Jasper/Bella: (strokes the dog's belly) He bit Conan yesterday. Conan is this dorm's resident dog-whisperer. How could our little guy sink his teeth into Conan of all people?

Edward: Is this going to affect Conan's swimming?

J/B: No, but his big toe will be sore for a couple days.

Edward: Then, I don't care.

J/B: (slow claps in the empty room) I give you our team captain, everyone.

Edward: …

J/B: Right. In any case, we really need to name our new pet. I can't keep calling him Little Guy.

Edward: I guess so.

J/B: Well? Any ideas?

Edward: Yeah. Evan.

J/B: That's random. Shouldn't he be called Floppy or Bitesy or something?

Edward: Not unless you want a bucket of ice water for a wake up call. (pauses) And the name is not random. I consider it a variation of Eva.

"So, when exactly are you heading to Vegas?" Edward asked as he passed me a slice of cake from the picnic basket he had packed.

We sat poolside at midnight in Hale Hall, our bare toes dipping into the water—mimicking the night of our first date, except this one included two glowing candles and many moist deserts.

"I leave tomorrow morning," I responded, kissing his lips slowly before pulling back to dig into my cake. It practically melted atop my tongue and made me cry tears of joy. I have a thing—an unhealthy thing—for fudge, and my damn boyfriend was exploiting that one crucial vulnerability.

"Thanks for spending the evening with me then," he said softly.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be. You know that," I said absentmindedly, still massacring the floury piece of paradise on my plate.

"Yes, well, I did promise you something slathered with fudge."

The amusement in his expression did not escape me, but I did him the kindness of ignoring it. I had more important things to do. Mainly eating.

"How's Evan fitting in, by the way?" I asked.

"Just fine."

"That's nice."

"Bella, have you ever given thought to attending another one of my swim meets?" asked Edward, looking down at his own desert.

I paused. How had I overlooked how terrible it was of me to avoid his competitions as Bella? A girlfriend should be more supportive than I had been, but how could I juggle being a boy in the water and a girl on the stands all at once?

Edward's pout sealed it for me though.

"I'm sorry to have been so busy," I said. "I'll definitely try and make it to the next one."

He pressed his lips to my forehead. "Did you know your brother has been killing it out there?"

My heart soared. "You think so?"

He leaned in to whisper in my ear. "The kid has been constantly breaking school records." Warm lips trailed over to my neck. "Form has moved from good to great." A kiss to my cleavage. "Smoother transitions between laps."

I moaned.

"Butterfly kick still needs work."

I pushed him back. "What?!"

He sighed. "Coach doesn't even let him swim in that individual event. And it's damaging his individual IM time."

"But—."

He pulled me closer, hushing me with a kiss.

"I just need him to work harder at improving, Bella," he began. "No one else comes close to my individual butterfly and that can be good, except that no one on my team comes close either. I need someone to help us win more points in that event. I'm the only one placing right now."

Dammit. "You're right. I'm sure he'll try harder."

"I know he will, honey. Don't tell him I told you so, but he'll be crucial in getting us to the finals this year."

The shit-eating grin on my face could not be contained. "I won't say a word."

"So business as usual then?" he asked.

"Huh?" I replied.

"Nothi—"

"I THINK I LEFT THE BANANA IN HERE!" a male voice shouted.

Edward looked at me in alarm, as I laughed.

"What do you think that's all about?" I asked.

"Bella."

"Yes?"

"We need to run now." Edward shot up and began packing.

I blew out the candles while trying to understand the fear in his eyes.

"Explain, mister," I hissed.

"You know we're not supposed to be here after hours."

"But why is it suddenly such a big deal if we are?"

Edward grabbed me by the chin. "Did you or did you not hear the drunken voice of Dr. Banner headed our way?"

"Banner? What's a teacher doing here in the middle of the night?" I tossed the still-smoking candles in our basket as we sprinted to the exit.

"Hale Hall is the faculty dorm. How do you not know this?"

"Why am I expected to know anything about your school?" I whispered angrily.

He rolled his eyes.

"WHY DO BANANAS WEAR SUNTAN LOTION TO THE POOL? BECAUSE THEY PEEL, DAMMIT."

The shouting was getting louder and therefore closer. Too close.

We turned sharply right before the exit. Edward grabbed my hand and darted into the bleachers, where we lay flat against the floor and—in my case—prayed.

"THE INTERNET IS RIGHT. I LOVE THE GLOBS OF FAT ON YOUR CHEST, BABE. WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LOVE THE GODDAMN FAT ON MY BELLY?"

By the sound of it, Dr. Banner had entered and someone was making shushing noises beside him.

"Hush, dearie. Let's get you back to your room now, shall we?" said a distinctly British voice.

"Dr. Willsworth?" whispered Edward and I at once in shock.

I peeked over the dirty stair in front of me to see my English professor kiss Banner soundly on the mouth.

Had the entire academy gone stark raving mad?

"Bella?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"What is it about you that gets me into these situations?"