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BAG BOY

CHAPTER 16

Bagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboy

A knock on my bedroom door startled me. "Edward? Can I come in?" Dad. "I know you're up. I can see the light under your door."

I hopped into my bathing suit and pulled the door open for him. "What's up?"

"You, apparently! Going to the Y?"

"Heading to the beach."

"With that girl you were seeing before you left for school?"

I nodded.

Dad sat down on the edge of my bed with a weary sigh. "You need to tell your mother that you and Bella are an item." Had to love the guy for his directness.

Just because I wasn't going to deny the truth didn't mean I wanted to talk about Bella with either of my parents. "I'm not really sure what we are, Dad. Until last night, I hadn't seen or really spoken to Bella since I left for school. I really think it would be better for everyone concerned to leave you guys out of it."

Dad frowned. Maybe he thought this conversation would go better, or maybe he had hoped he had drawn the wrong conclusion. "No, I hear you, and I'm not looking to pry into your affairs. Uh, speaking of, she is divorced, right? Not 'misunderstood' or 'separated'?"

"One hundred percent divorced, and I'm not the first person she's been with since then, if you're thinking I'm rebound guy."

Dad held his hands up and patted away all the information he didn't really want to be hearing and I didn't really want to be telling him. "She must be something very special if she's managed to charm both you and your mother." He let out an amused huff.

"She's definitely special." I could feel the heat on my cheeks. There's no way Dad didn't see it.

"This age difference . . ." he said. "If Mom's right, Bella is what, about fifteen years older than you?"

"Something like that."

He leaned back onto his palms. "Huh. That could be tricky, I guess."

"More for her than for me, I think."

"How do you mean?" he asked.

Dad had never been one to shy away from the tough conversations. He was a doctor; we had our first version of the birds and bees talk when I was around eight, alcohol and drugs just before I started middle school. Matters of the heart were normally Mom's territory, though. She had a way of engaging me without dreaded eye contact, while driving me somewhere or cooking over the stove with her back to me.

Face-to-face with Dad was hard, and standing there in just my bathing suit, I had nowhere to hide. I had to actively work not to squirm under his direct gaze.

"I think she feels embarrassed about being seen with a younger man—or at least, she used to. We seem to be working past that now . . . but as I said, we haven't been together for months."

"And it doesn't bother you, the age difference?"

Did it? I assumed Dad was talking about what happened after the MILF fantasy had run its course.

I'd done the math; who wouldn't? When I'm thirty, she'll be forty-five. When I'm forty-five, she'll be sixty. Did we have a future? What about kids? Did she even want kids? Did I? I sure as shit didn't want kids anytime soon.

I told my dad the truth: "I'm really not sure."

"Fair enough," he said, standing eye-to-eye in front of me. "All right, then."

"All right, what?"

His hands found his hips. "You've changed. I don't see that restlessness you brought home with you from Syracuse." Dad's observation didn't surprise me; intuition was his superpower. What did surprise me was that he seemed to be endorsing my . . . whatever-it-was with Bella. "You seem . . . content . . . with the exception of this excruciating conversation."

We both chuckled.

"Yeah, I think I am." Or I would be, as soon as I saw Bella again.

"Well, good," he said. "And you seem more focused on your schoolwork. This Bella seems to be good for you."

Welp. He sure wouldn't have thought so at the beginning, but hell, neither did I.

"What are you saying, Dad?" I half expected him to hand me a ring for Bella.

"I'm just saying you should tell your mother the truth about Bella before things get awkward."

"You don't think that ship has already sailed?"

"Oh, I'd say she's loaded up at the dock, and the captain's pulled up the anchor." Dad's mouth twisted up into a smirk I'd seen many times in the mirror, reminding me of Bella's comment about the resemblance. "Listen, kiddo, if this woman is important to you, bring her by the house so we can all get to know each other."

"Are you serious?" A quick supermarket meetup wasn't torture enough?

"Sure. You might just be surprised by your old fogey parents." He cuffed me on the arm and gave me a Dad wink before starting toward the door.

"Hey, wait—"

He craned his neck to face me, a big believer in eye contact. "Hmm?"

"I don't suppose you want to tell Mom?"

Dad chuckled as he grabbed the doorknob. His head shook as he laughed and laughed, opened the door, and left me standing there.

CougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougarCougar

The mind plays tricks, especially when it's attached to a lonely heart. I reached for my front door picturing the Nature's Bounty version of my Edward, but of course, there would be no yellow shirt and brown tie this morning; he hadn't worn the uniform for months. Still, that was the cub my mind's eye conjured first, not this Malibu Ken standing on my front stoop, clad in a classic white t-shirt and a pair of navy swim trunks, bronze hair catching the sun and eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Funny, even in a bathing suit and flip-flops, he looked older than I remembered.

It wasn't his clothes, I realized, breath catching in my throat. It was him, his composure. The way he stood patiently waiting for me to invite him in, eager but not hurried. A man with nowhere else he'd rather be.

He couldn't have been surprised to see me in my yellow bikini—he'd requested it, after all—but from the way his mouth twitched before curving into its customary smile, it seemed he was caught off guard. Maybe he'd thought I'd be wearing the white, gauzy cover-up I'd worn at the Roosevelt, or maybe his mind's eye had conjured some entirely different version of me, too.

My heart thundered at the sight of him. I leaned into the doorframe for support; it was either that or throw myself into his arms.

"You look different somehow," I said, and he cocked his head. I lifted the sunglasses off his face, and he squinted back at me. "Oh, I know what it is! You're smarter!"

He stepped right up to the threshold and pushed his fingers through my hair. "Smart enough to get back to you as soon as I could."

I barely had time to draw a breath before he swept my face to his, leaving a kiss laced with so much tenderness, it drew an ache deep in my belly. He pulled back, our noses almost touching, his thumb caressing my cheek. His eyes fluttered open as if waking from a dream. "So that's still . . . wow."

I giggled, feeling light enough to float. "Welcome home, cub."

His grin spread slowly and didn't stop until it finished crinkling the corners of his beautiful green eyes, even more mesmerizing than I'd remembered. "Are we heading out, or am I kissing you again?"

"Both," I whispered onto his lips, and he pressed his smile to mine.

My god, I've missed this.

Our kiss sprouted hands and hips, and we quickly reached the tipping point—if we kept this up, we'd never see the light of day. As much as I hated breaking off our kiss, the whole point was to have an actual date.

"Okay, okay," I said, pushing gently on his chest, "we better get out of here before it's too late."

He recovered gracefully, as usual. He knew as well as I that we'd end up back here at some point, but he seemed as eager as I was to see what the day might bring. I zipped around the house collecting my cover-up, hat, and sandals, ending in the kitchen, where I grabbed the cooler, packed with his favorites for lunch.

"There's a bag by the front door with a blanket and a couple of towels if you could grab that on the way out. Mind driving?"

"Sure. I'll take this stuff out to the garage."

"Oh, we need to take your car."

"What? Don't tell me you sold the Roadster!"

I had to laugh. He was more disappointed about my car than he was about the cockblock.

"No, I still have it, but the stupid tire pressure light came on, and I don't want to drive it on the highway."

"When did that happen?"

"I don't know, about a week ago."

"A week? Jeez, Bella. That can be really unsafe. Did you check the pressure?" Men.

"I eyeballed it. Nothing looks flat. It's fine, don't worry."

"I'll be right back," he called, setting down the bag as he jogged out to his car, returning seconds later with a tire gauge in his hand.

I yelled for him not to worry about it (again) as he whizzed through the house toward the garage, a man on a mission. So much for our day at the beach. He reappeared to deliver his report while he washed the grease off his hands in the kitchen sink: the front right tire was getting dangerously low.

"Looks like your wheel is damaged. Do you remember scraping against the curb or hitting a pothole?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Ugh, of course I remembered. And this was so not how I wanted to spend my time with him. "Seriously, Edward, let's not let this spoil our day. I'll handle it after you leave."

"I'd really feel better if you weren't driving around on that tire another week. I could put air in it for you, but you've definitely got a leak, and it's only going to get worse."

Deep down, I knew he was right. I only wished I'd handled it before his vacation. "Fine. Let me unpack the cooler . . ."

"No! Let's throw everything in my car, and I'll follow you to the dealership, or I can drive your car if you're uncomfortable. We'll leave your car to be repaired, take mine to the beach, and pick up your car again on the way home. We still get our day at the beach, and the Roadster will be good as new."

Mr. Goodwrench was not going to let this go. I had to admit, albeit to myself, it would be nice not to have that annoying beep every time I turned on my car and that damn flat-tire light with its angry exclamation point glaring back at me from the dashboard. I also kind of loved that Edward was willing to deal with my problem even though it would eat into our perfect day.

"The dealership is on Wilshire, just east of San Vicente, in case I lose you."

Edward smirked. "You're not going to lose me."

"In that case," I said, handing him the cooler, "take this, and I will meet you there."

He was already waiting at the bottom of my driveway, engine purring, left arm flexed through the open window, while I backed out. Off we went, me in my big floppy beach hat and my hot, young stud following faithfully behind. With my top down, it was impossible to check him out in my rear-view without being caught. Still, I couldn't resist the pull. After all those months apart, it was pure torture being separated so soon after feeling him close again. Every time I looked, he'd wiggle the fingers on his steering wheel hand, a huge smile plastered on his face.

He found a visitor spot at the dealership while I pulled my car inside the service area. When I walked out a few minutes later, I found Edward busily moving things into the back seat and trunk. He glanced up when he heard me coming.

"All set?" he asked.

"Yep. You?"

"Just doing a little rearranging here. I wasn't expecting a passenger today."

I couldn't help where my head went, imagining all of Edward's previous passengers and what they might have been up to in that car of his. "You know, I can get a loaner while they fix my tire. Are you sure you want to—"

"Yes. I'm positive, as long as you don't mind slumming it."

"I'll manage."

He waved me through the open passenger door and closed it behind me. As much time as we'd spent together, I'd never been inside Edward's car. It was way cleaner than the average young male's car, I'd venture to guess. He might have tossed the clutter to an out-of-the-way spot, but you can't rearrange away grime or dirty carpets.

The car seemed to brighten with Edward's return to the driver's seat; I know I did. He glanced at me, then shook his head and chuckled.

"What?"

"It's just weird seeing you in my crappy car. It'd be like . . . wearing a diamond tiara to the gym."

"I'm the diamond tiara?"

"Yes, Bella," he said, clicking his seat belt across his lap. "You are the diamond tiara."

I kind of liked that, and Edward seemed proud of himself for coming up with the analogy. Plus, so many fun activities to do in a gym.

"Feel free to adjust the seat and the air. I queued up our Spotify account to get things rolling, but feel free to play with that too. Mi Volvo es tu Volvo."

It took me a second to find my voice. "Wow. For a guy who didn't expect to be a host, you are quite the host."

"We try." He pushed the ignition button and reached for the gear shift. "Put on your seat belt, hot stuff."

~#~#~

Traffic was heavy, and we crawled through the streets of Santa Monica. We weren't exactly in a hurry to get anywhere, but we were sitting too far apart for my liking. His whole demeanor changed when we hit the PCH. We took the on-ramp like an airplane runway.

Edward was definitely more at ease driving his own car than he was with mine. My eyes were glued to his profile, and I felt a blush heat my cheeks when he turned and caught me staring.

"So, did you have any particular beach in mind?" he asked.

"Not really. Did you?"

Of course he did, and his sly grin confirmed it. "How 'bout if I surprise you?"

When didn't he surprise me? I relaxed into my seat and savored the sensation of following his lead once again.

It wasn't lost on me how drastically the tables had turned from those initial command performances: I commanded; he performed. Nothing to knock there, good fun and great sex and everyone got what they wanted—eventually—but nobody would have called that a relationship.

How had we gotten here?

It was that night he demanded a spot in my bed, and I had to give in or give him up. Since that night, even when he didn't have my wrists bound, he'd basically run the show.

Then again, whose decision was it to hit the pause button this morning? The only emotion he'd expressed was surprise. Not a challenge, not even disappointment. The kind of reaction that comes from a place of knowing your needs will be fulfilled.

Why the hell did I feel the need to keep a scorecard of the power balance? Did these thoughts even run through Edward's head?

I searched his face for signs of . . . anything, but all I could see was a man who seemed happy, relaxed, content. I wanted to curl up next to him in the driver's seat and share some of that, wrapped under his arm, snuggled tight into his side. I wanted to lose myself in the smell of his soap and his shirt and his hair and his deodorant and his skin. I wanted those lips on my lips and that tongue . . . fucking everywhere.

"Looks like you're thinking way too hard for a trip to the beach on a Saturday morning," he said. "Everything okay over there?"

"Just thinking how much I've missed you."

His eyes crinkled at the edge of his dark sunglasses, and his right hand slid across to my left thigh and found a home where my cover-up met bare skin. "I've missed you, too, Bella."

I folded my hand around his and threaded my fingers into the open spaces. Relaxing into my headrest, I closed my eyes and sighed. We buzzed up the coast just like that, hands entwined, lost in our own thoughts, the soundtrack of our own, unique love story swirling around us, through us, pulling us closer together.

His hand slipped away and pulled me out of my drowsy daydream as he turned us off the PCH. A yawn escaped me. "Goodness, sorry!"

"Bored already?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Not once, since I met you." And that was the truth. Lonely, maybe, these last few months, but never bored.

He gave me his woo-woo eyebrows as he expertly maneuvered his car toward the beach access road. "Challenge accepted."

~#~#~

He took my hand at the top of the steep stairs. Our view of El Matador Beach stretched along the crashing waves and across the tall slabs of black rock jutting up from the ground. A family of seagulls kept close watch on the horizon while a steady stream of bathing-suit clad adventurers poked through the cave formations, exploring the famous tide pools I hadn't visited in years.

"This place is insane, right?" His blissful expression reminded me of a dog with its head poked outside a car window, ears pinned back from the wind. I could have stared at him for hours.

"It's not too tough to take."

He turned toward my voice to find me gawking. The shy cub made a brief appearance—a shake of his head, a slightly flustered smile, a soft huff—but he didn't stick around, not after how far we'd come. Right before my eyes, as if fast-forwarding through our past, Edward regained his footing.

Became the fully accomplished lover who needed only the instruction of my body's responses, the companion who embraced my favorite music and movies with the same passion he shared his own with me, the partner who'd insisted on taking his place in my bed. The stud who'd seduced me in the bar of the Roosevelt and showed his truest colors when he held me captive upstairs, proving mastery over his own pleasure in devotion to mine.

The man who'd thrown open the gates of his heart and waited . . . and waited and waited . . . for me to find my way inside, and who'd painted my initials into the landscape of his sacred place without any guarantee of a future, who'd accepted my terms of our separation but found the courage to hold hope dear.

And through it all, my sweet Edward never once lost that awestruck innocence that had first drawn me in. Nor had my fierce desire for him decreased in the slightest despite his obliteration of my last defense.

"C'mon, we need to get our toes in that sand," he said. With a gentle squeeze of my hand, he guided me down the sandy switchbacks of the iconic staircase.

It was still early enough to find a quiet patch of sand beyond the crowd. We fluffed out our blanket, claiming our piece of real estate for the next few hours. I stripped off my cover-up and rummaged through the beach bag for the suntan oil.

"Better let me handle that for you," said my ever-helpful cub, his hand already reaching for the bottle. "Don't want any spot of that porcelain skin to go unprotected."

I couldn't help the smirk spreading across my face as I slapped the bottle into his palm. "I'll be happy to return the favor."

He dropped to his knees and patted the blanket in front of him. "I think we better do your back first. If I start on the front, I might not be able to finish the job."

I spread out on my belly and gathered my hair off my neck. My body was vibrating at the prospect of his touch. Damn, maybe I made a mistake not getting our first time out of the way in private.

The oil drizzled across my lower back, jumped the strap of my bikini top, and landed in a circle, dot, dot, another dot, and a curved line.

"Did you just draw a smiley face on my back?"

"I sure did," he said, tossing the bottle down.

I held my breath until his hands met my shoulders. Bliss.

He dutifully spread the oil around, curling his fingers around my shoulders and trailing the oil down my arms. With a finger slipped under my strap, he leaned forward, mouth to my ear, and said, "This is going to make a nasty tan line. Just sayin'."

"So is my bottom, but I'm not taking that off either."

"Well, that answers my next question."

He moved down my body like a painter priming his canvas, taking more oil for my legs and pressing his thumbs way too close to my lady parts for a public beach. I relaxed a little as he skimmed down my calves—until I felt his hand close around my ankle.

"Edward Cullen! Don't you dare!"

I flipped around to find him sitting back on his heels, hands in the air. "Okay, but don't blame me if you burn the soles of your feet!"

"Can I trust you with my front, or should I do it myself?"

"Neither," he said, sly grin in full force.

"That was honest, anyway." I flopped onto my back, arms at my sides, and squinted over at him. "Just remember, I get my turn after you."

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

He scrambled over me with the oil again, starting—naturally—with my cleavage. Stretched out alongside my body, he propped his head in one hand while the other worked the oil into the hollow between my breasts.

"Shoot. I was right," he said, his voice taking on a low, sexy timbre. "It's getting hard . . . to focus."

"Might be easier if you get your hand off my tits."

"Maybe." Without taking his eyes off me, he reached for the oil and drizzled a stripe down my belly, stopping just below my belly button. "Maybe not," he said, his fingers sloshing the oil all over my belly.

It would have been so easy to reach up and kiss him, roll him onto his back, and ride him to oblivion right there on the beach. I needed to get a hold of myself.

I grabbed his wrist and lifted it away from my body. "I'll finish up here, thanks."

"Really?"

"Really." I gave him a playful shove, and he landed on his back. "Take off your shirt, mister."

He broke the world record for shirt removal while I rubbed the excess oil from my stomach onto my legs. By the time I turned back, he was spread out like a starfish—a very excited starfish. Some things never changed, thank goodness.

"Oh, Lordy. Do I need to throw a towel over you?"

"Only if you're getting under it with me."

"Because that wouldn't be obvious at all . . ."

He shrugged.

"Up we go!" He took my offered hand and let me pull him to his feet. He swayed, slightly punch drunk and not trying to hide it, while I gave him a thorough but efficient oiling up that did nothing to help his situation.

Taking his hand, I tugged him toward the water. "Come on, let's see if we can manage some shrinkage."

His rolling laughter fell in with the crashing waves. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

The waves rolled out a sea-foam welcome mat, and Edward walked into the ocean as if unaware of the change from land to water. He paused only at my hesitation, then swooped me into his arms and continued his march forward. I'm certain he would have taken me back to dry land in a heartbeat if I'd protested in the slightest. There was literally nowhere else in the world I would rather have been than heading into the wild Pacific, cradled in Edward's arms.

His gait slowed as the water swallowed his legs, but he was no less steady. A cold lick on my bottom made me squeal and inch higher against his chest. I felt the laughter rumble through him.

"You know, it's easier if you bite the bullet and go under all at once."

"No, thanks," I said, clinging tighter to his neck.

His grin told me my answer hadn't surprised him in the least. "Have it your way." You always do.

He moved us relentlessly deeper until there was no escaping the lapping waves. My bottom was soaked. A frisky swell splashed up my back, and I buried my squeal in his neck.

"Hold your breath," he said just before a wave crashed over my head. He held fast, and I held him tighter still.

We popped above the surface as one organism, waterlogged and shivering and gasping for oxygen—at least, I was. He, I noticed with some degree of irritation, was entirely unruffled. I detected a smirk at the corners of his mouth when he asked if I was okay.

My lame comeback, "You have seaweed in your hair," only made his smile and, hence, my irritation grow. "What the heck are you smiling at?"

"Nips."

"Because I'm freezing over here!"

"I can warm them up for you."

"With what? Your cold, wet hands?"

He grinned, eyes glazed with lust. "Yep."

Yep. I wanted that, too. A quick scan of the area told me we were alone; not a soul had ventured out nearly as far as we had. "Go for it."

Victory flashed in his eyes. "You are water-safe, right? In case I happen to lose my grip?"

"Do you really think I would have let you drag me out here if I couldn't swim?"

He chuckled again. "I think you dragged me first."

I kicked my legs out of Edward's grasp and scissored them around his waist, not-so-discreetly bumping my bottom against his trunks. Shrinkage, my ass.

"Thought you were gonna warm me up." I went in for a salty kiss as his hand slipped inside my top.

He went straight for the nipple, rolling the tight bud between his thumb and fingertips. One or both of us groaned into the kiss. He dipped us to our shoulders in the water.

I felt the tug of the string at my neck, and my top flopped to the surface. Both his hands were on me at once, his long, slender fingers plucking at my nipples. Heat of a different kind surged through me. I rutted against his groin; he thrust right back. One of his hands slid down my belly and dipped inside my suit. Despite the cold and the rush of water, my body responded to his touch, those talented fingers that knew me as well as I knew myself.

I released one hand from around his neck and put my fingers to better use inside the back of his suit. His clench-thrust found a rhythm.

"Fuck! I'm close!" He rubbed his palm against my clit until the pressure was unbearable. "Are you close?"

I buried my face in his neck, his warm breath huffing in my ear as my orgasm shook me. He stilled for a beat, then tugging my hips into his, he fucked me through both bathing suits as hard and fast as the ocean would allow. I raised my head to watch the glorious loss of control I'd missed so dearly, and my sexy cub did not disappoint. He cycled quickly through the buildup of tension until he snapped far sooner than I usually let him, surrendering to pure animal instinct: furious rutting accompanied by the expression of urgency on his face as he threw wild, sexy grunts over the surf, the delicious agony of his race to the peak, the full-body quiver that shook him at release, the gentle, dreamy afterglow.

His arms closed around my back, and he let out a loud, contented sigh. "It's good to be home."

~#~#~

We swam across the waves until my arms grew tired, then walked hand-in-hand back to our blanket by way of the tide pool cave. Our appetites sated for now, we lay comfortably side-by-side on our bellies, cheeks pressed to the blanket, noses nearly touching. A warm breeze blew over us, dragging the moisture from our salty skin. The faraway screeches of children and gulls provided the perfect white noise to our long overdue conversation.

"So, nutrition, huh?"

"Funny thing. I realized I had more energy when I was eating what you were eating."

"How about that? I'm a good influence! I don't think I've ever been a good influence before."

"You actually were, and it wasn't just the salad effect or even that you pointed me toward an interesting class." He paused just slightly before cracking open his heart. "You know, I was pretty broken when I left here in January"—I was broken too, cub—"but when I got to school, everything about us felt different."

"I don't understand."

"I know you said I shouldn't hold out for you or whatever, but it wasn't even a choice I made. I just didn't care about going out—dating-wise. The pressure I used to feel to party and meet people wasn't there at all. I was perfectly content to do my work and make friends without any other agenda. It was actually a huge relief. I had no FOMO about what anyone else was doing, except . . ." His mouth twitched as if incapable of spilling the words.

"Except what?"

"Except whenever I would think about what you were doing back here." Oh, cub. "So . . . what were you doing back here?

His question was laced with pain, the same morbid curiosity I'd been working so hard to keep at bay the whole time he'd been away. I didn't want to know . . . and yet, I couldn't help myself from imagining. How to ease his mind without sounding like the spinster sitting home by the phone?

"The usual. Yoga, Netflix, a good book, lunch and the occasional dinner out with girlfriends."

"What about . . . groceries?" I couldn't detect color shifts behind his dark sunglasses, but the last word cost him a pinch at the corners of his eyes.

"Nothing interesting."

His silence asked the questions his heart couldn't bear. Sweet, sweet cub.

"Edward, I promise you, there wasn't anyone. Talk about boring!"

"I highly doubt that," he said with a huff. But there was a smile behind it; he believed me.

"Compared to all the activity at college? Definitely boring."

He pushed up onto his elbows. "I know you went to USC, but we've never talked about what you studied there."

"'Studied' might be overstating the case. My transcript says communications. Unofficially, I majored in the Greek system with a concentration in Sigma Chi."

"They give out degrees in that? I must be going to the wrong school."

"I wasn't all that academically motivated. I'm not really proud of this, but I was overly impressed by the trappings of wealth. And Jake was"—despite all that had come between us since college, there was no denying what I'd once felt for him—"well, he was all the trappings wrapped into one pretty package."

Edward responded easily; Jake held no threat to him, and he knew it. "You guys met in school?"

"Rush week. He was a junior when I was a freshman—"

Edward let out a theatrical gasp. "An older man? No wonder it didn't work out."

"Exactly!" We exchanged grins. "He was a B-school brat, big man on campus. Even back then, he had too much time and money on his hands, but I guess that's par for the course when you're the native son of a local real estate empire."

"Swan?"

"No. Jake Black of Black Holdings. I took back my maiden name when we divorced."

"Ah. That explains the giant 'B' in the shower floor. I always thought that was for 'Bella.'"

"You did not!" I fake-shoved him.

"So, he took you in with all that flash, huh?"

"I mean, I'd be lying if I denied that had something to do with it. But there were lots of guys at USC who were loaded. Jake was kind of a legend with girls. He could have had anyone he wanted—and he did, even after we were married. Good times."

Edward leaned in and dropped a kiss on my nose. "He's obviously an idiot."

"Obviously. He wouldn't have given me a second look if I'd said yes the first time . . . or the tenth. I made him work for it."

Edward laughed. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"I guess you might have Jake to thank for some of my earlier tortures."

"No complaints here." A hint of a blush colored his cheeks. Yes, I remember how you enjoyed it, cub.

"By the time I'd landed the guy, it was too late to stop and figure out if I even wanted him. Turns out, I really didn't."

"I'm sorry. That sounds kind of miserable."

"Eh, at least we didn't have any kids together. Most of the early-marrieds I know started shooting out babies like they were human Pez dispensers. Those dynasties don't build themselves, you know."

"That's not something you want?" Rut-roh. Did this conversation just take a super serious turn?

"It's not what I wanted with Jake," I said, hoping that was enough of an answer for now.

Edward slipped onto his belly again, chin resting on folded hands, face aimed at the couples and families taking selfies on the beach, the infinite ocean as their backdrop. Times like these, the fifteen years between us felt like a gaping chasm. He deserved to have a family—a wife, four kids, a chocolate lab, and a one-eyed parakeet if that's what he wanted.

What's going on in that head of yours, Edward?

He surprised me with a question, his face focused on the distance. "What ever happened to those pictures I took at the Roosevelt?"

"Nothing. What do you mean?"

"Did you delete them?" He turned his head just far enough to touch my gaze, then faced forward again.

I had not, in fact, deleted either photo, though I looked at his way more often than I looked at mine. "I guess they're still in there somewhere."

"Somewhere, huh?" Yeah, he wasn't buying my innocent routine. "Do you realize I don't have a single picture of you?"

"Aww. Did you forget what I looked like?"

"Mental images do blur with distance and time no matter how hard you try to hold onto them."

"You're killing me, kid."

He huffed out a sad smile. "Let me take your picture, Bella—on my phone this time. Nothing kinky. Just like you are right now."

I pushed up onto my knees. "Like this? I don't even have lipstick on. And my hair must be a total frizzball! And I'm covered in salt and sweat and sand—"

"I know," he said. "You're perfect."

Bagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboybagboy

"So, your dad figured it out?" Without turning from the highway, I could hear Bella smile.

"Yeah, he popped in for a little chat this morning. You know you threw me into the eye of the storm, there."

"I didn't mean to"—I lifted my sunglasses to give her my straight-up "stop bullshitting me" side-eye—"okay, I didn't mean to at first. I saw your mom come into the store, and I might have followed her a little bit—"

"Please tell me you ducked behind a pile of cantaloupes or something dramatic."

"Your mother is not a suspicious human being. It was not a challenge to tail her without being noticed."

"Okay, Jessica Jones." The visual of this scene cracked me right up: Mom, completely unsuspecting, pushes her shopping cart through the store, humming some Carly Simon song to herself as she examines bulbs of garlic for imperfections; Bella, meanwhile, lurks just out of Mom's periphery, passing her every so often and poking her nose over Mom's shoulder to peek into the shopping cart. "Did you capture her illicit produce squeezing on film while you were at it?"

"I wasn't deliberately spying on her. I just . . ." Bella trailed off, the snark absent from her tone when she started again. "I guess I was hoping to see something in her that reminded me of you, a little swagger in her gait or a certain glint of gold inside the green of her eyes or if I was really lucky, that lopsided smile you make when you think you've said something especially clever."

"What? I do not do that!"

A little huff escaped her. "You totally do that. But you sure didn't get any of that from your mom. In fact, I was starting to doubt I had the right lady—"

"Ha! How funny would that have been if you'd stalked someone else's mom?"

"Hilarious." Clearly, Bella did not agree. "Are you, by chance, adopted?"

I chuckled with that chuckle I shared with my father, though Bella wouldn't know it. "Trust me, you wouldn't ask me that if you'd ever met my dad. Spitting image."

"Good-looking guy, is he?" Bella tortured me with her usual devious grin. "Can't wait to meet him!"

"Anyhow—"

"Anyhow, that's when your mother took a turn down the pasta aisle, and I realized she was there to buy all the ingredients for your favorite home-cooked dinner—"

"Because nobody else buys spaghetti . . ."

"At that point, I had to make sure I ended up behind her at the register so I could get all the deets on the prodigal son's return."

"Or . . . you could have just texted me." Like a somewhat normal person.

"I promised you I wouldn't," she said. Stupid damn promise. "I didn't want to cramp your style. I figured if you wanted me to know you were coming home, you would have told me."

Fair point. I had to ask myself if I had planned to contact Bella once I got home. I honestly didn't know. "I guess I didn't want to cramp your style either."

We exchanged sad smiles for what we'd almost missed out on—today and so much more.

"Once your mom and I got to talking, I just couldn't resist telling her the slightly abridged version of how we knew each other."

"Yes, and thank you for not mentioning you greeted me in a towel when I delivered your pint of blueberries."

"I don't think I would've gotten the recipe out of Mama Cullen if she had any clue what I've been doing to her son."

"She might've booby-trapped the recipe with three times the amount of garlic."

"She wouldn't!"

I chuckled. "No, actually, the thought wouldn't have crossed her mind. Mom's not the one who passed along the evil gene either."

"Now you've got me terrified to meet your dad!"

"Please. My dad's already crushing on you, thanks to Mom's description. Apparently, you're just his type. Blech."

Bella giggled at my antics. "Well, no offense to the man—I'm sure he's one fine slice of bread—but I'm off older men."

"That's a relief." I would have also pointed out her aversion to carbs, but my stomach already hurt from the idea of Bella with my dad.

"Do you think your mom will forgive me for lying to her?"

"It wasn't on you to tell her, Bella. If anyone's in trouble, it's me. Well, Dad now, too," I added, flinching again at our awkward conversation earlier today. "I think I need to just rip off the Band-aid and get it over with."

"You want me to be there when you do it?"

I tried for a half-second to picture that scene going down. Dad's eyeballs popping out of his head, drool pooling at his feet, all while he pretended to be surprised for Mom's sake. Hard no.

"Let me give it some thought, okay?"

"Of course. Totally up to you how and when you do that. In the meantime . . . we could practice on our friends."

Whoa. "Really? You want to introduce me to your friends?"

"My two besties already kind of know about you."

"Oh they do, huh?" This was getting interesting. "You better tell me what they know and don't know before I meet them." When she laughed at that, I knew I was fucked.

"Hey, what about you? You've never talked to me about your friends. What's the deal there?"

The deal is that I was the flunk-out, living in my childhood bedroom and bagging groceries while my high school friends were studying abroad, spring-breaking with college buds, and securing career-oriented summer internships. I'd dropped off their radar.

Not that Emmett shunned me or anything, but for a while there, we didn't exactly speak the same language. Or maybe all that was an excuse not to shine the light on a relationship I probably feared he might try to talk me out of, especially when the affection seemed to only be flowing in one direction.

"My closest friend is in Barcelona this semester, but he'll be home in June for a couple weeks. We could do something then." If we're still together.

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

A smile broke across my face because Emmett had a million girlfriends, each blonder and leggier than the one before. "Depends what happens in Spain."

"Ah, okay. All I care about this week is spending as much time with you as possible, preferably without clothing."

I was so happy to indulge Bella that we went straight to her house, peeled off each other's bathing suits in her luxurious shower, and fucked each other silly, dropping sand, seaweed and genetic material all over that giant B in the middle of the tile floor. I only put my shorts back on when the delivery guy arrived with our Thai food, then stripped down again to cuddle on the couch and recite our favorite scenes from The Graduate word for word along with the movie.

It wasn't until we were brushing our teeth for bed, many hours after the BMW service department closed, that I remembered we'd forgotten to pick up the Roadster.


A/N: Well it sure does seem as though these two are getting along well, hmm? And that ol' dawg, Carlisle... can't pull the wool over the doctor's eyes!

A few notes of gratitude: A big Bag Boy thank-you to my California daughter for sharing El Matador Beach with me and my hubby on a recent trip. What a romantic spot! I posted a few pics in the pumpkin patch on FB if you want a visual or two!

All the love to my chayasara for helping me pretty up these chapters for you guys. And to you, dear readers and dearer reviewers, for sending me your thoughts on the story.
If you need something TRULY ridiculous to read, my fellow hot potatoes and I have finally, mercifully finished our latest drabble, "The Bachelorette"! The usual warnings and disclaimers apply...

XOXO
~BOH