Love you Steph, April, Mel, Dani and Luna! You guys are rockstars with how fast you're reading for me.

Isabella

It's too quiet, but I'm tired and I can't afford to care about this, analyze this evening even further. No, I need sleep because my schedule is fully booked for Monday—I need my rest. Stupid old me didn't bring her bag in here, so I grab the white terrycloth robe that hangs from the bathroom door.

The room's dark except for the ceiling light in the little hallway and the table lamp that's next to the couch.

"We've got to stop this," he says. His voice is low, quiet, but still echoes through my entire body. I can tell Edward's being serious—sober, too. I hate that he's right. I tighten the sash around my robe and yank the shoulder up again since the thing is about three sizes too big for me. My bare feet rustle over the carpet, plush and luxurious to my feet.

When Ginger sees me, his breathing hitches and he clears his throat. Yeah, I guess he's surprised to see me like this—this fucking bare, my hair wet and dripping down the robe; vinyl and black lace replaced by the white fluffy substance that now swallows me whole. I watch him shift in the leather armchair—one leg crossed over the other, hand on his ankle, the rings on his fingers reflecting the low lighting that makes him glow softly. He's fully dressed again, and part of me wonders if he took care of himself after I left him on the floor.

"I know," I agree. It's like we've gotten most of the frustrations out of our system, as if the fucking and kissing gave us back some sense of civility. I watch him, crossing my arms in front of my chest, my fingertips playing with the little frayed string on my sleeve, not quite knowing what to do with myself.

"I want to apologize for my behavior… I don't know what came over me. I was a fucking ass, and I'm sorry, Havoc." His green, jewel eyes dart all over my face, trying to read my response. This is big of him, but I keep that observation to myself.

"I wasn't exactly well-mannered myself…"

He chuckles, a deep and heartfelt laugh that makes my spine tingle. He arches a brow at me, lifting his hand off his ankle, running his fingers through his hair. It's messed up because I almost tore it out, but it makes him look even better—like a sex god. Or a demi-god at the very least.

"What?" I ask. I walk over to where I threw my bag, grab my smokes, and look around for my lighter before I hear it click. Whipping my head around again, I see Ginger holding it, flipping it closed again, twirling the gunmetal beauty around his fingers.

"You're really fucking stubborn, you know that?" He's grinning, the right corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other.

I just shrug and walk over to him, holding out my hand. Instead of handing me the lighter, he takes it in his and curls long fingers over the back of my hand as he stares into my eyes. I'm feeling hot and cold all at the same time, his gaze intense. I don't know what he's going for, but desire bubbles up from deep within as he looks at me like that.

"You still want to talk?" he asks in that smooth tone, his hand burning through my skin. I can't do anything, voice stuck in my throat, so I nod. He rises from the chair, the leather creaking while he still holds onto my hand, lifting it high and dramatic like they do in the old movies—never once taking his eyes off me.

I feel my entire body flush from his intensity and follow him out to the balcony on my bare feet, wondering what he's got to say.

Aren't we all? :)

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