~~o~~

Chapter 5. The One-Night Stand

I have only been sitting on the rock outside of Edward's van for less than a minute when I hear ruffling coming from inside, and then I see him come back out in a rush. His body is wrapped in a blanket. His hair is now semi-dry and in disarray. When his eyes, still in slits, find me, he halts.

"You're still here." His voice is hoarse but he sounds… relieved?

"Well, now I'm afraid to go back by myself, because of what you said about sex traffickers." I hate how small and shaky my voice sounds, and when another shudder runs through me, I curse under my breath, wrapping my arms tighter around myself as I get up.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." He stumbles down the step but steadies himself before walking closer to me, shaking off the blanket and draping it over my shoulders.

He seems lost in thought or consideration; his eyes flick between myself, the beach below us, and his van. He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath.

"C'mon, let's get inside." He reaches a hand out to me.

I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders and go over my options. I just met the guy. Not that I think anything would happen if I go in with him, but still. In his current state, I doubt he'd try anything, but if he did, would I be able to stop him? I pat my bag, feeling the pepper spray in there, thinking maybe I could take him.

My face must show my hesitation because he lifts his hands up in surrender and takes one step back. "I'm not… I won't…"

Despite my apprehension, I trust him. I don't know why or how, but I do.

"Look," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can't stay out here." There's a warning in his voice, and I wrap my arms around myself, under the blanket, as another chill runs through me. "And I'm not comfortable with you going back by yourself. Or sober enough to make the trek down with you."

I look over my shoulder, at the beach and our campsite, far in the distance. The tiki torches that light up the path flick in the nightly breeze. I wonder if Rose is worried already or if she's even looking for me. It hasn't been that long, and the night is still young. But she would definitely worry if I don't come back at all.

"Plus it's going to rain," he says softly.

I look up at the clear sky, not a shadow of a cloud, only stars and the moon above us.

"Trust me," he adds, with a tiny hint of a smile.

I raise an eyebrow at him, and I could swear he fully smiles now. It's fleeting, though, and quickly replaced by an inpatient frown when I don't answer.

"I-I need to let my friend know." I reach for my bag, hanging across my body, barely big enough for its contents—my credentials, the can of pepper spray, lip gloss, and the satellite phone. "Do you get reception here?"

"By the rock," he says wearily, nodding his head toward the cliff.

I get the phone out as I head closer to the rock. With my eyes on the screen, I miss a step and would have landed flat on my back if it wasn't for Edward's hand around my elbow.

"Could you at least watch where you walk?" He takes an exasperated breath, but his hand tightens around my elbow, helping me up the rock.

"Maybe you should watch where you walk." I nod at his knee, thinking I'm funny, highlighting the fact it is still bloodied from his fall earlier, but he looks away from me.

Okay, then…

When I switch my attention back to my phone, I notice I already have a message from Rose.

Where are you, betch?

I grin at the screen and type quickly.

Met someone. Possibly a non-amigo. Don't wait up. ;)

It's the quickest thing I can think of that would appease her and where she wouldn't ask any questions. I don't necessarily want to tell her that I followed a stranger up a cliff and am now too afraid to go back by myself.

I open the satellite map, take a screenshot of my location, and send it to her too.

Just in case.

Then, I put the phone back in my bag and look at him to see if he's snooping, but he still faces away from me, his hand clasped around my elbow.

"Okay, we can go in now," I say, turning in his direction.

"Great."

Sarcasm. Lovely.

Once I'm off the rock, he releases my arm and walks me to his door. I follow his routine, cleaning my feet before going inside. My eyes must be accustomed to the darkness because even in the faint light of the moon coming from the top hatch and the windows, I can see everything.

It's a tight space, cozy, but clean and organized. There's a small counter with a sink and a one burner cooktop. The counter is bare except for a pour over coffee maker. On the other side, there's a small bench with shelves around it, mostly occupied by books. The rest of the space consists of the end-to-end bed in the back.

When I look at him, he's staring at me with a torn expression, his body leaning on the door of his van; his hand is clasped around the frame almost as if he needs it for support.

"What is it?"

"It's just—" He looks down, pulling at his neck. "Nobody comes in my van."

I can't help the immediate laugh that leaves my mouth. When he gazes back up at me, there's an amused look in his eyes, too. Like he's in on the joke. Like he's aware of how dirty his comment could be construed, and I'm thankful that it's not just me with my mind in the gutter.

"No coming, huh?" I tease.

"I meant, I don't let anyone in here," he explains embarrassedly. "It's one of my rules."

"Okay, thanks for the clarification." I snort—softly, thankfully—and try to breathe away the blush of my cheeks. When he gazes back up at me, there's a knowing light in his eyes.

He shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching, as if he's trying really hard not to smile.

I stand to the side as he moves away from the door, locking it behind him before moving into the tiny kitchen. He takes a bottle off of one of the shelves and rattles a couple of pills onto his hand before popping them into his mouth. Then he bends at the sink and downs them with water. I wonder if he's trying to prevent the hangover that is sure to come tomorrow. I am also impressed that the van has running water.

He moves around me, careful not to come too close, and cracks open all the windows before flopping on the bed. The sound of the waves and the night breeze fill the inside of his van, breaking up the tension that grew between us just moments before.

When he takes a deep breath, resting his head back with a huff, I look around myself, uncertain on what to do.

There isn't really any other place to sit but his bed, so I take a spot on the little bench, by his books, bringing my feet up and my knees to my chest. Resting my chin on my knees with a sigh, my eyes roam around the space inside his van. It looks, feels, and smells like a home.

A surfer home, for sure.

There are a few drawings and pictures of waves on the wood-paneled walls.

My thoughts are distracted by the sound of him shuffling on the bed, and when I turn to him, his head is up, furrowed brows in almost a wince. "C'mon. There's more than enough room." He pats the space on the bed next to him. "I mean, if you want. I won't touch you or anything."

When I don't answer, he huffs.

"Do you want the bed?" he insists, sounding a bit annoyed. "I will blissfully pass out on the floor."

I look at the limited space on the floor, doubting he'd even fit.

"It's fine." I arrange myself in the nook so my back rests against some of his books, making myself as comfortable as possible in the little space. "See?" I could totally wait here until morning.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" He sits up abruptly, banging his head on what looks like two surfboards that rest in a net hanging from his side of the ceiling. "Shit… ow…"

He drops back on the bed, rubbing his forehead, and I'm instinctively next to him in the next second. My knees dig into his mattress, his blanket forgotten on the nook, as I check on him.

When he sees me, he smiles proudly, as if in accomplishment.

"Did you hit your head on purpose so I'd come over here?"

"The plan was to only pretend to hit my head, but I miscalculated." He winces, rubbing his fingers on the now clear bump on his forehead.

"Maybe I should make sure you don't have a concussion," I say playfully. There's something about him—he makes me feel comfortable with myself.

"I don't have a concussion." He feigns seriousness, but his lips twitch, stretching at the corners.

"Follow my finger," I instruct, moving my index finger from side to side in front of his face. I sigh when I see that his eyes, glassy and unfocused, are on my face instead of on my finger.

"Are you even trained for this?" he asks in amusement, his eyes fluttering closed.

"I almost have a PhD."

"In what?" He peeks with one eye open at me.

"Marine Biology."

"Okay, cool, but… I'm not a fucking sea turtle."

"Could you just—"

He groans as his hand closes around my wrist, my finger still pointed, and he moves my hand side to side, purposely following my finger with wide-open eyes. "Happy?"

When he drops my hand, it falls on his chest, but I quickly retrieve it back to my lap.

"What's your name?" I ask in a distraction, continuing his fake-concussion check up.

"Edward Cullen."

"Okay. Good." I sit back over my ankles on his bed. "I think?" I had heard his name from the girl who came to yell at him at the bar, but it's nice to have confirmation. "How did you get here?" I continue with my pretend questionnaire.

"On my own two feet." Ugh, he's so vague.

"Where are you from?" This one I know.

"Santa Barbara, California." He pauses for a second, and I just love that he's playing along. "Population: 91,000."

I laugh loudly, playfully slapping his shoulder, my hand subtly remaining there. To my surprise, he's chuckling too.

"What day is it today?"

My question hits him like a bucket of ice water, and he suddenly closes a hand around my wrist, pulling my hand off his shoulder and pushing it away onto myself before releasing it.

"I don't have a concussion, okay?" He seethes, spitting the words. "Stop with the questions."

"I-I'm sorry." I'm left puzzled by his sudden change in mood over my inconsequential question. One minute he's chuckling at our inside joke, the next he's recoiling from my touch.

He scrubs his hands on his face, taking a few deep breaths. When he speaks again, he sounds significantly calmer but also slurred.

"I'm sorry." He rolls over onto his side, his eyes on me, dark and pleading. "I'm just... so tired."

He takes the pillow from under his head and moves it to my side, in a wordless invitation.

Against my better judgement, I lie down and face him, and he visibly relaxes with a long exhale.

Only a glimmer of moonlight shines over his face and the contrast of lines on it. Straight sharp jaw. Knitted brows. Red-rimmed eyes, deep and void. He looks so… worn…

There's something else in there though, something younger, boyish, darkened and aged by the unforgiving sun.

"I don't think I can stay awake any longer," he says through a long yawn, tugging at those strings inside of me.

"It's okay." I smile, my fingers itch to reach for his face, but I clasp my hands together between my knees instead. "Sleep."

When his eyes start fluttering closed, it doesn't look like he fights it, or like he is able to fight it anymore. Pretty soon after that, he releases a soft breath and looks to be sound asleep.

And there goes my first night in Costa Rica.

When I thought about—fantasized even—spending a night with a stranger, this is not exactly what I envisioned.

Sex. Passion. Uninhibited desire. Do those things even happen during casual sex?

Somehow, being here with him—with Edward—as he dozes off in front of me, feels better than I could have imagined. Like my much improved version of a one-night stand.

I smile, looking at him while he sleeps, pushing some of his hair off his forehead. When he shudders, I pull the sheets at the bottom of the bed and cover him up to his neck, so that we're both under it.

Flipping onto my back, I stare at the wood-paneled ceiling of his van and smile as I hear the rain pelting on the roof of the van.

He was right. It was going to rain.

Questions about the man softly snoring next to me swim in my head, keeping me awake. Does he live out here all by himself? How long has he been in Costa Rica? What brought him here?

One thing is certain—he is a mystery. One I can't wait to solve.

~~o~~