Okay. Holy fucking shit. We made it over 1k reviews, which is INSANE to me. A couple of you asked for a BPOV, and so I'll be giving that to you soon, but I gotta fit it in where it makes sense which right now looks to be about chapter 62!

Thank you for all of your continued support on this silly little project of mine derived from memes. It's been so fun, and there's so much more to come.

Until then...

Fran betas, Jill, Ariel, and Pearly preread. I'm not worthy of all the love they and all of you show me. All the love right back at ya.

xxx


-56-

"So, where are you taking me? We returning to the scene of the crime?" Isabella asks, turning in the seat to stare me down with her chocolate laser eyes.

"Crime? What crime?" I can't get the smile off my face; she's been like this since we left the apartment, and it has me flying on a high I'm not sure how to handle.

I'm getting the real Bella now—the sweet one I've seen on the computer screen but haven't been able to draw out in person. She's all cute and smiley and full of energy, and it makes me fucking happy to be around her.

What the fuck is that about?

"The crime where you ruined my dress and my date."

"Oh, that again, huh?" I laugh, glancing her way when I stop at a red light. She's so fucking beautiful; I have to physically tear my eyes away from her, so she doesn't think I'm creepier than I already am.

"If you think you're ever living that down, I've got news for you, buddy."

"Did it really ruin your dress? Like you can never wear it again?" I feel like an absolute asshole that I never asked her about this before. It's no wonder she's had such animosity towards me if I truly just fucked her day up and dipped to leave her to pick up the pieces. Of course, it doesn't help matters that Jacob Black dipped out and left her with the bill. "I'll replace it, you know. I really am sorry."

Bella shakes her head, chuckling under her breath, before she reaches out to put her hand on my leg.

The simple movement sends fire racing up my body, right into my balls, and my chest, and my brain.

"I'm kidding, Joe. Only kidding. All it'll need is a trip to the dry cleaners."

"Who the fuck is Joe?" I spit, my jaw clenching.

"Joe Goldberg, from You? On Netflix? Crazy obsessed stalker that winds up also being a killer?"

"You're not funny."

Even as I say it, though, I'm laughing, loving that we suddenly have this little inside joke between us.

"Oh, I think you find me very funny."

"You're right; I think I do."