Thank you Writeontime and Ciaobella27.

I don't own Twilight.

I think too much about the things I want to do with him tonight. I try to catch my breath, wondering where it went and what took it away, because I've done nothing but lie here, my head against his shoulder, my hand in his hand, and my legs dangling off his bed. My heart is doing crazy things in my chest. I don't know if it's him, or if it's the night, with its darkness and silence, its promises of things that happen between lovers. Sometimes it has that effect on you, even when you're sitting with someone who's just a friend, or when you're alone. You expect a touch, a few whispers, pretty words, and then it torments you with the reminder that there's nothing you can feel around you, no matter which way you reach. Nothing to grasp. No one close enough to hear your voice, your cries. If you're lucky, you sleep, and night is the best thing, because it's the end of another lonely day. But sometimes it goes on and on, and it's easier to be fooled in the dark. You close your eyes to fantasize, right? Try to see things and hear things that don't exist. They exist in your mind. It's so much easier to do in the dark.

He's holding my hand. His words were confusing, but I understood. And now all I can hope for is that I don't mess anything up, because I want him to continue thinking about me after he drops me off tonight. This thing I'm feeling, like I can look up and open my eyes right now and see his eyes looking down at me. This thing can't just be the night and my fantasies playing tricks on me. I'd like to think that I'd feel it in the morning, and that he'd hold my hand in the morning, too. I'm not making it up. I'm not making up the movements of his fingers, how he's pulling me to him, how his hand is on my stomach, how fast his heart is beating under the cotton and the skin that are so soft against my face.

I move until my cheek rests on the skin above the highest button Edward buttoned. I want to tilt my face until the hair there tickles my lips. This reminds me that he's not a boy. I shiver a little. His arms are around me now, holding me against him, bringing me to rest on top of him, my back against his chest. I must be small and light, and he must not mind my weight. I stare at the ceiling and wait for more. But if all he wants is for me to lie here until he's ready to let me go, I'll do that. It's nicer than lying on my bed at home, or the couch, or anywhere far from him.

"You're hungry," he tells me.

"No, I'm not."

"I heard it." His hand covers my stomach again, rubbing up and down as he laughs, until I take it and bring it up to my mouth. I kiss his palm. His mouth is on my cheek. He kisses my face, and kisses it again.

"What do you want?" he asks.

"I'm really not hung—"

"From me."

"What do you mean? You wanted to hang out," I remind him. "You brought me here."

He hugs me tighter and shushes me, like I'm a child. I want to say so many things. I hate how angry I get, and how it takes me no time to become this angry.

"Relax, I didn't mean it like that," he says. "But I told you I was thinking about you. I want—"

"I want that, too."

"I didn't even tell you what I want."

"I don't care. I want what you want." I'm not going to get anything more, so I might as well take what I can get. "And I want you to think about me."

"I think about you," he says. His mouth is by my ear, and I hope this is what he wants, because it's definitely something I can want. When I feel the wet, the warm, I move against him and try to breathe. He doesn't know this, but I love kisses behind my ear, down my neck. And when they're not really kisses, but just sloppy, wet touches of a tongue, I die a little.

"Stop that for a second."

He stops immediately. He finishes with a kiss over the skin he was licking and sucking.

"Okay, no, continue. I don't feel like talking."

Edward listens. I like that. I like the kisses. I like the sounds I hear myself making. They're new and different. They sound almost happy. I like that he hasn't shaved recently. I like how it tickles. I like how I giggle and almost squeal, and how he tries harder. And then it really tickles. And then he's on top of me, making me giggle some more, making me squeal and beg and kick.

"Stop, stop, stop," I tell him. And he laughs and laughs. It's pretty. He's pretty. I wrap my legs around him, and he drops all of his weight onto me. He's heavy. His face is in my neck. I want him to look at me. I want to see what he looks like looking at me. Maybe I'll see a bit of myself. I want to make sure he sees that I'm sure. That I want the things he seems to want to do to me. I want to know that I look carefree and light and happy right now. If I don't, his face would tell me. It's something you notice when a person reacts to what they see. You can't hide that, or stop it. It just happens. I want him to look at me and tell me I'm okay with this.

"So this is what you want?" I ask him.

The weight is gone, but he's still here. When our eyes meet, I know he sees a happy girl.

"You can tell me. I won't be mad." I move into his arms again, and rest my head on his shoulder, where my head really likes to rest.

"It's so dark in here," he says.

"Well, yeah. We're hiding from your friends, family, neighbors…"

"We're not hiding."

"No?"

"He's gone, we're good."

"Why were we hiding from him?" I ask.

"I told him I had class."

"Class? At night?"

"I'm taking the GRE next month."

"Really?"

Edward nods. "Yeah."

"You want to go back to school?"

"Yeah, hopefully soon."

"I did really well on the GRE," I tell him. "I love standardized tests. I could take them over and over again."

"I hate math."

"Me too, but it's pretty basic stuff."

"I guess."

"It's pretty cool that you want to go back to school," I say. "Where? In Seattle?"

"I'm hoping to get away from Washington."

"Oh. Well, I was supposed to start grad school last fall, but…"

"Kennedy School of Government. I know."

"Stalker!"

"You told me," he says with a smile. "And then, yeah, I stalked you."

I scratch down his arm because I do weird things when I pretend to be annoyed. He's a little surprised, maybe even shocked, but he laughs before he frowns, and he rubs his arm over and over again, shaking his head at me.

"I was wondering about that, actually. Are you going back to school in the fall?"

"No… I don't think I want to. I mean, I want to go back to school, but definitely not there. Public policy? No. No thanks."

"So you're staying here?" he asks me.

"I guess? I don't know. I don't want to, but it's not like there's anywhere I want to go."

"Nowhere?"

"Not really. First I have to figure out what I want to do."

"You just said you wanted to go back to school."

"Eventually… but I need to do something to support myself," I explain.

"Yeah." He nods. "Isn't there anything… I mean, I'm sure if…"

"I get some offers for stupid things. Wanna help me write a book?"

"Sure, what's it about?"

"Me, obviously."

"I'd have to get to know you better," he says in a quiet voice. I tense up a little. Quiet voices do that to me right before they make me lose control.

"Yeah, pretty boring."

"You? Boring?"

"I guess not." I laugh.

"I can ask you questions," he tells me.

"One intrusive question a day, please."

"I'll compile a list."

"Okay, but now let's just not ask questions. Tickle me again, or something. It's nice when you touch me."

"I don't want to tickle you," he says. He's suddenly so close. I mean, his mouth is so close to mine. Our noses touch, almost. Then they actually do.

"No? Fine. Then tell me why you lied to your friend about tonight."

"I wanted to get out of something."

"What?"

"A double date," he answers.

"With?"

"My friend, his wife, his wife's friend." I frown and he grins.

"And instead of being honest, you—"

"I wanted to kiss you."

But he doesn't just kiss me. He doesn't go straight for my mouth. He kisses my cheeks, my jaw, my chin. He kisses the corners of my mouth. Everywhere, all around. It's sweet. It's warm. It's cute. I want to giggle, but I can't. I don't. I'm amused, then I'm stupid. I'm staring at him, then closing my eyes. I'm stupid and my eyes are closed. I can't really think, I can't… I can't. His hands are holding my face. I'm frozen under him. I don't want to pant like an idiot, but I feel like it's coming. He looks at me and smiles. He knows. He's fucking with me. He rubs his nose against mine, I rub back. What am I doing? I put my hands on his chest, I grab his shirt, I wrap my legs around him again, I'm going to kiss him—I don't care. I'm going to kiss him, but then he kisses me first. It's soft and hard and sweet and hot. My arms go around his neck. My legs try to force him down against me, on me. I think he resists for a second, but then he's everywhere. He's lying between my legs, I'm moving around like crazy, trying to feel and feel and touch and feel. I want to tell him I love his body and his skin and how warm he is, but I can't, because his mouth is on my mouth. He licks, he kisses, he sucks a little. My mouth is going to be so red. Swollen. I'll love it. I'll stare at it in the mirror, I'll smile, I'll want to touch myself thinking about it. I'll lick my lips thinking about how he tastes and how he kisses and God… I need to breathe.

We breathe together. On each other. Back and forth, like we're talking. In and out. It's nice.

"Let's do it again. I want to do it a lot before I have to go."

"I can climb in through your window and kiss you later," he says. I know he's kidding, but just in case he's not…

"You really can't."

"You don't have to go home."

"I do…"

He's moving down, down until his mouth is on my chest. He's too distracted to pay attention to me or talk to me. I have to pull his face off of me because his almost-beard is going to make me regret wearing what I'm wearing when I go home and my parents are sitting in the living room. They'll look at me, and my chest will be all pink or red, and that's so much worse than having a swollen mouth or even dark, awesome spots on my neck.

"Stop molesting me," I finally say. "Maybe when you're a big boy and have your own place, and we don't have to hide and be weird, you can scratch me with your beard and give me hickeys everywhere."

He responds by biting down hard just above my left breast.

"Ow! Oh my God! I get it. Sorry. Stop that!"

He kisses the skin he bit, and he's off me, sitting beside me on his bed, legs crossed.

"Wanna meet my brother?" Edward asks.

"Huh?"

"I think I heard him pull into the driveway. Do you want to meet him? I'm thirsty. Let's go downstairs."

"No… I..."

"I'll get us something to drink, then," he says. "But don't accuse me of hiding you up here when I come back."

I want to stick my tongue out at him, and I don't want him to go right now, even if it's just for a few minutes to grab some drinks.

"Wait."

"What?"

I pull on his sleeve to keep him next to me. "I have questions now."

"Like what?"

"Like, who was your date? That's so rude, canceling on someone like that." But smart. You're here with me.

"I wasn't rude, don't worry."

"Answer my question."

"I told you," he says, "a friend of theirs. I don't know her."

"Do you do that often? Go on blind dates?"

"No."

"Do you have regular… you know, fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? Are you dating anyone?" I'm eager. Like a child. Maybe he's turning me into a female version of himself. I'm tugging on his sleeve again. I want to know things about this man. This boy. This person who kisses nice and makes me think in bright colors.

"Wow." He rubs his hand down the back of his head. He's still smiling. "One intrusive question a day, please."

"That was hardly intrusive."

Edward lies down, bringing a pillow to rest under his head, and pulls me down next to him.

"There are a few—"

"A few. Wow."

"Relax, they're not—"

"They. Oh."

"I'm not dating anyone," he sighs.

"You're just sleeping with them."

"You're putting words in my mouth."

"So then tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"If I'm wrong, correct me," I tell him. He looks confused for a second, so I mess up his hair a little. "I'm not judging you, I'm just curious. I like to know things about people I kiss."

"I've dated before. I know some women who I hang out with sometimes. I'm pretty sure you've had relationships like that."

"No. I was with the same person for years. Anything outside of that… I don't know. There was you, and well, obviously you know about him, and I didn't even—"

"I don't care," Edward says with a shrug. "It doesn't matter to me."

"Right. It's not like we're dating. You want to fool around or sleep with me while I'm in Forks, and it really doesn't matter how many people I've been with, because it's not like—"

"Sure, Bella. That's all I want."

"Well, there, you said it," I mumble.

"I told you I like you."

I don't say anything for a minute or two, but then I say what's been on my mind, what I really didn't want to bring up. "You didn't call for three days, and then you brought me up here to mess around in the dark."

"I didn't call for three days because I wanted to make sure I like you enough."

"Fuck you."

I'm finally off his stupid bed, and I'm putting my shoes back on. I hate that he drove me here, and I'll have to ask my parents to pick me up. Or Jake. I can call Jake. I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind dropping me off, because he's nice and polite and all those fake, stupid things, but I don't want to be around him. Maybe I should go downstairs and ask his brother. And then maybe I can kiss him, or blow him, or fuck him in the car, and then I'm pretty sure I'll never hear from Edward again. I can't believe I let him kiss me. I can't believe I let him hold my hand. And then we were talking, like I give a shit that he's going to school or taking a test or having sex with the entire population of Forks. Clearly he's an underachiever who talks about going away and doing things and not being stuck here, but he'll be teaching at that high school until I come back to put my parents into a retirement home. Because if they continue acting like assholes, that's where both of them are going to end up. Ugh. I can't believe I let myself think for a second that maybe I can hold his hand in other places, different cities, far away. That maybe when he leaves, I can leave with him. Or when I leave, he can join me. I always let myself get carried away in my head, and I see things, and it's all so detailed. I'll always be wearing that pretty skirt with the floral pattern and those tights, and he'll be in that coat. But I'm pretty sure I'm never holding his hand again. Not here. Not walking down Amsterdam, or in the Park, or… Right, like he'd ever get into a decent school in New York. He wishes. He can go spend his days thinking about liking me enough while screwing waitresses behind the diner, because really, who else is he hooking up with in this town?

"I'll take you home," he says quietly.

"That would be nice."

I make sure my back is very straight when I'm walking in front of him. I take out my phone and start typing out a text to Jasper. I know he can read the large font and Jasper's name, if he looks. And he'll look. People are curious. I stop texting long enough to walk down the stairs. That's all the time I need to realize that I overreacted, but I'm not going to admit that right now, because I have to think about this when he's not so close to me. I'm distracted by my thoughts as I walk down the hallway, and fail to notice the large figure standing in my way.

"Careful there. You should watch where you're going."

It's the asshole from the bar. The one from the party. His smile is huge. His teeth are the whitest. I don't care. I'm not smiling back.

"Excuse me," I say, trying to get past him. He moves out of my way, so I continue walking towards the kitchen, because we came in through the back door earlier.

"You guys coming back? I'm heating up some of the food Mom left for us."

"I'll be back in a few, Emmett." His voice is hard. He's angry. Good. Or not. I feel bad, but not bad enough.

"Isabella, it was nice meeting you!"

I'm not a rude person. I can do this. I turn around and nod. "Nice meeting you too, Emmett."

"Listen, Isabella, I should apologize for what happened—"

"It's cool, Edward explained."

"You know how it—"

"It's very nice of you to want to apologize, but believe me, I'd rather not talk about it."

"Hey, just trying to do the right thing here," Emmett says.

"Yeah. Thank you."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? Our mother's a really good cook."

"Yeah, Bella, stay."

Why do I like his voice as much as I do? I hate that this is the first thought that goes through my mind even after everything that happened. But what happened? He was honest, but not in a good way. He was honest in a way that hurt me, and I don't need things or people in my life that can hurt me.

"No, I'd need at least three days to think about whether or not I like you enough to stay. The food would be gone by then. Your brother looks hungry."

With a wave to Emmett, I open the door and walk outside. Edward is right behind me. His hand is on my shoulder.

"Come on," he says.

"I'm not hungry. Tell Emmett I said thanks."

"I don't care about that."

"Just… let's go," I tell him. "Come on."

"So it's not enough to tell you that I like you, that I want this?"

I shrug. "Want what?"

I'm pushed up against the side of the house, and he's kissing me. Real, long, good, deep kisses. I hear the rain, and I guess I feel some of it, too, but mostly I just feel him. If I could fly, if I could soar, I'd be up so high right now. If I could give everything, he'd have it all.

You guys are awesome. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please let me know. I love hearing from you.

xo