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Bella Swan/self-proclaimed Gumby
It's like he makes it his life's mission to make me regret my decision to hold off until Friday.
Subtle touches against my ass as we exit the restaurant.
A confident squeeze of my thigh and brush against my tit as he unnecessarily "helps" me put my seatbelt on.
I'm breathing like I just ran a half marathon while he navigates the streets toward my building.
And Bella Swan doesn't run ... from anything, besides cats that she thinks are raccoons.
If he could steer with his left hand, I'm sure he'd be touching me with his right because it keeps twitching.
I'm watching his long fingers as if I can already feel them ...
You know where.
I can't wait to enjoy the Edward Cullen experience, but I have to.
If he's wearing a cast, I can't accidentally hurt his hand, and without my stitches, I'll be a little more flexible.
I'm not a rubber band, but I'm pretty bendy, if I do say so myself.
We're going to have so much fun.
On Friday.