The Practicum

Rating: M. Because why else do we do this?

Summary: "I enlightened you about the Rainbow Game; now it's your turn to enlighten me. Slang terms for masturbation: go."

Acknowledgement: Words do not exist to describe the epic fabulousness that is my beta, HollettLA. xo

Chapter Four

I gasp as I bend at the waist and rest my hands on my knees, feeling my heart thud frantically in my chest as my lungs and legs burn. The combination of my pounding heart and my gasping breaths are nearly enough to drown out the music in my ears, and I force myself to stand up and fold my hands together atop my head. I hate running, but given Forks' complete lack of a gym or any other fitness facility, if I don't want my weekly Mexican gut-bombs to take up residence on my hips, it's a necessity. I begin walking, my throat aching with each labored breath, and when I reach the intersection at the top of the street I pause, my quad and calf muscles screaming at me. I'm going to need to stretch, otherwise I won't be able to walk for the rest of the weekend. Running may be a necessity at this particular juncture in my life, but in this moment, body screaming at me, why I opted to do it first thing Saturday morning is beyond me.

I grip the pole of the stop sign in one hand and grab my ankle with the other, feeling my quad muscle stretch deliciously as Eminem babbles in my ears. My eyes flick up and down the main road before looking across it; in the distance, I can see a small crowd of bodies running around the school soccer field. Chalking up the flip in my chest to my recent cardiovascular torture and not to the possibility of unexpectedly seeing a certain coach, I glance both ways once more before crossing the street. As I approach, I pick out Edward's lean form standing to one side while his players line up to take penalty kicks. I slow my pace, not wanting to interrupt as I watch a few kids place shots neatly into the back of the net. Eric Yorkie steps up and places his ball on the penalty kick spot, but when he shoots it, the ball goes sailing over the crossbar.

"Why'd it go over the bar, Eric?" Edward asks, and the player in question places his hands on his hips.

"I was, uh, leaning back."

"You were leaning back," Edward agrees. "And?"

"Uh." Eric purses his lips and frowns, and Edward sighs.

"And you didn't place your non-kicking foot right next to the ball; you stopped short. Right?"

"Right," Eric agrees and jogs off to retrieve the ball that sailed over the bar and came to rest against the fence.

"Maybe it was just my imposing presence between the uprights, Coach," I hear Jake suggest from his place in goal, and Edward smirks from around his whistle.

"You're one for four, Jake," he replies. "I wouldn't get too cocky just yet, if I were you."

Jacob chuckles and lowers himself into a crouch. "Keeper ready?" Edward asks, and Jake nods. "Shooter ready?" he asks, and Mike Newton nods. A short blast of his whistle is the starting gun, and Mike takes his shot. A diving save, and Jake leaps up with a grin.

"Two for five!" he boasts, and Edward laughs.

"Do that in a game and we'll be in good shape," Edward agrees. "Okay, boys," he says to the rest of his players. "Cool down." The team jogs in my direction, lining up along the sideline.

"Hey, Bella," Jacob greets me, and Edward spins to find me standing behind him.

"Hi!" he greets, grinning around his whistle, and I can see glimpses of his pink tongue as he talks around the plastic. Suddenly, he frowns. "That's Ms. Swan, Black," he says to his goalkeeper, a disapproving frown on his face as he spits out his whistle, and Jake's olive skin flushes slightly.

"Oh, no, it's okay; our families are old friends," I tell Edward. "I've told him that outside of the classroom, I can still be Bella."

Edward nods and faces his team. "Captains, cool them down." As the team begins a slow jog across the field, he turns to me once again. "Hi," he says again, and I smile.

"Hey. You practice on Saturdays?"

He shrugs. "Sometimes. After a tough game like last night, I like to get them moving so their muscles don't tighten up. Two days of not doing anything after a game like that would take its toll."

"Makes sense," I agree, watching as his team jogs back toward us. I feel his eyes on me and I glance up at him.

"You working out?" he asks, eyebrows hitched slightly, and I laugh.

"I'm trying really hard not to take offense at your surprise."

"Oh, no no no," he says quickly, shaking his head. "I didn't mean it like that. I just…didn't realize…" he trails off, frowning, and I laugh.

"Unclench, Edward. I'm kidding. I hate running, but the opportunities for other types of cardio workouts in Forks are pretty limited."

"I could help you with that," he says, and I can't stop the surprise from stealing across my face as I stare up at him, the unintentional innuendo sitting heavy in the space between us.

As is his way, Edward flushes, and his eyes dart away. "Oh, God."

I chuckle. "Okay, I guess we're even."

"Even?"

"I offered to take you home last night, you're offering to 'work me out' this morning. I'd say we're even now."

He runs a hand through his hair, and it isn't until that moment that I realize his hair is wet, and there's a long v-shaped patch of damp cotton on his chest. "Were you working out?" I ask, and when he finds my face, I nod toward his sweat-soaked shirt.

"Oh. Yeah. I was, uh, scrimmaging with the guys. Ben couldn't make it this morning, so we were a man short."

"Ah," I reply, incredibly sorry that I missed the chance to actually see him play. I watch as the line of boys does lunges across the field. "Okay," I say after a few more beats of silence. "Well, I just wanted to…say hi."

"Okay," he says slowly, watching the team turn and head back in our direction.

"Unless…can I buy you coffee?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I was going to grab something at the diner after my run," I explain as his eyes flick between me and the boys. "If you'd like to join me for coffee. Or…breakfast. Or…something."

He glances down at his sweaty clothing and grimaces. "I'm, uh, sort of disgusting."

"Me too," I say, and after a few more moments, he shrugs.

"Okay. That'd be great."

My voice is forced nonchalance, even as the heart that was gradually slowing kicks it up a notch. "Great."

He visibly relaxes and faces me, a smile on his face. "Great."

I hover while he has a post-practice pep talk with his kids and finishes packing up the equipment, and by the time we're settled into a tiny two-person booth at the Forks diner with two steaming mugs of coffee between us, the familiar awkwardness has descended once again. I flick a sugar packet between my fingers as Edward peruses the menu; after a few more flicks, his eyes find mine over the admittedly limited list of options. "Do you know what you're having?"

"French toast," I say immediately. "Roger makes the best freaking French toast in the world."

"Hmm," he hums, returning his gaze to the menu once more before setting it to one side. I smirk at him.

"Let me guess: oatmeal and fresh fruit."

His eyebrows hitch slightly. "Pardon?"

I gesture toward the discarded menu. "I'm guessing your order: oatmeal and fresh fruit."

He purses his lips. "How'd you guess?"

I shrug and resume my flicking. "I just…you're very disciplined about your food," I say. "Lots of salad. No sour cream or guac at Plaza last night."

"It's important to start being mindful of heart health early on," he says, and I can hear the familiar embarrassment in his voice. It's nearly enough to make me feel badly for picking on him, but not quite badly enough to stop.

"You know, some research suggests that occasional indulgences are as good for the body as they are for the mind. For instance, did you know that people who eat chocolate regularly can have lower blood pressure, lower bad cholesterol, and a lower risk of heart disease?"

He studies my face intently. "I did not."

I shrug. "I'm just saying…a little indulgence isn't always a bad thing."

He's apparently still turning this over in his brain when Cora reappears to take our orders. "What can I get you two?" she asks, hands on her hips. In all my years dining at Forks' most long-lasting establishment, I don't think I've ever seen her write anything on a notepad, and I've never once received an incorrect order.

"Ladies first," Edward says, and I grin up at her, but she beats me to the punch.

"Let me guess," she says. "French toast." It isn't even a question, and I nod as she turns to Edward. "And for you?"

Edward's lips twist for a brief moment before he glances at me and then back to Cora. "I'll have the same."

I feel the surprise on my face, and when Cora nods and disappears, Edward grins at me. "If I wind up morbidly obese due to too many indulgences, I'm coming to find you."

I laugh. "I find that highly unlikely," I reply, taking a sip of my steaming coffee. "So. Chicago, huh?"

"Yep," he says, wrapping a large hand around his mug.

"You grew up in the city?"

"Well, sort of. I went to boarding school, but my parents' house was inside city limits."

"Wow. Boarding school? What was that like?"

He shrugs. "Not nearly as bad as most movies make it out to be." Off my laugh, he continues. "It was an all-boys' prep school in the suburbs. I was there from sixth grade through twelfth."

"Wow," I say, unable to think of something more intellectual. "That must have been good for college."

He nods. "I got a soccer scholarship to Princeton and I started out studying anatomy and physiology with the intention to go pre-med at my father's insistence, but I wound up hating the idea of practicing medicine. Much to my father's eternal disappointment, I decided to put my degree to use teaching PE."

"So how did you wind up on the opposite side of the country?"

"My girlfriend enrolled in a graduate program in Seattle and I figured I could teach anywhere, so I followed her."

I feel a frown pull at my features before I can smooth it out. At least that answers the gay-or-straight question. "I didn't realize—"

"We broke up," he clarifies. "Before I came to Forks. We'd been together since we were nineteen, and we sort of grew apart. At that point I was debating moving back East, but my brother lives in Colorado and I'm not that close with my parents, so I decided to stay out here and give Washington a try. I finished my master's in phys ed and the rest, as they say…"

"Wow," I say stupidly, trying to assimilate all of these new facts about Edward into my mental scrapbook of details. I'm slightly surprised – though not unpleasantly so – that he's so forthcoming. I wonder idly if his rigidity is solely reserved for his on-school-grounds persona.

"What about you?" he asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Pretty boring," I say. "Forks native, born and raised. Went away to college and came back almost immediately."

"Where'd you go?"

"Berkeley," I reply, and the expected admiration crosses his face briefly.

"Wow." He plays with the handle of his mug. "What made you come back to Forks?"

I shift on the fake leather seat. "My, uh, dad – Charlie – he got hurt in the line of duty, so I came back to sort of help out. As luck would have it, Forks had an opening for an English teacher." I offer him a small smile. "And the rest, as they say…"

"Wow. Bella, that's…really selfless."

It's my turn to flush, and I glance back toward the kitchen. "It's no big deal," I say.

"Yeah it is," he says, but thankfully doesn't seek any further comment. Just as the silence is tilting toward uncomfortable, I hear a familiar voice saying my name from over my shoulder. When I turn, Jessica is standing there beside her booty-call – Mark, I silently correct myself – her eyes pinging back and forth between Edward and me. "Hey, I thought that was you!" she says. "We were just…uh…grabbing breakfast."

"Yeah, us too," I reply. "Jess, you know Edward Cullen."

"Right, yeah, of course," she says, nodding at Edward like her head is about to come unhinged from her neck. "Hear you had a good win last night."

"We did," Edward says. "Thanks."

We coexist in awkward silence for a few beats before Jessica nods. "Well, just wanted to say hi. See you Monday!" She all but drags Mark along behind her, vanishing through the door to the diner.

My eyes find Edward. "So that's Jessica."

"And her…hot date?" he guesses, and my laugh is nearly a guffaw. Hearing Edward say "hot date" seems nearly as wrong as if he'd actually said "booty call."

"Indeed. That's the coffee-morning-after-walk-of-shame right there. She won't date him, but she assuages her guilt by letting him stick around through breakfast."

"Wow," he says, eyes flicking to the door. "Rough."

"Just be glad you never took her up on the offer of her phone number," I tease, and almost immediately his cheeks darken slightly. Before he can respond, however, Cora appears with two platters of French toast. As she sets them on the table, the look of anticipation on Edward's face makes me wish I had a camera.

"Here you go, guys. Enjoy."

"We will," I assure her, handing Edward the small jug of syrup. "Welcome to Forks."

Edward grins and drizzles syrup on his breakfast, though not nearly enough. I resist the urge to comment: baby steps.

Edward's having salad again. As I spear a piece of rotini from my Tupperware tub of leftover homemade baked macaroni and cheese, I wonder idly if he ever sinks those perfectly straight teeth into something like a hamburger or a slice of pizza. Outside of our impromptu breakfast, all I've seen him eat is salad. Granted, the taco salad at Plaza probably packs nearly as many calories as a slice of pepperoni, but since he opted out of the sour cream and guacamole, the blow was likely lessened considerably.

"So…week two, human sexuality," Edward says, his knee bouncing as his eyes scan the plan book open on the desk in front of him.

"Yep," I say, making myself as close to comfortable as I can on his crappy furniture. "Which is really an umbrella term for everything relationship-related with the sex on the side."

"Sex on the side," he repeats absently, reading something on one of the papers. "Sounds like a VH1 reality show." I can feel the surprise on my face, and his eyes slide to mine almost instantly. "Sorry. Inappropriate."

"Not at all," I assure him. "Funny, actually. And true, which makes it funnier." He chuckles, eyes still trained on his desk. "But I think it's important that when we do introduce the sex stuff, we really hammer home the importance of condoms," I add, chewing slowly. "I mean, of course we'll tell them that abstinence is the only completely foolproof method of pregnancy and STD prevention, but really, do you remember being a teenager? It's like trying to keep bunnies in separate corners of the pen in springtime."

He scratches at the back of his neck. "The, uh, boarding school I went to was boys only. My opportunities for…exploration as a teenager were very limited."

"Ah. Well then, at least you're prepared for the masturbation part of the discussion." I mean it as a joke, but Edward's face is a picture of horror. "Sorry. I was only kidding."

"We're supposed to talk to them about masturbation?" he says, and I note the momentary pause before he says the word, as well as the fact that he seems more disturbed by this than by my implication.

"Well, not in-depth. Just to mention that it's…you know, normal, and acceptable, and…well. Normal."

A small smile. "Okay. Yeah, I definitely remember that part of being a teenager."

A flash of heat licks through me and it's my turn to blush; I lower my gaze to the text in front of me and will my coloring to return to its normal, lovely shade of pasty. "And, um, just be prepared: in past years, this is the part of the curriculum where they tend to start tossing out the slang terms. Teenagers love a good masturbatory euphemism."

"I bet I know more than they do," he says absently, stabbing a cucumber.

"Yeah? Let's hear them," I challenge before I can check myself.

His eyebrows slide up his forehead and his cucumber-wielding fork hangs in midair halfway to his open mouth. "Pardon?"

"I enlightened you about the Rainbow Game; now it's your turn to enlighten me. Slang terms for masturbation: go."

"Bella, I'm not sure—"

"Don't be uptight," I interrupt, giving him a mock version of my teacher look of disapproval.

He sighs, considering me for a moment before straightening slightly in his chair and dropping his fork into his container of salad. "You asked for it." He holds up a hand and begins ticking them off. "Jerking off, rubbing one out, whacking off, beating off, spit-shining the water pump, adjusting the antenna, spanking the monkey, self-actualizing, choking the chicken, bopping the baloney, beating the bishop, buffing the banana, burping the worm, charming the snake, the white-knuckler, the pocket rocket, the five-knuckle shuffle, a date with Miss Palmer, fiddling the flesh flute, fisting the mister, flogging the log, jerkin' the gherkin, mangling the midget, the one-gun salute, pocket pinball, pulling the Pope, slapping the salami, wanking, squeezing the cheese, taming the shrew, whipping the dripper…and the politically popular 'population control.'"

I'm staring at him stunned, jaw hanging open and eyes wide. "Wow," I breathe, and Edward scratches his eyebrow before retrieving his fork and bringing the cucumber slice to his mouth. "That's…comprehensive. And I've got to tell you, the sheer amount of alliteration on that list makes the English teacher in me proud," I add, ignoring altogether what hearing him speak those words has done to the other parts of me as I drop my eyes to my lunch and stab more pasta. "Though your list is sort of biased."

He frowns. "Biased?"

"Well, yeah. All of those euphemisms assume the masturbator in question has a…gherkin. What about the girls?"

He leans back in his chair and tents his fingers in front of his chest. "Boarding school, remember? I wasn't privy to that information."

"That's too bad," I say, and he raises one eyebrow.

"Aren't you going to enlighten me?" he asks, pushing against the floor with one foot and twirling slightly in his chair. His words are almost flirtatious, and that fact alone would be enough to give me pause even if the words themselves weren't.

"I'm sorry?"

"If I'm to be a good educator, shouldn't my knowledge be more – what was your word – comprehensive?" I chew on my lip and he mimics my disapproving teacher stare from earlier. "I enlightened you," he taunts, and I relent.

"Fine," I huff, mimicking his finger-ticking as I count them out. "A night in with the girls, beating around the bush, auditioning the finger puppets, dialing the rotary phone, dousing the digits, double-clicking the mouse, flicking the bean, finger painting, pearl fishing, playing poker, rolling the dough, buffin' the muffin, rubbin' the nubbin, spelunking, gagging the clam, surfing the channel, tickling the taco, the taco tango, the manual override."

Pink spreads across his cheekbones as the flush I'm becoming increasingly fond of makes an appearance. "Wow."

"Yeah. So…keep those in your arsenal."

His lips twist. "For the next time I'm discussing female masturbation with a colleague?"

"Exactly."

The silence that settles between us is awkward and slightly charged, and when I've had about all I can take of listening to us chew, I steer us back to the topic at hand. "The thing to remember is that this stuff is targeted toward a demographic that is probably already sexually active, to a degree."

His green eyes pin me. "High school freshmen."

I shrug. "Even if they haven't had sex yet, most of them have done at least some stuff."

His eyes flick over the papers at his elbow. "I'm sending my kids to boarding school," he mutters. "Very effective at preserving virginity long after the owner is fed up with it."

"How old were you?" I ask casually, staring resolutely at my tub of lunch.

"What?"

"The first time." I chance a glance at him and he seems to be considering me. His words from our conversation over Mexican beer and margaritas replay in my mind, and I hope that he's gradually deeming me someone he can trust.

"The first time, first time?"

"Yeah."

"Twenty-one," he admits, looking more than a little embarrassed. "You?"

"Eighteen. Freshman year of college." I smile. "Being the only daughter of the chief of police in a small town is probably nearly as effective a chastity belt as boarding school."

He laughs. "I'd imagine. Your dad's a pretty imposing guy."

"Picture him in his prime."

"I almost feel sorry for the teenage males of Forks from yesteryear," he jokes, and I roll my eyes. I'm just opening my mouth to drag us back to the topic at hand – so to speak – when there's a timid knock on the doorframe of Edward's open office door. We both look up to find Rosalie and Alice hovering on the threshold, each girl looking like she's been summoned to the principal's office.

"Hello ladies," Edward greets, spinning slightly in his wheeled chair. "Can I help you?"

"We were, um, actually looking for Ms. Swan," Alice says from slightly behind Rosalie, and I smile encouragingly.

"Yes, girls?"

"We had, um, something we wanted to…well…talk to you about," Rosalie explains, and her reticence catches me by surprise. Rosalie Hale is rarely timid and even less frequently insecure.

"Okay," I say, and wait.

"It's, uh, sort of about…y'know…the…uh…Sex Ed stuff," Alice clarifies, the last three words coming quickly from her mouth as both girls' eyes flick to Edward and back to me. Edward, to his credit, glances at me before rising quickly from his chair and nodding to the girls. "I have some photocopies to make, actually," he says, grabbing his lesson plan book and a manila folder from his desk. "You can use my office."

"Thanks," I say as he disappears, and I listen to the squeak of his sneakers across the gym floor before the sound of the large doors on the opposite side closing behind him echo through the empty space. "Okay, ladies. What's up?"

The girls both shift their weight and I stand up, relocating from my place on Edward's sunken couch to his leather chair; once I'm settled, I gesture toward the sofa and both girls lower themselves carefully onto it. They share a look before Rosalie heaves a sigh. "So I've been dating Emmett McCarty," she begins, and I nod, careful to keep my face neutral. It's an unwritten rule of teaching that you pretend to know nothing about a student's social life until he or she offers up the information firsthand. She chews her glossed lip. "I like him a lot." I nod again and she glances at Alice, who offers an encouraging nod. "I love him, actually."

"That's great, Rosalie," I say, my voice cautiously encouraging.

"Yeah," she says on a sigh, her teeth finding her lip again. "It's just…you know how I was dating Royce before?" I nod, and she continues. "Well, Royce and I, we sort of…did it." Her porcelain cheeks pink slightly, and from the corner of my eye I see Alice squeeze her hand. "Just once. I didn't…I wasn't really ready. I mean, I thought I was ready, and Royce really wanted to, but afterward I realized…I just wasn't as ready as I thought I was." She frowns. "That's one of the reasons we broke up, actually. He wanted to keep doing it, and I…didn't. He got mad and we were fighting a lot because he kept pressuring me, so we finally broke up."

I reach out and squeeze her hand once before withdrawing. "Rose, I'm really proud of you for standing up for yourself. Just because you say yes once doesn't mean that you have to say it again."

She nods, appearing bolstered by my cheerleading. "Thanks. So. Anyway. We broke up and I started dating Emmett and…I don't know. He wants to have sex but he said he'll wait as long as I want him to. He's a virgin. And I…I don't think I'm ready yet, but I think I could be soon. But I'm just…I'm worried that if I do it, and it's a mistake again, Emmett will start wanting to do it all the time like Royce did and then I'll lose him, too. And if Royce finds out that I'm having sex with Emmett…" She trails off, apparently opting not to let her mind wander down that path of possibility.

I nod carefully. "Okay, well, first of all, Royce's possible reaction has no bearing on your relationship with Emmett," I tell her carefully. "So I think you need to try to put that particular concern to one side, if you can." She nods. "As for Emmett...does he know anything about your…experiences…with Royce?" She nods again. "Okay. Well, that's good. I think you need to be as honest as you can with him about your fears and go from there. But Rosalie, the most important thing is, if and when you do decide to have sex with Emmett, that you do it because you're ready and you want to – not for any other reason. Okay?"

She blows out a breath. "Okay."

"And, of course, this is the Sex Ed teacher in me: make sure you guys are safe about it, okay?"

She chuckles. "Okay."

"Okay," I say, leaning back in Edward's chair. I'm expecting them to rise, but instead Rosalie shoots a look at Alice, who heaves a sigh of her own. "Alice?" I prompt, and she scrunches up her nose.

"I just…wanted your advice about something, too."

"Okay."

"Ms. Swan, have you ever…been in love with an older man?"

It takes everything in me to stop the smile that threatens to split my face. "An older man?" I repeat carefully, buying myself time.

"Yeah. Like, I mean not OLDER-older, like old-man older—" her small nose scrunches up "—because ew, gross, but like, sort of older? Like maybe…ten years or so older?"

I wonder if I was this transparent as a teenager. "You know, Alice, I'm not sure that I have. I mean, I had a crush on a senior in college when I was a freshman, but I can't say that I've ever experienced a larger age gap than that." Idly, I wonder how old Edward is before I forcibly redirect my mind to Alice's expectant face. "May I ask why?"

She glances at Rosalie before squaring her shoulders. "I think I'm in love with an older man. And I want to know how I should go about…informing him of that fact."

Trust me, he knows, I want to say, but I nod carefully. "Well, Alice…that's tricky because you're only sixteen, so a man who's ten years older than you would be legally forbidden to actually engage in any type of romantic relationship with you."

She rolls her eyes. "I know, Ms. Swan. I'm not looking to pull a Lolita on him. I just…want him to know. Maybe if he knows he'll…wait."

I lean back slightly, folding my hands in my lap. "I see." I smile softly. "I don't suppose you're interested in hearing an adult imply that if you give it time it'll pass and you can find someone your own age?"

"Not really, no," she says simply.

"I figured." I lean forward again. "Okay, Alice, listen. I can't in good conscience give you tips on how to attract a man who would be classified as a pedophile if he returned your affections. That said, I would encourage you to find someone who shares your interests. Do you know for sure that you share interests with this man?"

"We both like math," she says absently, and her eyes widen slightly as she realizes how telling her confession could be. "I mean, um, we both like problem-solving. Like…mathematical-type problem-solving." She casts a panicked look at Rose, who glances warily at me. I force myself to look as stupid as possible.

"Okay. What else?"

She frowns into the middle distance. "Um." Her knee bounces as she racks her brain.

"Alice?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it possible that you don't know an awful lot about this person beyond what's on the surface?"

I can almost see her mind working. "Maybe," she allows. "But we do talk a lot."

I know exactly how much they talk, and how steadfastly Jasper keeps the conversation on algebraic equations, but there's no way for me to steer this in that direction without embarrassing Alice completely, so I nod. "About your personal lives? About interests and passions and hobbies?" Her frown deepens.

"I guess not. So I should do that, then?"

I throw Jasper a bone. "Alice, I think conversation is a good way to judge if someone returns your interest. If the man you're talking about is receptive to that kind of conversation – if he shares a lot of personal details about himself and asks a lot of questions about your personal life – then I think that's an indication that he's interested. If he tries to avoid those types of questions, I think he's probably not."

"Wow. That's really good, Ms. Swan," Rose murmurs in approval. "You're like a dating Jedi, aren't you?"

"Pardon?"

"Like, all covert and stuff. That's awesome. I'm totally going to remember that."

I laugh; if only they knew how truly boring my own dating history is, they'd reassess in a hurry. "Thanks for that, Rosalie. You just made my day."

Her eyes flick to the door. "You and Mr. Cullen would make a really hot couple," she says, and Alice elbows her.

"Rose," she hisses, and I will my face not to flush.

"Girls, Mr. Cullen and I are coworkers." We might even be friends, too, but I'm not going to make that assertion for the very first time to a pair of hormone-driven teenage girls with a propensity to speculate. Rosalie shrugs.

"Just saying," she offers, picking up her backpack from the floor. "Thanks, though. Seriously. You're awesome."

"Anytime, girls. And Rose, remember: not until you're ready, and when you are, be safe."

"Got it," she says, and as they both disappear out Edward's office door, I thank God we're approaching the condom part of the curriculum.

A/N: Thanks for reading. I know this is a bit of a slow burn, so because you're all being so patient, here's a little sneak preview of what's coming in Chapter 5:

"Remember the Forks rumor mill you were so concerned about?" He nods. "Well, I may have just landed you smack in the middle of it."