A/N: Okay, I'll be straight up. This chapter feels weird to me. I had a hard time writing it. I hope it doesn't disappoint. After being so deep in with The Dude, I had a hard time transitioning back to Bella.

On another note, I am this week's guest on the Temptation Twilight podcast. Episode 18. Head on over via the link in my profile under "Notables and Quotables" to hear the gals and I chat about the rise in all things Jasper related. Or find it at temptationtwilight [dot] blogspot [dot] com.

The Inspiration

Chapter 6: Call Me the Queen of Awkward

Bella

I found myself going back to the museum pretty much every day after that first day back and my sudden writing spurt. The fourth time I showed up at the ticket booth, the kind older woman there proposed that I get a year pass instead of daily entrance tickets every time I came.

She explained the various benefits of being a "member" as they're called. The price was $80, but seeing as how I already had spent $54 just on entrance fees in three days, I figured that it was a worthy expenditure.

I'll admit the prospect of being able to come to the museum whenever I wanted actually kind of thrilled me. I'd always been somewhat of a nerd growing up, something Jasper teased me incessantly about. When most kids were out riding bikes or playing hide and seek, he was much more likely to find me curled in the quiet alcove overlooking my front yard with my nose buried in a book.

My favorites were constantly changing, but tended to lean towards the traditional literature route. I had shelves full of Shakespeare and Austen. I could probably quote some of them word for word given the opportunity.

Jasper constantly ribbed me about my book obsession. Well, that is until I wrote my own and it was published. Then he just accepted I was a full fledged "bookie" and a lost cause. And it also helped I was completely paying the rent on our apartment. Jasper chipped in on groceries and utilities, but all in all I was paying a grand majority of our expenses.

He joked me that he was a nicely "kept" man, even without the benefits of such. He was definitely not getting any tail from me. I could count the number of times I'd thought about Jasper in any way other than my best friend or practically even my brother. Exactly three times. All three of which involved large amounts of liquor which made me particularly … excitable.

Yet another thing Jasper teased me about.

I swear, that guy could find the smallest thing and tease me about it for days.

He was even teasing me about going back to the museum over and over even though it was his idea in the first place to return. That was just Jasper's way. He made cute comments as we were making dinner how it took him being right for me to realize that I just needed to get out on the world to be able to find some inspiration to write again.

So of course I sighed and agreed with him. Which commenced the teasing.

I showed him the few pages I'd filled with my writings that day, and he'd skimmed them. Jasper did that sometimes. He wasn't great at grammar or style stuff, but he had a pretty good sense for what was eye-catching and interesting. And the best part was he'd tell me straight up if what I'd written was complete crap.

Jasper was never one to mince words when it came right down to it, thankfully.

I believe his assessment of my first attempts at solid writing were something like this: "Well, Bells. It's not crap." Translating from Jasper-speak, it meant that he liked it and thought I should continue.

That's how I ended up going back and back to the museum. A little nudge here, and I was off and going.

I'd already decided I was dedicating this next book to Jasper.

The third day I spent at the museum I did pretty much the same thing I'd done the previous day. I sat and wrote on the couch, curled up in the center of the gallery surrounded by someone else's works and brilliance.

The fourth day was pretty much the same.

As was the fifth.

The sixth day I saw someone I'd seen a few times over the past couple days. He was tall-ish, maybe just over six feet. His hair was a coppery shade and fairly long for my usual taste, falling around his chin. And man … he was a skinny drink of water. Bundled up in his coat I could even tell he was willowy.

I spotted him a few times almost lurking around the door to the gallery and there was even a few times I could have sworn he was looking right at me before he turned away and the feeling dissipated. Normally this feeling would have creeped me out and sent me scurrying for broad daylight, but I didn't get the crazy vibe from him.

It almost felt … normal … to think that he was looking at me. Strange, huh?

I couldn't place it how I felt and why I felt that way, but it didn't worry me as much as it probably would have under different circumstances.

And it wasn't like he was always there. I usually got to the museum and peeked around a bit, and those times I didn't see him.

I told myself that he probably worked at the museum as some type of tour guide or restorer or something. He gave off a bit of an arty vibe and made me think he did something creatively, even if I had no idea.

His presence caught my eye on more than one occasion and sometimes I caught the edges of a smile on his face. The times I saw that smile of his gave me a tingly, warm feeling in the pit of my stomach that inevitably set of a huge blush.

Jokingly, I started referring to him as "Stalker Boy" in my head, though I didn't actually believe for a second he was stalking me in the strictest sense. It's just that he was always around. It made me laugh how much I saw him.

Between Jasper's work and my trips to the art museum I was seeing more of Stalker Boy and the guard Jerry than I was my own roommate and best friend for life.

All through my time at the museum though, I was actually being very productive. My writing was coming along nicely and I had worked through several plot kinks I had been having trouble with. I couldn't reconcile some of my character's actions with her supposed motivation and I spent quite a good deal of time thinking and working through the issues I was having.

I probably had close to three quarters or even a full notebook full of notes and scribblings that I wanted to incorporate into my story.

I was writing about a woman who had been the perfect wife and thought she had everything only to find out that her entire relationship had been built upon a lie perpetuated by her husband. He all but renounced her and threw her to the wolves.

The part that was difficult for me was I had never been in that position and I was having to put myself in my main character's shoes more than I normally would while writing. I had to think through what her reactions would be to stimuli she encountered throughout the story.

I was beginning to think that maybe I had bit off more than I could chew so to speak with my story. It wasn't much like anything I had written before and certainly well outside of my comfort zone.

But that's what I liked about writing. I frequently chose topics that were just a little bit of a stretch for me to write about. I wanted to grow as a writer and never be complacent with my talents. Stretching and reaching a little bit farther each time. That's where true talent growth came from.

The more I sat in the gallery and wrote, the more I saw Stalker Boy. And funny enough, I found myself actually looking for him. Looking forward to him.

I didn't know what his name was or anything about him beyond the fact that he seemed to perpetually be around the museum, so instead I created a little story about him in my head. You know, the writer part in me influenced that.

I made this convoluted story about how he was the son of a rich diplomat who chose to follow his artistic talents instead of following in his father's political footsteps. How he wanted to be his own man instead of always being in his father's shadow. His parents probably hated his long hair and tried to get him to cut it every chance they got. He resented always being expected to be perfect and in turn slacked off and became this person who hung around art museums instead of getting a 'real' job. Maybe he had a brother who was a stockbroker, the pride of the family. Family reunions were strained with his brother looking good in a three piece suit while he sat there in a tweed coat with a ratty scarf. He probably didn't wash his hair for several days before seeing his parents on purpose just to piss them off.

Inevitably the more details I created about Stalker Boy the more I would giggle to myself. Sure, it would have been just easier to go up to him and ask him his name, but when did I ever take the easy route? Okay, most of the time in hindsight, so I just chalked my reluctance to ask the cutie with the long hair and striking eyes about himself up to being horribly shy.

I had my fair of share conquests in college and I was no stranger to having the random hookup or two, but those guys were all ones I had met through mutual friends. Jasper's friend Chuck had been someone I'd had my eye on for awhile and it took me practically four months of blushing like crazy before Jasper had figured out I had a thing for his friend. After one date though, the reality wasn't anything like the fantasy I'd concocted in my head about Chuck. He was good in a group setting, but one on one? Geeze, he was a surefire way to fall asleep in my soup. Awkward and bumbling for sure. That turned out to be one of those dates I had Jasper rescue me from halfway through, calling to say that he desperately needed help with writing some paper that was due in the morning when I knew for a fact there was no such paper. Let's just say thank god for the early introduction of text messaging. Saved my bored ass any number of times.

Each day I'd gather up my stuff in my bag and head off to the museum, secretly hoping I'd see Stalker Boy. Four days after I first got my good glimpse of him, I had the most embarrassing dream about him.

Why was it embarrassing?

Okay, I confess.

I had a massively erotic sex dream about Stalker Boy. I don't remember a lot of it except that I woke up so horny and wet that my hand inevitably strayed underneath my pajama shorts and it hadn't taken me long before I was panting and moaning. Worse yet, I think Jasper heard me. How embarrassing is that? It was one thing to hear your roommate having hot steamy sex, but it was quite another to hear your roommate wacking off, especially if said roommate was a girl.

That morning I just happened to catch Jasper in the kitchen making a cup of coffee goodness and he avoided my eyes, telling me that he had indeed heard my early morning touching session.

Much to my surprise though, he didn't say anything about it.

I almost expected him to say something horribly lewd, but when he didn't I promised myself that I would do something good for Christmas for him. Maybe find one of his favorite authors and get a book signed for him.

But that was one of the things that was great about Jasper. He knew when to tease and he knew when there was just some topics I wasn't comfortable with joking about. My sex dreams apparently were one of them.

So that day when I saw Stalker Boy I couldn't stop the bright red blush that came to my face. I'd had an explicit dream about a complete stranger, even one that I saw on a daily, if not hourly basis. In a way though, I felt like I knew a lot about him from the life story I'd fabricated even if it was completely false.

Around 3 p.m. I got up to visit the ladies room; Stalker Boy nowhere to be seen when I left the gallery. Maybe he had something to do in another part of the museum. Honestly I didn't think much of it.

When I got from my much needed bladder relief, Stalker Boy was peering into the gallery through the glass doors. Nervous energy just poured off of him in a way I hadn't seen from him probably ever. Even I, who was denser than dense when it came to reading people, could see it. He shifted from foot to foot and he was chewing on his fingernails, another habit I'd never seen him have.

Well, that was certainly odd, but it wasn't like I knew him so who was I to judge whatever was going on in his head?

I quietly walked up behind him, intent on darting around him and back into the gallery when he suddenly turned around and I ran square into his chest instead.

I have the worst luck in the entire world sometimes. How embarrassing! I thought with my nose wedged in his sternum.

But most other thought vanished from my head when I inhaled reflexively and took my first good whiff of his smell. Gah! He smelled so … delicious. A mixture of paint, beer and man. It was an odd combination and one that made me mentally scratch my head only to forget everything else and want to take another inhale.

As if having a sex dream about him wasn't embarrassing enough, I now wanted to sniff him like a bitch in heat. What the hell was going on with me?

Say something, you idiot! my brain yelled at me.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! Shit, I'm so clumsy sometimes," I mumbled and dropped my eyes to see my notebook had dropped out of my hands in our collision. As I went to bend down to get it, Stalker Boy apparently had the same idea and our heads bumped together. I felt our noses brush against each other and the tingling I got in my stomach thinking about him switched to a wholly different place in my body.

Fucking hormones. The whole area between my legs started tingling and getting warm.

I really, really needed to get some sex if barely brushing this guy's nose made me horny and wet. Really … really, Bella? What is wrong with you?

My tendency to say the first thing in my head when I was distracted apparently wasn't failing me today either because "Stalker Boy" popped out of my mouth sooner than I could actually think it.

Fuck, moron? You're not a moron. You're downright dumb sometimes.

My cheeks flushed bright red and I felt the heat of the blood rushing to my face instantly. I turned away from him and let loose a string of profanities, another one of my bad habits when I was nervous or embarrassed.

I shoved my notebook in my bag as quickly as I could and rushed to cover my face with my hands, hoping he either hadn't heard me or chose to overlook the moniker I'd attached to him over the past few days.

Please don't ask me about it. I won't be able to lie to you when you're this close and you smell this good. I begged him in my head, hoping that would let my indiscretion slide.

And guess what?

The guy had the nerve to laugh at me. He tried to cover it by putting his hand over his mouth, but I heard it. And worse yet, I actually felt his body shaking from the effort to keep his laughter in.

Finally, thankfully, his laughter subsided and he shoved his hands in his pocket, and I risked a quick look down to see the telltale signs that he was trying to cover up some hard junk by tenting his pants with his hands inside.

My inner twelve year old girl screamed "ewwwwwwww yucky boys!" while my inner horny woman began to wonder how big his dick was.

Quick! Say something!

"So do you work here or something?" was the first thing that popped out of my mouth.

D'oh.

I swear sometimes I am smooth as a freaking porcupine.

Despite my horribly loose mouth which tended to betray me, Stalker Boy and I managed to work awkwardly through a semi-coherent conversation. Yeah, I know. Give me a freaking Pulitzer for my world class conversation skills.

Not.

Though between the both of us, it seemed neither of us would be winning any awards for our conversational skills. He seemed just as awkward at this whole talking thing as I felt which oddly put me a little bit at ease.

"Edward," he answered when I asked his name and gave him mine.

So it turned out Stalker Boy had a classy name.

Inwardly I grinned at myself, thinking that the story I'd fabricated about him could possibly be somewhat true. I mean, what twenty-something guy named Edward actually went by his full name? I'd met Edwards before. They were all Eddie or Ed or some other variation. Anything but actually going by their first name.

With each passing second I spent in Stalker Boy's … er, Edward's presence, I actually felt myself relaxing more and more. Someone moving in the gallery caught my eye through the glass doors and I inclined my head through the doors.

"Have you seen this guy's stuff? I really like it. I've been sitting in here a lot lately," I said, sensing the growing comfort with him in my voice.

"Uh, yeah I think so. It's pretty good stuff," he returned.

Stalker … Edward smiled at me and for a second I actually thought my heart skipped a beat. It was … strange to say the least to have such a reaction to him like that. There was this hint of a glimmer in his eye and it made him look much younger than he probably was. Almost boyish rather than a man.

Something in the back of my head told me to get to know him more and I motioned for him to follow me inside the gallery. He took a step forward, indicating he'd follow me.

I'd let him follow me anywhere, the voice in my head told me.

Whoa! Where'd that one come from?

The air inside the gallery was seemingly warmer than it had been when I'd left to go the bathroom and Edward's smell seemed to be intensified by the increased temperature.

I settled back into the couch and patted the small space next to me. Edward's face showed a small sign of indecision but for a second when something inside him seemed to resolve whatever he was struggling with and he crossed the few steps separating us, settling into the couch beside me.

His shoulder was a hair's width from mine, his shoulders broad and strong. For a quick second I pictured running my hands and lips across his naked shoulders, winding my hands around his stomach and pulling him back into me.

Okay, I really was pathetic. I had barely "known" him maybe fifteen minutes and I was already picturing him naked? Crazy, horny girl.

We sat there for a moment, glancing around at the paintings on the wall and enjoying a companionable silence. My heart was beating furiously in my chest and my legs clenched together nervously.

Or was it really nerves or something else completely?

Truth was, I didn't know.

"So tell me why you like this guy's work," he finally said, breaking the silence.

I couldn't help the smile that broke across my face for some reason. I had absolutely no explanation for the feeling of sudden glee I got except that being there in the museum gallery talking to Edward about art made me happy.

Before I knew what I was saying (damn the word vomit!) I was off and rolling about all the various things I liked about EC's works. I talked about his technique, his absolute master of the brushstroke. I liked to think that he knew when a painting didn't need a single more brush stroke. When it was just perfect enough and one more stroke would ruin a masterpiece.

I talked about how he seemed to connect with his subjects, seeing into their eyes and seeing them for what they were when the subject may not even know herself. How he had a knack for stripping a person down, figuratively and metaphorically, to her very basest emotion and portraying that on canvas. He could capture a single thought the subject had and made the viewer felt like that looking at them nude was if they were looking at them clothed. You almost forgot that you were looking at a naked woman rather than a clothed one. It was about the emotion and the depth of soul in the person's eye rather than her state of undress that captivated me.

My ramblings seemed to go on forever and I worried that I was boring Edward with my lengthy explanation why I liked the featured artist, but the times I paused and waited for a yawn or some other sign of fatigue with my words, I found none.

It seemed like he was captivated by me. By my words.

Though I'm not going to lie and say I didn't catch him looking at my boobs on more than one occasion. I brushed off the first time as a reflex to some type of arm movement I made, but the second and then the third time his line of vision latched onto my swaying boobs, I was convinced he was openly staring at them.

I laughed to myself and waved my hand in front of his face.

No change.

It's like my nipples and his eyes were magnetically connected and nothing could break the connection they had.

Okay, different tactic.

I kept talking about the paintings and discreetly let my hands wander to my chest. First I rubbed my left nipple through my shirt, almost like I had an itch or something. Of course it hardened and showed through my rather thin lace bra I was wearing that day.

Edward shifted in his seat unconsciously.

Oh yeah, he was definitely staring at them.

I snickered and repeated the same movement on my right nipple, bringing that one to attention under my shirt.

I paused, waiting for Edward's reaction.

He groaned gently and I thought I saw the bulge in his pants growing.

Perv, I thought.

Don't lie and say you don't enjoy it! the voice in my head chided me.

Shit, I did enjoy it.

Here I had this rather handsome looking man who obviously was at least partially interested in me all but drooling over something as simple as my hardened nipples. And I was complaining? No, I wasn't complaining, just commenting.

Time to pull out the big tits … er, guns.

I kept up my inane ramblings, this time switching to something generally about the museum. About how white the walls were in comparison to the pop of color of the paintings.

Reaching up with both my hands, I gently massaged the outside of my boobs before squeezing them together ever so subtly. Anybody looking at me offhand might dismiss the action as a scratch or a reflex, but with Edward pretty much zoned solely in on my boobs I knew he'd catch it.

Sure enough, we had a reaction.

He groaned a little louder and his shifted in his place again, his hand drifting towards his crotch.

My hands dropped to my side instantly, my grin growing exponentially.

Guys were so easy to read sometimes.

Before his hand got right where it was going though, I raised my hand and snapped my fingers right in his face. That did the trick of breaking the spell my boobs had over his psyche at the moment and his eyes flashed upwards to meet mine.

"Enjoying yourself, mister?" I giggled.

His mouth fell open and all color drained from his face.

I'd caught him red-handed!

My giggles turned to full fledged belly laughs and people in the small gallery turned to stare at me as I couldn't contain the loud laughs. Edward's head dropped and his face blushed a color I didn't know he was capable of as he ran his hand through his long hair.

Tears actually came to my eyes while I was laughing.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he stammered.

"It's … it's … it's okay," I managed through my dying laughter. I took a deep breath to work out the last of my giggles and another one escaped my mouth before I could manage straight words again. "They're pretty nice after all."

"Yeah, you can say that again," Edward mumbled and ran his hand through his hair again while looking away.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so mean to you, but you looked kind of like a kid in a candy store for a second there," I said and smiled softly at him. I really hadn't mean to so thoroughly embarrass him, but it had turned out so well I couldn't stop myself.

That'll teach him to pay attention to that part of a woman's anatomy rather than her words.

The other museum visitors had filtered out during my loud laughter, probably preferring to view the art in peace.

Edward fiddled with his hands in his lap, still probably trying to calm his obvious hard on that had developed while he'd feasted his eyes on my chest.

I mumbled some awkward quiet fillers before my comments filtered off.

Thankfully, Jerry chose that moment to pop his head in the doors.

"Hey, you two. Museum's closing early tonight. Private showing by the director. Gotta take it elsewhere if you want to flirt with each other some more," he said.

I blushed and Edward's nervous smile returned from Jerry's comment.

"Uh, so are you going to be here tomorrow?" he asked almost unsure of his own question.

I brushed a piece of hair back out of my eye and thought about his question for only a moment.

"I think so. Are you going to be here?" I asked him back.

His smile grew a bit wider and I caught the flash of his really white teeth for a moment.

"Yeah, probably. Nothing else to do but hang out at the museum," he said. "It's not like …"

Jerry's knock on the door interrupted whatever Edward was going to say and our heads snapped to the glass doors. Jerry had a stern look on his face and he roughly motioned for us to get going.

Edward chuckled softly and said, "I think we better get going. Don't want Jerry to have a coronary trying to kick us out."

I climbed off the couch and felt Edward's hand softly on the small of my back.

It sent a weird shiver through my body.

A weird good shiver.

We parted at the museum exit with another round of "you sure you're going to be here?" questions.

Before he melted into the crowd of foot traffic of commuters on their way to various types of mass transit, he turned back to me and shot me a grin unlike any other I'd seen him give me so far in the short time I actually "knew" him.

Truth be told?

It made my insides squishy.

That good kind of squishy that made me think that there was something growing.

Something amazing.