our conversation to end. Without thinking more about it, I jump into my car and speed out of the driveway, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when Bella answers my text without blowing me off.

We begin texting back and forth. I reply at red lights and stop signs and even type one awkward response while still driving. I know it's dangerous - and not something I usually do - but I'm unable to stay away either in person or through words.

As I near her apartment, our conversation becomes more intimate. I pray that she's home.

I'm sorry you went to the wedding alone. I really wanted to take you. – E

It doesn't matter anymore. I don't care about going alone. – B

You should never have to be alone. You deserve someone who will worship you day and night. Someone who will never lie to you and who will treat you like the special person you are. – E

That's sweet of you, Edward. But things aren't that simple. – B

Why not? – E

Because there has to be a special person out there who loves me that much. - B

Her assessment is nearly laughable. There's no one out there who thinks she's special? No one who loves her? I want to be this person for her so badly that it's terrifying, but I move forward, unable to stop this force that's leading me to her home. To her. She has woken feelings inside that I haven't felt for ages. Just the thought of her leaves me feeling reborn, like a completely different person altogether.

From this moment forward, no one will ever work harder to deserve her than I will.

It seems like only seconds have passed before I'm standing in front of her door. My palms are sweaty, my breaths shallow. I know that she's home because I saw her car outside, but it does nothing to quell the growing panic I'm beginning to feel.

I take a few deep breaths in an effort to calm myself. When I think I'm as composed as I'm ever going to be, I knock on her door.

Only a few seconds pass before I hear hurried footsteps from within. For one short moment, I fear that she'll see me through the peephole and demand that I leave.

But the fear is short-lived when the door is quickly swung open.

Bella stands there, wide-eyed, and slowly bites her lip as she assesses me. She looks more surprised than angry, which gives me an inkling of hope.

We look at each other for a moment. I know I need to speak, but I'm admittedly scared shitless. Finally, I slide my phone into my pocket and begin.

"There is someone like that, Bella," I finally say. She swallows, her eyes never leaving mine. "Can we talk?"

Slowly nodding, she moves aside so that I can enter.

I hold back a sigh of relief as I step inside, instantly taking sight of her kitchen. It's full of vases upon vases of dead flowers, causing it to resemble a Tales of the Crypt dinner party. Bella follows my gaze and blushes furiously.

"You should have said you were coming over," she admonishes. "I was gonna throw those out, I just haven't been home much lately."

I look at her – finally look at her – and take in her messy hair, her pink, bare cheeks, and the oversized Superman t-shirt that falls to her mid-thigh. I can see her nipples through her shirt and I'm almost positive she's not wearing a bra.

She's absolutely fucking gorgeous this way.

My pants suddenly tighten and I divert my gaze, desperately trying to fight off these lustful feelings I have for the woman before me. I can't believe how inappropriate I'm being and silently curse my tactless dick.

But once again, Bella has followed my gaze. She looks down and then her eyes instantly snap back to mine.

"Um, I'm just gonna…hold on…crap." She scurries into her bedroom and out of sight, leaving me alone near the front door. I take the opportunity to gather my wits and adjust myself.

She emerges a few minutes later in a pair of pajama pants. They're not nearly as sexy as seeing her bare legs, but this is beneficial if we're going to have a serious conversation. I'm also pretty certain she's put on a bra, which is kind of disappointing.

She stands nervously before me, a few feet away, and still seems embarrassed.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I was a little distracted by…I just…nevermind."

I've never felt such an attraction to a woman before in my life. Reeling in this desire, I shake my head and give a kind smile.

"Don't worry about it, Bella."

She nods quickly, effectively eliminating any further discussion of this topic.

"Um, do you want a drink or something?" she offers.

"I'm fine."

"Want to sit down?"

I look at her living room. The rug is nowhere to be seen and I frown as I wonder if she's thrown it out.

"Sure," I finally say, feeling much less confident than before. Not that I was feeling wholly self-assured to begin with.

She sits down first and I take the other end of the sofa, not wanting to impose on her personal space. I lean forward and wring my hands together, noting the dampness that won't seem to go away.

I'm so fucking nervous. Bella doesn't seem much better off, but for some reason I take this as an ominous sign. A slow breath wavers as it leaves her body.

"So," she begins, apparently eager to get the conversation going. "What did you want to talk about?"

She looks down at her hands as she speaks, picking and fidgeting with everything and nothing.

I sigh, running a frustrated hand through my hair. I don't have a clue what to say or where to begin. But she stares at me, her eyes pressuring, waiting for me to get it all out. And I would never, ever let this opportunity pass me by.

"I want to talk about us," I finally begin.

"Us?" Her response is weak, and I know what she's thinking – there is no us.

There never was. Not really.

I rub my face with both hands, hoping to wipe away some of this nervousness and confusion. But all I succeed in doing is smearing palm sweat across my brow.

"Yes, us," I go on. "I want there to be an us. I like you, Bella. I care about you. I never stop thinking of you. I know our situation was messed up, but I really like the person I came to know the past two weeks. You made me laugh, you made me anxious as hell, and you made me…I don't know…different. And I like the person I am because of you."

Bella doesn't look at me. She stares straight ahead, her brow creased with anxiety, her eyes shining. Her hands wring fretfully in her lap.

"Now that the bet is over and done with, I just want…I don't know. I want to start over. I want to get to know the real you, not just what you chose to tell me because you didn't trust me.

"I want you to trust me. I want the opportunity to earn your trust, and I want to deserve it. I guess what I'm saying is…I want to try again."

She turns to look at me, honest to God tears welling in her eyes. I want to reach over and wipe them away, but I don't dare.

"I like you, too," she finally whispers, and I feel like I'm soaring. I can't stop the ridiculous grin that spreads across my face; this is suddenly the lightest I've felt in days.

"But," she goes on, and I feel my hopes sink again just as quickly. I dread hearing her next words. "Do you really think it's a good idea? The entire time we've known each other – it's just been lies! And what I did to you…how can you even still like me?"

She looks at me, hopeless and confused.

"You're right, it was a rough start," I agree. "But as for why I like you? You're smart, beautiful, and funny. You stood up for yourself. You make a to-die for Tiramisu," I joke, hoping to lighten the situation some.

She snorts at this, which sounds kind of choked up from all the wetness, so I ignore her reaction and quickly move on.

"You don't care what people think about you and you get along with my best friend," I say. "Plus you gave me a reason to get a new headboard, which I'd been meaning to do for forever now anyway."

She averts her eyes, looking ashamed, and I'm instantly sorry for making such a lame joke.

"No, Bella! I'm sorry. Look at me." I instinctively put my hand on her cheek, turning her head so she'll meet my gaze again, and I'm surprised when she doesn't shove me away.

"I shouldn't have said that," I quickly apologize.

She shakes her head. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who did it. I'm…I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven," I say quickly. "It's over. Done. Water under the bridge. It's like it never happened – I don't care if we never talk about it ever again. Or we can if you want to," I'm quick to add.

She smiles weakly at me and then leans over to get a tissue from her end table. She begins drying her face and wiping her nose.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me for making the bet?" I ask nervously. A part of me doesn't want to hear the answer, too terrified as to what it'll reveal.

But she looks at me, her brown, wide eyes showing nothing but complete honesty.

"I already have."

And I'm soaring again, even more elated than before. Our conversation is going not as I'd expected, but every way that I had hoped.

"But I'm just worried, Edward," she quickly adds. "I want to trust you…"

"You can, Bella! I swear to you on everything that I'm not going to make that mistake again. Let me prove it to you."

She sniffles, and I can tell that she's not convinced.

"Ask me anything," I say. "Anything at all. And I'll tell you whatever you want to know. No lies, no secrets. Just you and I trusting each other."

I'm five seconds away from dropping to my knees and groveling. Bella doesn't say anything. Instead, she looks torn.

"Please, Bella. Please believe me. I'll never be a part of any kind of fuckery like this ever again. I just want a chance to start over and prove this to you."

"Then tell me something about yourself," she prompts. Looking guilty, she adds, "I don't know what to ask."

Thinking quickly, I scramble for something halfway decent to say.

"I played baseball in high school," I tell her, unable to think of anything better. "Someone bunted the ball while I was behind them and it came back and nailed me in the face. It knocked out two teeth, so two of my teeth aren't real."

She sighs and looks down at her hands again.

Fuck. I knew the teeth thing was stupid, I mentally chastise. But then she surprises me.

"What happened to your parents?" Her voice is quiet, cautious; almost immediately, her panicked eyes dart up to meet mine.

I take a deep breath. I didn't anticipate having to speak of this tonight, but I can't fault her for wanting to know. How can I expect her to trust me if I continue to guard parts of my life from her?

It hurts to think about, but I would take any amount of pain, emotional or physical, if it only means Bella will give me the second chance I so desperately seek.

"They're dead, Bella. My…my mom was murdered. My dad died of health problems."

I remain as detached as possible, not wanting this to become anything other than winning Bella back. She picks at her shirt, at a part of the Superman logo that is peeling away, and nods.

I'm not sure is she wants me to elaborate. I mentally quarrel with myself, trying to decide if I want to delve into this story now. I definitely will if it's what she wants, but I don't want to put myself in the situation without being certain.

But she finally puts me out of my misery.

"You don't have to talk to me about it now, Edward. I know it's hard for you. But some day, if there really is an…us…then I'd really like to know everything about you. But I'd like to earn that, too."

She looks shyly at me, her brow creased in worry as though afraid she's said something offensive. But her words couldn't possibly make me happier.

"Absolutely, Bella," I agree. "I promise. Anything you want to know."

She smiles, her face actually dry, and I'm so relieved I could sing.

Feeling lighter than I have in ages, I seek confirmation in her words. "So you'll give us a chance?"

She nods, biting her lip to hide her own smile. "I'd like that," she says. "But, I really think we should start out slow. You know, to try and do things…right."

I nod quickly, willing to agree to anything at this point. "Whatever you want."

Seconds pass. I'm not really sure what to say now. After the enormity of the conversation we just had, I don't feel like a joke or another deep discussion is appropriate.

I finally glance at the clock and decide it might be time for her to get some rest. I don't want to overstay my welcome, especially since she is insisting on taking things slow.

I rub my hands against my pants, the clamminess finally disappearing, and ask, "So would you mind if I call you tomorrow?"

She smiles. "Of course not, Edward."

I stand, preparing to make my leave. Bella looks as if she wants to join me, so I extend my hand and help her up.

"I should probably get going," I say, looking down at her. A strand of hair falls into her face and I want to push it away, to touch her anyway I can, but I'm terrified that I may be over-stepping my boundaries. I've been given a gift and I don't want to mess things up.

She nods solemnly. I can tell she's not pleased, yet she doesn't ask me to stay.

She follows me to the door. I think of a dozen ways to leave her – a simple goodbye, a kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the lips, a hug. All of these things seem appropriate and yet simultaneously offensive, leaving me confused and wary before her door.

I clear my throat; the noise sounds strained in the silence.

"Thank you for talking to me, Bella," I say sincerely.

She wipes her nose one last time and smiles up at me.

"Thank you for…you know…making the effort," she replies.

So Alice was right.

"You're worth it," I assure her. As I turn to leave, she suddenly touches my shoulder, stopping me.

"So we can really do anything I want, huh?" she asks, her voice teasing but shy. It instantly piques my interest.

"Anything," I breathe.

She chews her bottom lip. "A goodnight kiss?"

Someone is definitely on my side tonight. But is this really taking things slow? And do I care?

Of course not. That was her rule, not mine.

I lean down to press my lips softly against hers, not sure what she really expects from a "goodbye kiss". But that one soft kiss leads to another, then another, and suddenly her tongue is in my mouth and her fingers in my hair, pulling and tugging with reckless abandon as every bit of pent up frustration and longing is released into this single act.

When we pull apart she gently pushes me out the door, giving me one more light peck on the lips in farewell. I'm left standing there alone, tugging my hair in pure wonder. I hate the thought of leaving, but I've already achieved so much in this one night that I feel it's best to go home now and count my blessings.

But halfway down the stairs, I can no longer resist. I take the steps two at a time and rush back to her apartment, knocking loudly and impatiently.

She opens the door, her expression a mix of confusion and curiosity.

"What's wrong?" she asks, worried.

"Nothing, nothing," I say quickly, hoping to assuage her fears. "It's just…I haven't had dinner yet and was wondering if…you know…you might want to join me?"

She opens the door a little wider and leans against the frame. "You mean like a date?"

"Well, yeah," I say. "If you want it to be. Or it could just be two people eating together."

Whatever you want, so long as you're with me.

She touches her messy hair and seems to contemplate this.

"I'm a mess," she says in exasperation. "Do you really want to go out with me right now?"

"Bella, I don't think you've ever looked so fucking beautiful in your entire life. Of course I want to go out with you."

Her face comes to life with one of the biggest smiles I've ever seen.

"Alright," she finally agrees, already heading for her bedroom. I spy her bare legs and marvel at the fact that I was only gone about thirty seconds, yet she still found time to shed her pajama bottoms again. Her voice carries from her bedroom as she adds, "But I at least have to put on some pants."


A/N: Thank you thank you thank you for all your support regarding my update schedule. I can't tell you what a huge stress reliever it was not trying to meet a deadline this chapter.

Big thanks to ms-ambrosia for betaing, passionmama for pre-reading and helping with the plot holes and such, and Heathers Twilight for her constant support and love of this fic since the very very beginning.

A few qiuck fic rec's this time: The University of Edward Masen by Sebastien Robichaud. I didn't plan to rec fics that already have a bazillion reviews, but if you're not already reading this fic, I highly recommend you jump on the bandwagon and give it a shot. It absolutely owns me.

Bad Fauxmance by stella luna sky. Three things...Pretend Gayward + Gay Emmett + Man-Hating Bella = some hilarious mofo shit. A must read if you need a laugh.

Same Time Next Year by socact. This fic was just heartbreakingly beautiful to me. It's kind of short, so you can probably finish it in one night, and it's COMPLETE!

All links are on my profile. You can follow me on twitter at mybluesky1. I hand out cookies and teasers and fart jokes. Well maybe just teasers.

Until next time... - mybluesky