a/n If you're still here I hope I can fulfill your expectations. I'm working hard to do so. As always, my most heartfelt thanks to all of my girls, you know who you are, Twificsters all. And the beta with the mostest – BreathofTwilight – she is the most awesome friend first and beta second.

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer created them. She owns them. The only thing I created is the situation they find themselves in. Oh! And I own the ability to spend the entire 4+ days at ComiCon!

BPOV

Okay. I can do this. I know I can. I am a strong, independent woman.

I took this side job because, seriously, who doesn't need a little extra money? I really needed to save some to get a new car. I love Bessie, but she was old when I got her. She's about on her last legs, and I can't afford to be stranded somewhere. So, I'll do these classes long enough to save up for a little dependable runabout. Shouldn't take that long. It's not like I want a Mercedes or anything, right? Hmmm. A Mercedes. No. Stop that! Just something cheap and dependable.

With renewed resolve, I pull up the roster for my class. This could be fun. I mean, if I don't know the rules of the road, then who does, right? I can be funny, right? Right! Remember: strong, independent woman.

Glancing over the roster, one name jumps out at me. I feel my skin flush and my heartbeat pick up. Oh, you have to be kidding. Not him! Edward Cullen. I've become nearly apoplectic trying to forget about him. Hasn't been working, has it? How am I supposed to stand in the front of the room with those emeralds glowing back at me? It was all I could do to keep my calm, assertive composure when I stopped him a few weeks ago. Between the eyes and the messy just-had-the-best-sex-of-my-life hair . . . Gah! Oh, and let's not forget about the jaw. Chiseled in stone, or it should have been! And when he spoke? Ungh! That voice was smooth as silk. This has been the stuff of my dreams for the last few weeks. Or maybe they're nightmares?

Maybe he'll forget. Maybe he'll be in an accident, no, can't wish that. Maybe . . . Oh, hell. There's that damn shiny silver Volvo. Right there in the parking lot. Damn, he's even early. Never would've guessed him to be an early bird. Not with that hair!

I park as far away from the Volvo as I can get and still not have to walk too far to the building. Why do they hold these classes in the conference room at the Hilton, anyway? I guess they must get a good deal on the space. And the Hilton is easy to find. Plenty of parking. Oh, well. Here goes nothin'. I gather my briefcase, with my badge inside, along with my laptop case and pack it all in my cart.

Thank God I don't have to wear my uniform for these classes. My skinny jeans and v-neck sweater are much more comfortable. I opted to wear some ballet flats with little bows on them, since I'd be standing a good part of the day. Don't want the dogs to be after me. Okay, so maybe I'm not as intimidating without the uniform, but at least I'm comfy.

I schlep my stuff into the hotel, and find the conference room with the assistance of an overly helpful bellhop. No, I don't fail to notice his eyes on my derrière as he follows me in the direction he just pointed. Just to help me, you know, set up the screen and the projector. Helping me even set up the laptop and connecting it to the projector. Like I couldn't do it myself. Men! Just as everything is ready, the class participants start filing in.

Once they are all seated, I get right to the point. "My name is Officer Swan, and I'll be your instructor today." Okay, that got everyone's attention. So far, so good. Gah! Emeralds. Don't go there, don't go there. Look anywhere, but there. Fuck, I looked there. Quick, look somewhere else. "Welcome to Swerve Driving School. I know none of you want to be here. I know that you are here for one reason and one reason only: to get that ticket wiped off your record!"

My eyes settle on a non-descript, overweight, balding man. There that will do. "My job, today, is to help you do just that." He smiles, throwing a little leer in, at the attention. Ugh! "We'll start with the obligatory video the State requires in all traffic school classes. It runs about an hour, so, sit back, relax, and let's watch. Shall we?"

I dim the lights after pushing the "go" button on the computer, find myself a seat in the back and proceed to let my mind wander. I guess I don't really care if they watch this video. They've certainly seen worse on 'Cops!' I've seen it enough times I can quote the narration verbatim.

My eyes seek out that mass of unruly hair I know I will find next to the strawberry blond. I hope he can't feel my eyes boring a hole into the back of his head. He leans over to the gal on his right. What's he doing? Has it been so long that he doesn't remember you don't chat during the videos in class? She turns to him, and with a look, shuts him down. There, take that, you green-eyed monster!

The video drones on and the students all perform predictable activities. The balding guy, yup, there's the snore. The skater dude doodles a drawing for his dream skate park on the class materials. Guess he thinks he's the next Tony Hawk. The strawberry blond is studiously ignoring Green Eyes. And Green Eyes is watching through slits. If the video goes any longer he'll be snoring, too. Finally, the narrator announces the end of the video with a "Thank you for watching." I click on the stop icon and turn up the lights, once again. Skater Dude gently shakes Bald Guy awake.

Everyone sits up a little straighter as I make my way to the front of the class. After a Q&A session, with the Q's going both ways, and quite a few chuckles on both sides, I hand out the quiz. "This quiz is very easy, folks. It is really just common sense. Since you passed the written test to get your license, this should be a breeze. As soon as we're all finished, we'll correct it, I'll give you your certificates of completion, and we'll be on our way. Sound good?"

I hear murmurs of agreement around the room, followed by the scratching of pens and pencils on the quiz.

"One last thing," I add as I'm handing out the certificates along with an evaluation form, "I need you to fill out the evaluation form that I'm giving you. And, I really need you to be honest. These help me to improve the class, for the future 'yous' that will be taking it, okay?" As I hand Green Eyes his, his hand brushes my fingertips, just for a second. I swear he did it on purpose, just to see if he could get a rise out of me. I wonder if he felt that, too?

I had barely managed to studiously avoid meeting his eyes during the class, but now he's asking a question about the eval form. I still can't bring myself to meet his eyes, not wanting to have a meltdown right here in front of the whole class, and am amazed that I can answer him in a somewhat intelligent manner. Especially since the sound of that velvety-smooth voice spiraled straight down to assault my girly parts.

I quickly collect all the evaluation forms, stuff them in my briefcase to look at later, pack up all the computer cables, pop the DVD back into its case, and I'm ready to head out. It really wasn't too bad. Once I figured out how to avoid those green eyes and fuck-me hair, that is. As long as I didn't look at him, I could function normally.

I grab my rolling cart and head out to my car. Just as I step off the curb, into the parking lot, Mr. Fuck-Me Hair in his Volvo pulls out of his spot and stops dead. I look up to see what's keeping him and see those damned green eyes perusing every inch of my body. Now, I'm certainly fit, my job requires it, but, I'm not in the same ballpark as Fuck-Me Hair. Mousy brown hair and eyes to match, so not even comparable to him. Same ballpark or not, just his intense perusal has my lady bits once more in a twitch. And, he's looking at me like I'm a lollipop he wants to suck on. What I wouldn't give to see that fuck-me hair between my thighs. Oh, yes, suck . . . Wait, what? Come on, Bella, you know that's never going to happen.

I'm at home, alone, and the sound of the microwave beeping alerts me to the fact that my pathetic excuse for a meal is ready. Taking my dinner out of the microwave, I sit down at the small table in my kitchen to look over the evaluation forms. So far, it seems most of my students were either: 1) too intimidated to make suggestions, or 2) didn't care enough to make suggestions. Even though I told them no names were necessary. Of those that have offered suggestions, I'm noticing more than one of them has signed their name. Looks like mostly the young guys. Funny.

Finally, the last one. I know it's Fuck-me Hair's because I purposely put it on the bottom. Sort of as a treat to myself for finishing the rest of the stack. I figure he'll have something to say, since he had something to say about everything else in class. Yup, there it is. I glance toward the bottom. He signed it. Wait, what's this? Dinner? He'll call on me at work? Fuck! "Who the hell does he think he is?" I rant at the walls.

What am I going to do about this? I need to make a decision. I can't have him showing up at the station. I'll just call him and tell him that he's out of line and way off base. However, he is certainly one of the most gorgeous hunks of male flesh I've seen in a long time. I hear the voice of my inner, risk-taking self. He's obviously interested, Bella, what's the harm in going out with him? Well, perhaps just this once I could . . . The plan begins to take shape . . .

Tuesday, lunchtime:

My fingers tremble as I dial the number I have somehow memorized from the evaluation form. It rings and rings, until his voicemail picks up, "Hi! You've reached Dr. Cullen. Sorry I'm not able to take your call right now. Leave your number and I'll get back to you just as soon as they turn me loose from the ward."

Dr. Cullen? He's a doctor? Images of him playing doctor….with me, in his white coat with his cute stethoscope, whirl through my lust filled mind. I give myself a little mental shake before I can leave a message that doesn't start with or end in 'I'm in desperate need of a hunky doctor to cure the aching throb that ails me'.

I inhale deeply and pray my voice comes out evenly and not like I just worked myself over, "Dr. Cullen, this is Officer Swan. I'd like to confirm the time for our dinner tomorrow. I'll meet you at Agua Verde at 7:30pm tomorrow. See you then."

There. I did it. Like the strong, independent woman that I am, I'm taking this bull by the horns. I can't deny the physical appeal of the man. I mean, really! And he's a doctor! That information hadn't been on his driver's license. A simple get-to-know-you dinner will be enjoyable. No strings, no expectations – at least not on my end. It'll be kind of nice to get away from all the shop talk and just talk to a normal person. And it won't be as though my eyes won't have a feast as well as my stomach. I've heard really good things about Agua Verde. In fact, I've been meaning to go there and check it out for – like – ever. As good a time as any, I guess.

Unfortunately, Bessie chooses this evening to be difficult. After much cajoling, I finally get her started and head for the restaurant. I'm late. I hate being late. I rumble into a parking space, slide out of the cab, smooth my dress and begin walking toward the entrance.

EPOV

It's now 7:42, where the hell is she? She said she'd be here at 7:30. Driving my fingers through my hair, I'm beginning to get a little angry. No, that's not exactly right, I'm not angry. Concerned? Is that what I'm feeling? I'm antsy because she's not here. I wish I knew where she lives so I can back-trace her route to make sure nothing has happened to her. That almost sounds like worry. Can I be worried about a woman I don't even know? It appears that I can.

Just as I am about to get in my car to . . . to . . . hell, I don't even know what, I see her getting out of an old, beat-up, red pick-up. She appears a little flustered and is certainly flushed, huffing and sputtering an apology and something about her truck not wanting to start this evening. I can certainly understand, having seen the POS she got out of. Relieved, I assure her that I, too, have just arrived and am looking forward to our dinner, and that is when I really take notice to her appearance. I can hardly breathe. She is absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous. Her chestnut hair is down, flowing in soft curls over her shoulders. The blue color of the dress she wears is striking against the pale creaminess of her skin and the neckline just hints at the cleavage lying below. My eyes travel further down to caress the curves below her tiny waist, and I groan internally.

We walk toward the door of the restaurant, and I can't help but offer her my arm, something that is totally out of character for me. She takes it, and I am suddenly glad I did as she seems to trip over thin air in the parking lot. She grasps my arm like a lifeline, apologizing again. I feel the corner of my mouth curving into a kind of one-sided grin, my trademark smirk. I was there to catch her when she needed it, and it felt . . . good!

As we walk into the enclosed space, I can smell the delicious scents that are wafting off her. I breathe deeply, pulling the essence of this woman deep into my smells as delicious as she looks. The hostess greets us and asks if we have a reservation. I assure her we do and give my name. The hostess seats us in a quiet corner booth, away from the kitchen, bar, and rowdy patrons watching the Mariners game on TV. Once we are settled in, I turn my full attention to the gorgeous woman who has agreed to be my dinner companion for the evening.

"Well," I begin with a small chuckle. "Here we are. I know you know who I am, sort of. You did, after all, give me my ticket. I have to tell you, though, it was absolutely worth it," I say, giving her my most genuine smile. "But, I only know you as 'Officer Swan.' While I am perfectly willing to call you 'Officer' all night, perhaps you could tell me your name?"

As the evening progresses I realize that it has been a very long time since I've enjoyed being out with a woman this much. Bella is enchanting. She's intelligent, witty, and damn, even more gorgeous than I remember. Such a refreshing change from the women I work with.

The closer she sits to me, the more drawn I am to her. Our conversation has covered everything from our current jobs to childhood stories of embarrassments and awe. As it begins to wind down to its natural conclusion, I reach out to touch her hand. Just like when she gave me the evaluation form, I feel a charge of . . . something. My eyes widen and search hers out. Her eyes are just as wide . . . she feels it, too! Not letting go, I want to see what more comes with this connection. I lean forward, pulling her toward me at the same time, just barely brushing her lips with mine. I hope it doesn't freak her out. The charge is still there, even more intense. I don't know what it is, but it feels as if we become one, as if there are no barriers, and I want more of it.

While I'm pondering this, whatever it is, Bella presses her lips to mine. A little more forcefully than our first kiss. Not wanting to miss this opportunity, I cup the back of her head in one palm and her cheek with the other, deepening the kiss. The longer her lips remain on mine, the more aroused I become She has her own delicious taste, sweet and unique, one I want to savor longer. I pull back slightly while lightly nibbling along her lips and place a small kiss at the corner of her mouth, all the while trying to ignore the painful problem growing in my lap.

Slipping my arms around her, I pull her closer while turning us to face each other. One of her arms reaches up around my neck, while the other hand lies on my chest, over my heart. Her breathing is becoming labored, as is mine. I lower my lips to hers, once again, to capture them and find hers slightly agape. I run my tongue along her lips before sliding it into her mouth. Delicious. Our tongues twine together, each caressing the other . . .

BPOV

Dr. Cullen meets me about half-way across the lot, and I mumble through an apology for being late. He offers me his arm, which is fortunate, because I promptly display my lack of grace by stumbling over my own feet.

The hostess seats us in a quiet booth in the rear of the restaurant. I am mesmerized. His eyes are, if possible, an even deeper green than I'd remembered. And he smells . . . manly, musky, heavenly. His lips are moving; they are so full, totally kissable, he is saying something, and then they stop. I lift my eyes from his lips to meet his. They are twinkling as if in amusement. "Well?"

I mentally shake myself; he's obviously looking for an answer, Bella. "Well, what?" I counter.
"Will you tell me your name? Or am I to call you 'Officer' all night?" he asks with a smirk on those luscious lips.

"Oh, sorry. I think I'd rather you called me Bella, tonight." I say a little more shyly than I would like. Come on, Bella. Put your game face on. This is a get-to-know-you dinner, remember? He may be gorgeous, with a voice that can cause unspeakable things to happen in your nether regions, but that doesn't mean you need to let him know that right off the bat. Start listening and talking like you were sitting here with Angela. Or Ben, yeah, Ben, he's a good buddy.

"Ah, the name suits you. Bella. Is that all there is to it? Or is it short for something?" He seems to be stretching, trying to engage me in conversation, while I'm just sitting here ogling him.

"It's short for Isabella. My parents thought the name sounded regal, you know like Queen Isabella of Spain. The one that sent Christopher Columbus on his journeys to the New World." I begin babbling, then stop, huffing at myself for my inability to stop my verbal diarrhea. "So, what kind of a 'doctor' are you? I ask to focus back on him and begin to find out about what lies behind those eyes of emerald that haunt my dreams.

His eyes widen in surprise at my question. "Um . . . I'm in my first year of residency at UW Medical Center, actually. My current rotation is oncology, but I want to specialize in cardio-thoracic surgery," he rushes out in a single breath. Well, it seems that I'm not the only one with a few nerves this evening. This realization has the effect of immediately putting me at ease.

After the first awkward volley, conversation begins to flow more easily. The waiter comes to take our order, and comes back a second time when we realize we haven't even looked at the menus, much less made a selection. I let Edward, that's what he wants me to call him, order for me since he is more familiar with the menu here than me. I did ask, however, if we could start with the guacamole and chips. My absolute downfall at a Mexican restaurant. He laughs and agrees that it would be the perfect beginning to our dinner.

The food is fabulous, but the companionship outshines it by several orders of luminescence. I find that we have been shifting more and more toward the center of the booth as we laugh and chat over dinner. I can't remember when I've enjoyed spending time with a man this much in …. well, really, ever.

Soon, but not soon enough for my taste, he brushes his lips against mine. The tingling I felt in class reasserts itself. I find myself initiating the second kiss and soon we are tasting, exploring each others mouths with our tongues. Finally, he has to break the kiss just to breathe, but rests his forehead against mine. "Wow. Just wow," he pants.

I stifle a chuckle, "I agree. What was that?" How can a kiss go straight to my very soul? It has ignited a fire I haven't felt in years, maybe ever. Tingles cover my body, inside and out. I can hardly contain myself. I want to kiss Edward all night, maybe more than kiss. If a single kiss can make me feel like this, what might more than kissing do? I think I'd really like to find out, like, soon.

e/n So, how are you likin' the date, so far. No, it's not over yet . . .

If you're gonna be at ComiCon, lucky you, pm me and we'll see what we can do about meeting eye to eye?

See ya next Monday! *whistles as she walks away* Hee hee.