Happy Hump Day!
Many thanks to Sarcastic Bimbo for beta work. She even gets my silly pop-culture references.
CHAPTER 7 — EDWARD
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I'm so damn tired.
Eighteen hours into a twenty-four hour shift, and I'm fading fast. I've done more epidurals today than I do in some weeks, and I've attended nine surgeries. There are some shifts from hell, and there are some shifts from HELL. Today is one of the latter—I lost a patient today.
Death is a rare complication from anesthesia, but that doesn't mean it can't happen. Losing an otherwise healthy patient like that, when every intervention fails, one right after the other until it's too late … it's like a blow to the gut.
My logical side knows nothing could have prevented it, but I still second-guess every move, every decision I made. I'm still running scenarios in my head, half a day later, and I'll probably keep doing it for the next week. Did I miss something? Did I make the right choices?
"Fuck," I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. I need a break—and now that the end of my shift is in sight, time will probably start moving backwards. I head for the doctors' lounge, where I can hopefully get some silence until I'm paged again. Luck is on my side and I find myself alone, for the moment.
I splash some cold water on my face, hoping the shock will help me get reoriented. The standard-issue paper towels I use to dry off are only a step above sandpaper, so that should work too. Nothing like losing a couple layers of skin to wake a person up.
I head for the Keurig and choose the largest setting. A massive dose of caffeine might not make my shift go by faster, but it sure couldn't hurt. When it's done and steaming hot, I take my precious coffee and head for one of the two couches.
I zone out for a bit, but all of a sudden someone's standing right behind me, and the surprise makes me slosh coffee over the rim of my mug. "Shit!" I hiss as it splashes onto my chest. Right in the fucking V-neck of my scrubs, damn it. This day just gets better and better. Bella would get a kick out of this—me being as clumsy as she usually is.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
Dr. Kate Mulloy looks more like Barbie than an accomplished cardiothoracic surgeon. She's one of my favorite surgeons to work with—she likes to joke around and chooses some pretty good music in the OR. She's always polite and treats everyone in her OR with respect.
"You must be a ninja," I joke, drying my chest with another one of those scratchy paper towels. Dammit.
Dr. Mulloy grins. "Nah. If I was a ninja, you'd be dead and I'd be drinking your coffee."
I snort. "Nice."
Gesturing toward the coffee maker, she asks, "Do you mind?"
I shake my head and move out of her way, figuring I'm as dry as I'll get until I can get back to the locker room to change. Settling down with what's left of my coffee, I take a big sip and have to restrain myself from whimpering in relief.
"I heard about Mr. Volturi," Kate says, sinking down onto the couch across from mine.
I sigh, wishing I didn't have to talk about this. The hospital is a fucking gossip machine, however, and I can't expect that the staff will keep quiet. The only person I really want to talk to is Bella, but I won't see her for hours. I shouldn't see her at all, but I can't seem to stay away from her. The fact that I almost kissed her the other day proves it. Fuck, I wish that sentence didn't have the word almost in it.
While I ruminate about my best friend's little sister, Kate watches me closely, expecting a response. I meet her eyes and see nothing but sympathy. There's none of that judgmental bullshit behind some other surgeons' inquiries. There are some who think anesthesiology is easy, and are full of disapproval any time something goes wrong. They wouldn't have any patients to operate on if I didn't keep them alive during the damn surgery. But that's just my biased opinion.
"Anaphylactic shock. We tried everything. Nothing worked. His blood pressure spiked and he went into cardiac arrest." I set my coffee aside and set my elbows on my knees, eyes on the floor. "No family history of complications, nothing in patient history suggested anything abnormal." I'm so damn frustrated. It's a puzzle I'll likely never solve; even if I managed to, there wouldn't be any satisfaction. A man is still dead.
Kate gingerly sits down next to me and places a hand on my shoulder. I tense up, wondering what's going on here. While we're friendly, we're just co-workers. She's never touched me, and I'm not sure I want her to. No, I know I don't want her touching me … there's only one person I want comfort from right now. Why can't I stop thinking about her?
Kate rubs my shoulder a bit, and I start to get fidgety. "Things go wrong. You know that. Don't blame yourself."
Her tone is gentle, and I know she means well, but whatever she's offering—if I'm not imagining things—I'm not one bit interested. Which surprises me. I'm not blind; Kate's hot, and I should be interested, even if I can't date her due to my personal "no-hospital" policy.
"I don't blame myself. I just wish things had turned out differently." I stand abruptly and look down to find her watching me with a puzzled look.
"I get it, Edward. I really do. I just thought you might want someone to talk to. Sometimes it's lonely, working the way we do. Seeing the things we see."
I just watch her, at a loss for what to say. I have a bad feeling about this conversation, and I don't think I'll get out of it without a whole lot of awkwardness.
Kate stands and takes a step in my direction. "You and I are a lot alike. We work well together in the operating room, and we respect each other. We have similar work schedules. We understand what it's like to do this job…" She stops and shakes her head with a smile. "I'm just going to come out and say it: I think we'd complement each other in other areas, as well."
Well, that wasn't exactly "coming right out and saying it," but I got her drift.
Unaware of my growing discomfort, Kate goes on to say, "We're both attractive, busy people. I don't know about you, but I find it's hard to make the time for dating. So why waste the time? We both have needs." She comes even closer, looking up at me with definite bedroom eyes. "Together, I bet we could meet those needs quite well."
I've been slowly backing away during her whole speech, but I've hit the counter and I'm trapped. This is what it must feel like to be caught in the crosshairs. I prefer to be the hunter, not the hunted, thank you very much.
When I finally find my voice, it's rusty. "Kate … I don't know what to say…"
"Say you'll meet me in the women's showers at the end of your shift."
My eyes bug out as I search for a way to let her down gently. This woman is nuts. There's no way I'd set foot in the women's showers, even if I was interested. That's a good way to get slapped with a sexual harassment charge (right before I get shit-canned).
"I don't think it's a good idea to meet you in the showers—"
"How about the supply closet?"
What is with this woman and workplace sex? Hospitals are not sexy. They're exactly the opposite of sexy. So unsexy that all I want to do after my shift is shower this place off of me, and it's not like I have anything else to do or anyplace else to be. I'm just going home to beat off to fantasies of Bella. Don't judge me. I have needs, just like Kate said.
But first, I need to talk my way out of this. "Or the supply closet. Kate, I—"
"You have a girlfriend, don't you?" She sighs, shoulders falling. "I should have known."
I thank God for Kate's penchant for interrupting. Now I have an out! "I do. I'm sorry I let you keep on like that. I wasn't expecting this, and this thing with Bella is so new…"
How much I want to have a "thing" with Bella should disturb me, but what was left of my moral compass jumped ship sometime after I bailed Bella out of jail.
"No, no! I'm the one who's sorry. I could see you were a bit uncomfortable, and I was pushy. Like I said, this job gets lonely. Does your girlfriend have a single brother, by chance?" she jokes, seemingly unaffected by my less than skilled rejection.
I just about choke on my fucking tongue. Oh, yes, she does have a brother. And he's going to murder me if he finds out I want to do a hell of a lot more than just date his sister.
"She does, but he's not single. Getting married next month, actually."
Kate sighs good-naturedly. "Oh, well. All you good ones are taken. Guess I'll need to hit up Costco for some new batteries," she says with a wink, and breezes out the door.
My mouth hangs open for a good five seconds after she's gone. But I'm not thinking about Kate. No, I'm thinking about Bella. And batteries. And battery-powered ... things.
Yeah, my moral compass is dead and buried. Sayonara.
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-x-
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Miraculously, the rest of my shift goes by quickly. I head to the locker room to gather my things, eyeing the door opposite as though Kate might pop out and yank me in to shower with her.
Obviously, I don't stick around long. Too many prying eyes. Okay, so maybe those eyes are rooted in my newly sprouted paranoia, but I'd much rather shower at home for now. Maybe forever.
When I've made it home and cleaned up (okay, yes, I "thought" about Bella in the shower, damn you), I wander into the kitchen, yawning the whole way. Food is number one on my list, and then sleep. So much sleep. I head for the refrigerator and freeze—there it is, on a post-it note, in my handwriting. In black sharpie, no less.
bachelor party meeting—8:30 Bella's
Well, shit. On the downside, I can't show up in my boxers. But I get to see Bella—now that's a definite plus.
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She answers the door in a fucking men's t-shirt. Sure, it covers more of her than the bikini I saw her wear during Spring Break a couple years back—but God help me, the very notion that she might be naked underneath... the possibility that only one layer of thin cotton separates her bare skin from my eyes, my hands…
Fuck.
"Aren't you supposed to be dressed?" I choke out.
She tries to hide a smirk when she catches me struggling to keep my eyes above her neck. "Alice is sick. We need to reschedule everything. Jasper was supposed to call you."
I frown. "Shit. That must have been him," I mumble, recalling hearing my phone ring while I was beating off in the shower earlier. In my defense, I was in need of some major stress relief.
With Bella always on my mind, I'll count myself fortunate if my balls haven't turned completely purple and exploded by the time Rose and Emmett get married.
"Come in, Edward. You look dead on your feet." She gestures up the stairs.
While I've dropped her off here a few times, I've never been inside. There's a warm, soft glow from the open door, and soft music trails down the steps. I've never seen the place, but it feels right. Then again, maybe it's her. I can see myself here, with her. Maybe curled up on her couch together. Kissing her. Loving her.
Whoa. Loving her?
Where did that come from? This thing with Bella—it's just simple attraction.
Right?
Sure, I care about her. As Emmett's best friend, I've spent half my life looking out for her. We scared off all the losers, doled out advice she didn't particularly want, and kicked a few asses when needed. I protected her like she was the little sister I never had.
But now, the things I want to do to her ... they're not exactly brotherly. Haven't been for a while.
If Emmett finds what goes on in my head, he'll kick my ass. Because she needs protection from me.
"Edward?" Bella's voice is ripe with concern, and I wonder how long I've been staring like a creeper. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I grin sheepishly. "Just feeling a little silly."
"Why?"
"I should've checked my phone before I left." Since I certainly couldn't check it while I was in the shower, wishing you were there with me…
My ears must be flaming red. It feels like I have a fucking sunburn. I hope she doesn't notice, because I have no idea what I'll tell her if she asks about it. There's no way I'm telling her I fantasize about her in the shower while I'm rubbing one out.
Bella is staring at me too, though. We stand there in an awkward silence to end all awkward silences, and then I notice it—she's blushing. A soft pink flush creeps up her neck and kisses the tops of her cheekbones. Backlit by the light of her apartment, she all but glows. She's never been more beautiful—baggy shirt, messy ponytail and all.
I'm about to say fuck it all and kiss the shit out of her … and then a moth dive-bombs me. Right in the face.
I. Hate. Moths.
Ever since I was a kid, I've hated the damn things. They fly around all crazy and end up in your mouth, your nose, your ears, your hair … they're just wrong. I realize I'm not winning myself any tough guy points here. It's not the most masculine fear, but what is, really? Isn't "masculine fear" supposed to be an oxymoron?
In any case, I'd rather face down a mountain lion than a freaking moth. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating, but have I mentioned I hate moths?
The little winged devil crazily circles the bare bulb of the porch light, determined to either burn itself to death or terrorize me. The answer is up for debate.
It makes another dive and I try to bat it away without looking like a total spastic moron.
Bella puts a hand over her mouth to cover her laugh, and I give her a dirty look. She knows all about my stupid pseudo-phobia, and she and Emmett teased me mercilessly when we were younger.
"I'll just give you two some time alone." She pretends to shut the door.
I manage to get a foot in to pry it open and push my way inside, slamming the door behind me. "You're awful, you know that?" I pull her up the steps and into the apartment.
"I know. I learned from the best."
She looks entirely too happy. She also speaks the truth. As kids, Emmett and I served up some ruthless teasing, and she eventually learned to dole out some misery of her own.
"I still don't understand how you can be so afraid of them," she says, shaking her head.
I give her the side-eye, glowering when she laughs at me again. "Ever heard of the Mothman?"
Bella snorts. I should find it unattractive, but I can't imagine finding anything unattractive about her.
Quirking a brow, she quips, "I don't think he was an actual moth."
"I don't even care. Those fuckers are crazy. It's like they're always aiming for my mouth. Or my nose. Bastards are trying to suffocate me, I know it."
She just keeps laughing at me, not even trying to stop as we ascend the stairs. "I wish I had video of that. You were swatting at the air like you were being attacked by a million bees, all over one moth! I could blackmail you for years."
I scowl and shrug off my jacket. "You wouldn't." She probably would.
"I so would." Taking my jacket, she hangs it in the tiny closet just off the foyer. "After all the humiliation I suffered at the hands of you and Emmett, you deserve it."
Hearing her talk about Emmett makes it hard to ignore the guilt that sits in my gut. The guilt that's slowly but surely being eclipsed by what I feel for Bella. Fighting it saps all my energy, and I'm already tired enough. Being around her makes me happy. She's smart, she's independent, she's caring and has a wicked sense of humor. Most of all, she cares about me. I know she does. But the question is: does she want me like I want her? I think she does—I think she always has. But I don't want this to be just the remnant of a teenage crush. We're both different people now.
With a shock, I realize I'm not looking for some short-term distraction. When I think about my future, I see Bella.
I just can't seem to get past our history. Am I truly afraid of Emmett's reaction, or am I afraid of getting in too deep? The fear of my best friend is well-founded—it'll be my funeral pyre if he finds out.
Unaware of my internal struggle, Bella sweeps past me and heads for the kitchen. The back of her T-shirt has writing on it, but I have no idea what it says. I'm too busy staring at her ass, and I barely manage to stifle a groan. I want to know what's under that shirt so damn badly, I actually have to clench my hands into fists to keep from grabbing a handful.
Her kitchen is clean, if a little cluttered. A coffee-maker, a bowl filled with fruit, and a jar full of utensils sit on the countertop. A lone dish sits in the sink, and clean white towels hang next to the little window in the corner.
"You want something to drink?" Bella opens the fridge door, bending at the waist to peer inside.
My restraint begins to die a slow, painful death, and my dick springs to life. Black lace peeks out from the hem of her shirt, hugging the barest glimpse of the curve of her ass. I want to fall to my knees behind her, push that shirt up and lick her pussy through those panties. This time I do moan out loud, but try to cover it with a cough.
She pulls two beers from the fridge and turns toward me, puzzled. "What was that?"
I blink, panicking because my cough obviously didn't work. "Huh?" I cough a couple more times to make it more convincing.
"Did you say something?" Bella pulls two beers from the fridge and hands one to me.
Clearing my throat, I grab the cold bottle and busy myself with the twist top. "Nah. I just had an itch in my throat." I clear my throat again for good measure, frowning when I can't quite get the cap off the beer. "What's up with this thing?"
Amused, Bella retrieves a bottle opener from a drawer and opens her own drink before handing it over. "It's not a twist top."
For the first time, I peer down at the beer, noting the cap. "Well, shit," I mutter, fighting back the urge to roll my eyes at my own embarrassment. Instead, I pop the cap off and take a long gulp. I really want to just down the whole thing, but I figure sobriety is the better choice in this situation.
"It happens," she murmurs, taking a sip and watching me over the rim of the bottle.
"Like that redneck bumper sticker." Leaning back against the counter, I smirk, watching her right back.
She grins and hops up onto the kitchen island, crossing her legs, much to my disappointment.
"I had to scrape one of those off my truck when I inherited it from Emmett."
"You scraped it off? That's a shame. It was badass."
Bella rolls her eyes. "You sound just like him."
"Well, we did spend our formative years together."
"While I tagged along and made your lives miserable."
"As a little sister should." The words were out before I have a chance to think it over, and I almost regret them—except we both seem to need a reminder of who we are to one another. Who we have in common and why all of this can only end badly.
"Well, what else was there to do when my brother would rather hang out with some gangly, nerdy, ginger kid than me? I had to get my revenge somehow," Bella explains with a shrug.
"What did the color of my hair have to do with it? And I'm not a ginger." Running my hand through my hair, I add, "It's brown. Mostly."
"And you're in denial. My hair is brown. Yours is … I don't even know what to call it. If I haven't known you for just about forever, I'd think you got it colored at the salon." She takes another sip of beer, and then adds, "But it's fucking hot."
I blink and almost choke on the beer I just sipped. "What?" Like I'd go get my damn hair colored. I don't have time for that shit. Sport Clips is as fancy as I get when it comes to haircuts, and I'm lucky if I can get in there on a regular basis.
"It's hot. All messed up and sexy, like some girl's been grabbing it while you're fucking her brains out. You probably spend a while in front of the mirror to get that look, don't you?" she asks, grinning like the damned Cheshire cat.
I've got no idea where she's going with this, it's making me uncomfortable—because it's arousing as hell. How far will she go? How far will I go to find out?
"You're fucking with me, aren't you?" I set the beer on the counter behind me with a loud clink, and make my way toward the island where she sits.
"Did we not just take a walk down memory lane, where I was the annoying little girl who lived to make your life miserable?" Bella takes a long pull from her bottle, then licks her bottom lip. "Of course I'm fucking with you."
I bite back a groan. Hearing that word come out of her mouth, seeing her tongue … it wrecks me. I can't tear my eyes off her mouth as I come to a stop right in front of her. She sucks in a breath, bringing her chest even closer to mine. We're so close that I can see the pulse fluttering in her neck, and I want to rub my open lips across that skin. Taste it. Pull it between my teeth and suck until she whimpers my name.
"What are you doing, Edward?"
I'd have to be deaf not to hear the shakiness in her voice, and it has me biting back a satisfied smile. Taking the beer from her hand and setting it aside, I lean down until my lips are a mere inch from hers and murmur, "Fucking with you."
Emphasis on the fucking, please.
"You can't fuck with me when I'm already fucking with you," she rushes out, realizing she's trapped.
"Why not?" The words are barely a whisper, a huff of breath that hangs like curls of smoke in thick, humid air.
Tension crackles between us, and it gives me the courage to push farther. I cup her knees in my hands and push them apart so I can wedge myself between them. Then I glide my palms up the outsides of her thighs to rest on her hips. Bella puts her hands on top of mine, fingers digging in. To push me away, or hold me in place? One, two, three heartbeats, and we both remain still.
The whole time, I watch her face, eyes darting from her parted lips to her wide, gorgeous irises and back again. Her lips look soft, lush; they glisten with a sheen of moisture. I wonder if she wears lip gloss, and what it might taste like. Heat sinks through my body like a sedative, a seductive vine wrapping around my limbs.
I know then—I'm not leaving until I get a real taste.
I'm pushing my boundaries. Testing myself—and failing spectacularly.
And I'm loving every minute of it.
"What's happening here?" There's a slight waver to Bella's voice, a catch in her breath. Soft pink colors her cheeks, making her lips look even more inviting.
"I want to kiss you," I admit. "So badly."
Bella's eyes flutter closed and her hands tighten on mine before she slowly glides them up my forearms. When her lids lift, I can see the yes in her stare. But still I wait. I want the words. I want them more than I could have ever imagined.
As I wait, her hands continue upward, over my biceps and shoulders, until she holds my face in her hands and pulls me in.
She waits a beat, and whispers, "Then kiss me, Edward. I dare you."
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YES! Finally, right? This scene is where the title of the fic came from, and one of the first I wrote. Then I wrote the last few chapters. Weird, I know. But it worked for me. Anyway, I'll update Sunday, since I sort of left you guys hanging (sorry). I promise you, it's worth it. ;)