Robin caught up with me the next day in study hall, bubbling over about how Steve was now on a Bogart kick and had watched The African Queen with her during the slow time at Family Video.

"He's becoming our go-to guy for action-adventure movie references," she concluded, and then studied my face. "Fi? Are you even listening?"

"I am," I protested. "Is Cassie still pissed at me?"

Robin shook her head. "I may have reminded her that your mom is still recovering and that may have helped her pull her head out of a certain orifice."

I gave her a quick smile. "Thank you," I murmured. "For doing that."

"Love Cassie, but she can be high-maintenance," Robin agreed. "So what's up on the Eddie front?"

"Nothing," I lied.

"Of course," Robin agreed. "That's why he drove you home from the game. And what's up with the bruise on his face?"

"Jason and company decided to kick his ass because our presentation in French pissed off Coach Lewis," I told her. "He looked bad, so I had Mom check him, and he offered to take me home."

As I hoped, the first part of what I said got her attention instead of the last part, and Robin huffed.

"Shit, that totally sucks," she frowned. "Jason is such a douche."

"Truer words were never spoken," I sighed. "I hope Chrissy knows."

Robin nodded, and we both got back to our assignments.

-oo00oo—

I didn't see much of Eddie for the rest of the week, which was frustrating and yet a good thing. We were in the back half of the school year, and finals were only about nine weeks away. I knew the Hellfire Club was building for some big campaign, and I had my own sports schedule to contend with.

But we'd chosen Friday for the paella feast, and mom really outdid herself with it. She served it up at the table, telling Eddie everything that was in it, and how she'd learned the recipe while backpacking through Europe.

It was delicious, and Eddie had two servings. Where he puts it, I'll never know, because he's wiry. Probably had a metabolism like a hamster. Anyway, putting it all together tired mom out, so we did the dishes, told her we were going for a walk, and she toddled off to bed, thanking Eddie once more for 'helping out.'

I loaded up another Tupperware bowl and tucked it into the fridge. Eddie looked confused until I caught his hand. "We're going for a walk, remember?"

He looked a little uncertain, but I led him out to the back yard, where the deck was. Ages ago Dad had put in a porch swing on the far side, and that's where I planted myself, pulling Eddie along to sit beside me.

"That was short."

"My mom's room is at the other end of the house," I pointed out. "If we went to my room, next to hers, we'd have to keep the door open. Out here, we're good."

Eddie figured it out, and laughed, slipping his arms around me. "You planned this," he accused sweetly.

"Well, I might have given it some thought," I murmured back. "Unless you really do want to go for a walk."

"Later," Eddie laughed. "Much later."

Oh the things I discovered! Like someone had extremely sensitive ears, and a hot breath followed by a 'hey, sexy,' in one could leave him trembling. He also seemed to like my spine, running his hands down it as he kissed me.

Of course, he figured out I was ticklish, but Eddie didn't torture me once he found out. He was just very gentle about stroking my back as we got used to each other. It's funny, because I'd seen him across from me nearly every day but had never realized how deep the brackets around his mouth were, or how cute his chin was. These are what you learn while kissing in the dark, I suppose.

"Liiiiiike," he breathed with a little chuckle. "Very much liiiiiiiike."

"Mmm, me too," I replied. "Although I don't know about . . ."

Eddie gave a sigh. "Yeah, I figured," he admitted heavily. "Good girls like you generally don't."

I got a little defensive. "I'm not a prude!"

"Not with kisses like that," Eddie agreed. "What you lack in experience you make up for with natural instinct."

"Don't know if I'm insulted or not," I shot back. "And your beard is scratchy."

He chuckled again, hugging me close. "Look, Myers, not going to push you, because nothing feels shittier than being pressured into a situation. Happened to me a couple of times and I swore I'd never do it to someone else, so . . . yeah. Besides, I can always jerk off when I go home."

"Eddie!"

"Bein' honest here. It's basic biology, just like Mr. Ernst says. I'm not ashamed of it, although it's not something I'm going to mention it in the Yearbook or anything."

I spluttered into giggles at that. "You could list it as an extracurricular activity!"

Eddie was snickering again, rubbing his eyes. "Shit, most popular club at Hawkins!"

"I suspect a few will be majoring in it," I added, which set us both off again. Eddie lolled back in the swing, giving me that fond look again, the one I could get used to.

"You," he breathed with a grin, and reached out a hand to beep my nose again. "Hey, think I should write a song about your nose?"

I shot him a disbelieving look, but he nodded.

"A song, about my nose?"

"Yeah, he mused. "One of my favorites of your body parts. It deserves a song too."

"Too?" I sat up a bit to stare at him. "Are you implying you've written songs about other parts of my body?"

"Oh shit, ummmm . . ." The grin broadened, and I was tempted to grab one of the pillows off the swing and slug him with it.

"Spill, Munson, what songs have you written?" I hissed, half-laughing, half sort of scandalized. The whole idea seemed so bizarre.

"Well there's the legs one, and the ass one, and I did another one about that Marseillaise voice . . ." he grudgingly confessed. "Hard to come up with rhymes for the word 'voice' by the way. You have 'choice' and 'Joyce' and 'invoice', which reeeeeeallly don't help."

I studied his face in the half light of the back yard, stunned. "You're serious. You really did write . . . songs about me?"

His expression shifted a little, and he nodded, going from amusement to a sort of sheepish fear. "Killer legs, man. First time I saw you in those shorts, heading out to the field I was a goner. 'Long and lean, you know what I mean, girls got a stride to kill a man's pride, oh moooove over me, babe . . . ." He crooned, eyes on mine.

I cocked my head. "Oh God, you really did write one. How many have you written altogether?"

That caught him short, and he shrugged. "Seventy? Maybe a few more? I'd have to look in my notebooks to get a count."

"Have you like, copyrighted them?"

He rolled his eyes. "Fi, babe, I haven't even typed them up. Mr. Pierce gave me a few old music sheet tablets so I can get the melodies down but between Hellfire, the few gigs I can score and school . . . not a lot of time left. Gotta do laundry and sleep sometime, you know?"

I nodded. "Damn, you really are full of surprises, aren't you, Edward Munson?"

He held open his arms invitingly. "We aim to please."