The Practicum

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

Summary: "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."

Acknowledgement: Eternal thanks to HollettLA, who uses liquor examples for punctuation-related teaching moments. If she'd taught my college courses, I'd have likely graduated with a 4.0. xo

Chapter Five

"You owe me," I tell Jasper as I slide into the seat beside him at the small lunch table in the teachers' lounge during fourth period on Wednesday afternoon.

"For what?" he asks around a mouthful of lettuce, and I roll my eyes. That the men in my life are more vigilant about their diets than I am is going to be a source of insecurity for me somewhere down the line, I can already feel it in my bones. Thank God for Charlie and his unapologetic lust for a hunk of red meat and a pile of French fries.

"For giving you an out with Alice Brandon."

"Do tell," he says, stabbing a carrot.

"She asked me how to attract an older man," I say, waggling my eyebrows as I unearth a square of leftover lasagna, and he grimaces.

"Great."

"I told her that if the man in question was inquisitive about the details of her personal life, she should take that as an indication of his interest. If not, she should probably try a different guy."

He considers me as he chews. "And you think something that subtle is going to dissuade Alice?"

I shrug. "I think it's the closest you're going to come without outright telling her that you fish in a different ocean entirely."

He nods. "Fair enough. Well, thanks."

"No sweat."

Angela slides into the chair across from me and pulls open her cooler-style lunch bag. "Thank God it's Wednesday. This week is killing me."

"Tough time with the finger-painters?" Jasper teases, and Angela mock-glares at him.

"I wish I were teaching finger-painters," she mutters, pulling a small tub of potato salad out of it. I shoot Jasper a pointed look that confuses him entirely as he chews on a cucumber slice.

"What?" he asks once he swallows, but my premeditated snark about his chick-diet is cut off by Edward's unexpected appearance.

"Hi!" I say perhaps a little too brightly, and Edward's surprise mirrors my own.

"Oh. Hi. I, uh, just needed a fork. Thought there might be some in here."

I tilt my head toward the so-called cutlery drawer next to the small fridge that holds an assortment of plastic and other discarded flatware. "Go nuts."

"Thanks." He crosses the small space and I take note of the fact that I'm not the only one watching when he bends over the drawer and rifles through it. I can't deny that I appreciate what the man looks like in slacks, but there's nearly as much to be said for what track pants do to his…assets. When he turns to find the three of us staring at him, his eyes widen slightly.

"Want to join us?" I cover, gesturing toward the open seat.

"Sure," he agrees, approaching us and sliding into the vacant chair.

"How's it going?" Jasper asks, and Edward nods as he pries open his plastic tub of salad and I roll my eyes.

"Good, thanks," he says, catching the tail end of my eye-roll. "What?"

"Do you see something wrong with this picture?" I ask, gesturing at his and Jasper's lunches before pointing to my own food and Angela's.

"Besides your apparent disregard for vegetables?" he replies, and Jasper laughs.

"You guys are worse than some of the female students."

"Ouch," Jasper replies, munching obnoxiously loudly on a mouthful of salad.

"She's right though," Angela says, opening the plastic bag containing her turkey sandwich before changing the subject. "Bella, listen, sorry to ditch you, but I can't make movie night tomorrow. My mother's going out of town, so I offered to lead her Bible study group for her."

"Aw, man," I say, only half-kidding. "It's The Philadelphia Story this week!"

"I know," she groans as she picks up half of her sandwich. "It's one of my favorites. But you know my mother."

I nod because I do. Ann Weber is lovely, but she can bring the guilt like no other mother. The Methodist minister's wife could teach the Catholics a thing or two, I bet. "It's okay. I understand."

"The Philadelphia Story?" Edward asks, fork hovering over his rabbit food.

"Yeah. Angela and I hit up the independent film house in Port Angeles whenever they're showing something good," I tell him. "They usually reserve one screen for old black-and-white movies. We saw The Shop Around the Corner last week."

Edward nods. "Better than the remake," he says, and my reaction is nearly identical to when he figuratively kneecapped Hemingway in the hallway. "What?" he asks me when he notes my expression.

"You know that one?"

He shrugs. "I like Jimmy Stewart."

Aaaaand now I sort of want to marry him. Great. "Wow."

He glances at Angela and Jasper before returning his focus to his lunch, chasing a chickpea around the tray. "I, uh, would be happy to go with you if you'd like the company," he says to his salad. "I haven't seen The Philadelphia Story in years."

"That's…so thoughtful," Angela interjects, shooting me a conspiratorial look, and I feel something buzzing in my ears before I look at Edward, whose eyes flick up to glance at me before he refocuses on stabbing his food.

"That'd be great," I say when it becomes apparent that he's not going to meet my eye.

"Great," Jasper echoes, shit-eating grin in place, and I'm suddenly thankful that Edward's making eyes at his lunch. I glare at him and mouth "Alice," which has the intended effect of wiping the smirk from his face.

"Thanks," I say to Edward, and he nods, finally looking up at me.

"So, Hoquiam this week," Jasper says, redirecting the conversation to Edward's team. "They any good?"

I focus my gaze on my leftover lunch, despite the fact that I can feel Angela's eyes boring into the top of my head.

On Thursday, Edward's pants are black, his shirt is a deep burgundy, and I feel like my ovaries might explode if I look at him for too long. I'm also developing a rather unhealthy fascination with his gleaming silver belt buckle; I tell myself that it has nothing to do with my desire to unbuckle it, but I'm pretty sure I'm lying. When he notices me stepping into his health classroom, he grins and glances down at the lunch sack I have yet to find time to deposit in the fridge in the teachers' lounge. "What is it today?" he asks. "Roast beef? Pork loin? Spaghetti marinara?"

"Leftover vegetable lo mein," I say, and he shudders visibly. "Oh, come on, Edward. You can't truly dislike everything except salad."

"I don't," he says. "But I do like salad. And it's healthy. And it's convenient for lunch. Besides," he adds, looking decidedly smug, "I don't even have salad today."

I roll my eyes. "Oh? And what do you have? Fresh fruit and cottage cheese?" His smugness is replaced with incredulity, and I laugh outright. "You do, don't you? Ha! Nailed it."

"Have you been snooping in my office?" he demands, eyes alight with mockery.

"No," I promise. "I'm just figuring you out."

At that, he looks disappointed. "Wow. I must be really boring."

"Believe me, Edward, you are not boring. Your dietary habits, however…"

He sighs and slides his pen behind his ear, half-sitting on the desk and curling his fingers around its lip. "I know. I willingly admit that the French toast on Saturday might have been the best thing I've eaten in months."

I beam. "See? Told you."

He nods. "You were right." He glances up at the clock on the wall at the back of the room before one hand rises from the desk to cup the back of his neck. His eyes flick toward the door before I see his throat bob with a swallow and he speaks again. "So how about you let me buy you dinner and I let you choose my order?"

The surprise about floors me. "Pardon?"

He retrieves the pen again and twirls it deftly between his fingers. "Before the movie. Can I buy you dinner? Or after, if that works better for you." He shrugs. "I'm flexible." I'll bet, I want to say, but I'm temporarily speechless. He frowns. "Unless…I'm sorry, I didn't even ask if you were seeing someone." His words only further confirm in my mind that he's actually asking me out, and any doubts about his motivations behind offering to accompany me to the movies are eradicated.

"I'm not," I say quickly. "Not at all. I, uh, that would be nice. Great. Lovely." I cut myself off and frown at my lack of adequate adjectives. The English teacher part of my brain stands menacingly to one side, glaring and cracking a whip.

"So, yes, then?" he asks, his face hopeful and almost teasing, and I smile back.

"Yes."

He beams as students begin to file into the room, and it takes everything in me not to blush Edward-style when Rosalie glances from Edward to me and smirks.

"Okay, everybody, today we're going to be talking about human sexuality," Edward begins, and there's a smattering of groans and a few eye-rolls as the kids get settled. He continues, ignoring the chorus of disappointment. "While I'm sure many of you are hyper-focused on the second word, I'd like to point out that 'human sexuality' is an umbrella term that encompasses a lot of different things about how you guys see yourselves in relation to other people. We'll be talking about gender roles, values systems in regard to sexuality, healthy and unhealthy relationships, and communication in relationships. Before we get started, does anyone have any questions about what we covered last week?"

"C'mon, Coach," Mike replies without raising his hand. "We learned most of that stuff in middle school."

"Well, repetition is key, Mike. If and when you decide to put the information to use, I have faith that all of this tedious reiteration will turn out to be a good thing for you." Mike squints into the middle distance, evidently trying to determine whether or not Edward was being genuine or sarcastic, and Edward takes advantage of his silence to launch into his lesson plan. "Okay, guys. While Mike's thinking that one over, let's crack the books. Page ninety-seven."

I watch as the students retrieve their textbooks and Edward leans against the teacher's desk, half-sitting on the edge while his long legs stretch out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. His hands grasp the lip of the desk and his eyes scan the room. "Let's start by defining what you think a healthy relationship consists of."

"Regular sex," Mike pipes up, and Edward beams.

"Oh, Mike. As a coach, I can't tell you how your commitment to physical fitness thrills me. That's a timed two-mile run this afternoon. You're going to be able to play a full ninety before mid-season." Mike rolls his eyes and sinks down in his desk; I wonder if it's impulse control or genuine stupidity that ails him. "Healthy relationship. What does it look like?"

Rosalie raises a tentative hand and Edward smiles warmly. "Rosalie."

"Um. Good communication?" Her eyes flick momentarily to Emmett before finding me, and I give her an encouraging smile.

"Yes!" Edward's enthusiasm is similar to what he's like on the sideline, and I tamp down on my own grin. "Yes, Rose, that's great. One of the most important parts of it, in fact. Very good." He straightens and comes around the desk, grabbing a piece of chalk from the tray beneath the blackboard and writing "Communication" near the top of the board. "Great. What else?"

Alice raises a hand. When Edward nods, she says, "Um. Like. Being able to be yourself?"

He nods again as he turns to the board and writes what she says. "Yes," he says to the blackboard. "Identity is key in any good relationship, romantic or otherwise."

"Being understanding," Emmett says without raising his hand, but Edward lets it go and adds the third item to the list.

"Being loyal?" Ben Cheney guesses, and Edward writes "trust/loyalty" on the board.

The kids are getting into it now, tossing out varying things that are all, I'm pleased to see, pretty accurate: "Being supportive," "Being kind," "Mutual interests," "Having fun together."

When the suggestions slow, Edward draws a vertical line beside the list. "Okay," he says, shifting to the other side of the board. "How about stuff that's not so great in a relationship? Stuff you don't want?"

"Manipulation," Lauren Mallory says.

"Lying," Jacob Black adds.

"Cheating." This, from Ben.

"Physical abuse," Tori Keller says, and I glance at her warily as Edward writes, but it seems like a list item and not a personal admission.

"Pressure to move faster than you want to move," Alice adds, and while her eyes don't stray from the blackboard, I feel a warm affection for the girl in my chest. That was for Rosalie's benefit, and the grateful look Rose shoots at Alice's oblivious profile makes me want to smile. Edward nods as he adds "Sexual pressure" to the list before turning back to the class.

"Anything else?" he asks, scanning the room before nodding. "This is a really great list, you guys. I'm impressed. These are key things to consider whenever you're contemplating a relationship with someone, not only now, but as you progress through life. These things don't change whether you're high school sweethearts or spouses." He moves back around to the front of the desk and grabs his ever-present manila folder, sliding a stack of handouts from it. I rise as if on cue, and Edward offers me a small smile as he holds them out to me, whispering "Thanks" before he turns back to the class.

"All right, guys. Here's your handout; it was going to be homework, but you all did such a great job with the class participation today that I'm going to give you a chance to bang it out during class time." Mike snorts and Edward shoots him a glare the likes of which I haven't seen on his face before. "Watch it, Newton." I count out five worksheets and hand them to the first person in the first row before moving to the second and doing the same. "The first worksheet is 'How I Want to Be Treated by My Boyfriend or Girlfriend.' The second is a list of healthy communication tips, and it's worth noting that a lot of these don't just apply to romantic relationships, but to friendships and familial relationships as well." He grins. "So next time your parents are yelling at you for missing curfew, try to remember some of the pointers I'm giving you today, okay?" He waits for me to finish passing them out before nodding and sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Any questions?" Off their collective silence, he nods again. "Okay. Have at it."

The kids get working and Edward comes to sit beside me in the teacher's chair, pushing against the floor to lean back on two legs. We sit in companionable silence as we watch the class, and it takes more effort than I care to admit to avoid sneaking peeks at my fellow teacher. When I feel said teacher's knee nudging against mine, I glance over to find his closed planning book atop his thigh with a piece of lined notebook paper on top of it. Noting that there's something scrawled on it, I lean over slightly to read it.

Dinner before or after the movie? Please check one.

I grin. Leave it to a teacher to ask a girl out with a note during class. I slide my pen off the wooden surface of the desk and tap it against my lips for a few moments before uncapping it and leaning forward. Unthinkingly, I brace myself with my left hand on his thigh, and I can feel his quad muscle tense at my touch. Biting my lips against a smile, I put a check mark in the box for "after." Beneath it, I add a note.

This way you don't have to rush Mike through his timed run.

He reads my words and smiles; I take a quick glance at the students, who are still immersed in their work. Edward scratches out something on the paper and angles it toward me again.

Excellent point. Thanks. I'll need your address.

I smile as I jot it down and push it back; when his eyes flick over my words, I see his mouth curl in a smile and he nods slightly to himself, folding the note and sliding it into his pocket. When the bell rings, the kids slam their books shut and sweep them off their desks as they beeline for the door. Edward chuckles as he gathers up his own books and turns to face me, propping his teaching materials on one hip as his free hand returns to his pocket. "So, I'll uh…pick you up at five? We can hit the movie then grab dinner?"

I nod. "Sounds perfect."

He grins. "Great."

When I open my front door to see Edward standing in the semidarkness, the instant butterflies that appear in my stomach make me feel like a teenager all over again. "You look really pretty," he says softly in lieu of hello, his eyes tracing me from head to toe and back up again, and this time I'm the one blushing.

I can't even remember the last time I had a real, honest-to-God first date, and as I stood before my closet after showering the day off, I found that I didn't want to wear any of the sophisticated clothes that I've worn to work. I wanted to look soft and feminine and pretty, and it was this desire that led me to rip the tags off a floral-printed dress that I've had in my closet since the clearance sales at the end of last summer. It's demure and makes me feel like the kind of girl who has dates with cute boys rather than the kind of girl who ruins teenagers' mornings with pop quizzes on Chaucer.

"Thank you," I say now, draping my deep purple cardigan over my forearm and looping the strap of my purse over my shoulder. "You look really great, too."

And he does. He's the perfect combination of Mr.-Cullen-the-Health-Teacher and Mr.-Cullen-the-Former-Jock: dark-wash jeans that are the ideal blend of loose and fitted and a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves of which are rolled up to just below his elbows. On his feet are black and white Nike sneakers, and I realize instantly that I'm glad Edward went to high school with a couple hundred boys; teenage girls would surely have humped his tendency to blush right out of him before he ever made it to college. His hair is damp and the faint scent of some fresh-scented soap rises from his skin. "Thanks," he replies. He reaches behind him and pulls something out of his back pocket; when he extends it toward me, I see that it's a book. When I take it, the cover is warm from the heat of his body. I glance down at the cover and frown slightly; it's a children's novel by Louisa May Alcott, though not one with which I'm overly familiar.

"Under the Lilacs?" I ask, and he shifts his weight on my doorstep.

"I know it's traditional to bring flowers on a first date, but you're a book girl, so I thought I'd bring you a book with flowers in the title," he explains in a rush. "But I didn't want to bring, like, Flowers for Algernon because of the dark subtext. I figured a children's book was relatively subtext-free."

I'm nearly as affected by the gesture as I am by the fact that he's referencing a somewhat obscure short story-turned-novel and its subtext; something tells me now would be a good time to stop underestimating Edward Cullen. "Edward, this is…really sweet. Thank you."

He shifts again and scratches his eyebrow. "You're welcome." He pauses. "Was that lame? It was, wasn't it?"

"Not at all," I tell him firmly, sliding the book into my oversized purse. "It was perfect. I kill flowers with alarming speed, anyway. Anything living you brought me would no doubt be wilted and dead by morning."

"Wow. Good to know." He smiles and takes a deep breath, as if to fortify himself. "You ready?"

"Ready," I confirm, switching off my living room light and stepping out onto the porch behind him. When we reach his car, he holds the passenger door open for me. "Thanks," I say as I slip in, and when he closes the door with a gentle thud and rounds the car, I lean over and push his own door open from the inside. As he slides into his seat, he gives me a funny look. "What?" I ask, and he shakes his head.

"Nothing." He turns the key in the ignition. "Movie?"

"Movie," I agree.

A part of me is glad I've seen The Philadelphia Story so many times that I nearly have it memorized, as it gives me the chance to pretend that I'm paying attention to the screen while a good fifty percent of my focus is actually trained on what sitting beside Edward in the dark is doing to me. He holds the bag of popcorn propped on his knee between us with one hand while reaching in periodically with the other to pluck a few kernels from it; on more than one occasion, our fingertips brush, and the thrill that jolts me each time is not entirely unlike what I remember feeling when I was young and touching someone – even fleetingly – was brand new. When his salty fingers graze mine, my blood heats and my heart thuds in my chest loudly enough that it's a wonder he can't hear it. The seemingly innocent touches continue as the movie rolls, and we make our way through the small bag of popcorn; when all that remains are crumbs and kernels, Edward places it beneath his seat as I lick the buttery residue from my fingertips. When I glance at him, his eyes are trained on my mouth; after a quick glance at my eyes, he refocuses on the movie. It's too dark to see the color of his face, but I already know him well enough to know what it would look like.

"They just don't make 'em like that anymore," I sigh as we wander along the sidewalk after the movie, and in my periphery, I see him shake his head.

"No. My mother would agree with you on that."

"She likes Jimmy Stewart?"

"Loves him," Edward says, and despite his previous assertion that he's not particularly close to his parents, his eyes are warm. "She's the one who got me to like him. When I was about seven, I was home with the flu and we watched Harvey together. I think I must have watched that movie every night for a week afterward."

"That's really cute," I say, grateful for my ability to understate.

"Yeah," he agrees, for once unembarrassed. "Though I have to say, the only thing about the old movies that bothers me is when the guys push around the women. I realize that's very new-millennium of me, but it does. It's one of the major reasons why I don't like Gone With the Wind. I know Rhett Butler's supposed to be this timeless leading man, but really…well, he was kind of an asshole."

"True," I say. "Though if ever there was a leading lady who was asking for a good backhand, it was Scarlett."

He laughs. "Also true."

"You're a jock-type," I say as Edward pulls open the door to Bella Italia. "You wouldn't give a girl a shove if she snapped your golf club in half over her knee?"

Edward smirks. "You know what they say about golf?"

"What?"

"A good walk spoiled."

I grin as I step inside the restaurant, and when hostess leads us to a small table for two near the back and Edward helps me out of my coat before pulling out my chair, it hits me that I'm on an honest-to-God date with the fuckhot PE teacher. Granted, all of the little things – the book, opening the car door, paying for the movie tickets and popcorn – have been very date-esque, but sitting at a tiny table for two with just a flickering tea light candle between us feels particularly romantic. "Very chivalrous," I say as I sit, and if the lighting in the restaurant were better, something tells me he would be sporting his trademark flush. This time, however, he smiles as he sits.

Once we have ordered drinks and are looking at our menus, Edward chuckles and puts his to one side. "I don't even know why I'm looking. I promised that you could order for me."

I look up at him, slightly alarmed. "Yeah, but…I thought you were kidding." Off his silence, I add, "That's a lot of pressure. I mean…I don't even know what you like; I've only ever seen you eat rabbit food."

He chuckles. "Like I said, pretty much anything, though rarely beef."

I turn a skeptical eye back to the menu which, while only moments ago looked like a list of deliciousness, now seems fraught with potential potholes. "Ummm…" I trail off as I read descriptions. It occurs to me for the first time just how much cheese there is in Italian food, and I cringe as I imagine Edward fishing ravioli out of a sea of oily sauce. After a few more moments, the menu disappears from my hands and Edward places it atop his own.

"What are you having?" he asks.

"Mushroom ravioli," I reply instantly; like at the Forks Diner, I rarely diverge from my go-to order at Bella Italia.

"Sounds good," he nods. "I'll have the same."

I frown and he grins. "Unclench," he says, his grin morphing into a smirk as he uses my own word against me. I laugh and will my shoulders to loosen. Our drinks arrive and when the waiter disappears with our entrée orders, Edward leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the tabletop. "So, uh, Rosalie's question. Was it something that wasn't clear in class? Because I was serious before – you should absolutely step in at any point."

"Oh, no," I assure him, shaking my head. "No, it was more a…tangential question."

He quirks a brow. "About Emmett?"

My own eyebrows slide upward. "Yes, actually. Why do you ask?"

He takes a sip of his water. "He stayed after practice to talk to me yesterday."

"Oh?"

He nods and leans back in his chair, his long fingers loosely curled around the base of his water glass. "He's a good kid," he says finally.

"He seems it."

"He says he loves Rosalie."

I nod. "She loves him too."

"He wanted advice on how to get her to trust him."

I frown slightly. "So she'd sleep with him?"

Edward squints at me. "What?"

"Why does he want advice on how to get her to trust him?"

"Well, he said that she had a bad relationship before him that left some sore spots and that he wasn't sure how to make her see that he wasn't the same as that guy."

"Royce," I offer, and after a beat, Edward nods in realization.

"Ah. Yes. He doesn't seem like the most…sensitive of guys."

"Not really." I sigh and trace the rim of my water glass. "Rosalie slept with him and regretted it, and he pressured her until they broke up. She's worried the same will happen with Emmett."

He nods. "Not that it's any of my business, but Emmett doesn't strike me as that type."

"It's none of mine either, but I agree with you."

He leans forward again. "Can I ask you something?" When I nod, he continues. "Was it like this when you were a student here?"

I shrug. "Well, kids were definitely doing it. But I feel like maybe less of them were, and it wasn't as…out in the open. But maybe that's just me romanticizing my youth."

He chuckles. "When I was your age…" he mimics, affecting an old-man warble, and I laugh.

"Exactly. Both ways uphill in the snow, and no fornicating." Edward laughs outright, and I'm caught off-guard; I've seen him chuckle, I've seen him smile, but I've never seen him crack up. I like it. "I guess we're probably not the best authorities on teenage sex habits, though," I add. "Boarding school boy and cop-daughter girl."

"Probably not." He considers me for a beat before dropping his gaze to the tablecloth, chewing his lip for a beat before speaking again. "So…no sex in high school, but no…anything else, either?"

I shake my head. "My great love stories in high school were with boys in books."

He nods, still staring determinedly at his water glass. "Yeah. My great love stories in high school were with girls in my roommates' magazines."

He looks up and grins at the laugh that escapes me. "Wow, Edward. I've got to be honest with you, I didn't really picture you as the nudie magazine type."

He takes a sip of his water, the tips of his ears their trademark pink. "Desperate times," he says, and my mind flashes to our masturbation chat.

"Indeed," I agree.

As if his mind has followed the same path as mine, he flushes, and we sit gazing at each other in semi-awkward silence until I hear "Bella?" from behind me and turn to see Shelly Cope standing clutching her purse. "Oh, I thought that was you, dear." Her eyes flick to Edward and widen. "Oh! And Mr. Cullen! Hello!"

I groan inwardly as I rise from my chair and give the old biddy a hug. She's sweet, but she's endlessly nosy, and I can only imagine the "Guess what?" stories she'll share in the main office tomorrow morning. And no doubt with Charlie, given the chance. "Hi, Mrs. Cope."

"Don't let me interrupt," she says, waving a hand in the general direction of our table. "I just wanted to say hello. You tell your dad I said hi, okay?"

"Will do," I promise, and she nods, glancing at Edward once more before turning and scurrying toward the exit. I sigh as I return to my seat and Edward looks at me expectantly.

"What?"

"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." My teeth scrape my lower lip. "I'm sorry."

His green eyes are on my face, and after a moment, his warm hand covers mine on the table. "Bella, I think I'd be okay with it. If you would."

"I would," I reply with absolutely zero hesitation, and the smile that breaks across his face is brighter than the sunrise. And for once, to my eternal delight, he's not blushing at all.

When Edward pulls his car into my driveway, he kills the engine and the headlights but leaves the parking lights on before undoing his seat belt. At my confused look, he smiles softly. "I'm walking you to your door," he says and pushes his own door open before I can argue that it's unnecessary. He rounds the car just in time to reach my already-open door as I'm stepping out onto the pavement and shakes his head in faux disappointment before closing it behind me and following me up my porch steps.

"So, thanks for dinner," I say, suddenly feeling like this is a really bad movie script, and Edward only further confirms that assessment when he says, "It was my pleasure." I roll my eyes at our joint lameness and he chuckles. "Yeah, okay, this is awkward."

"See? This is probably why that whole chivalry thing has gone the way of eight-track tapes and VCRs. You should have just slowed to a crawl at the foot of the driveway and I could have hopped out. I can duck-and-roll like a ninja."

"If memory serves, we used a VCR just last week," he points out, ignoring my joke entirely, and is treated to my second eye-roll for his trouble.

"And, if my memory serves, you weren't exactly adept at doing so, which further illustrates my point."

"Trust me when I tell you that I'm far more adept at this than I am at operating archaic technology."

When he blushes, the implication of his words hits me and I can't resist the bait. "Oh? And what exactly is 'this'?"

"Um. Well." He licks his lips, and I step closer; when he looks down into my face, his eyes are heated. "You know. Dating."

"I see."

"Okay, that's a lie. I suck at dating."

I laugh, the flirty sexual tension eliminated entirely. "I don't know," I counter. "I think you're doing pretty well, actually."

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Okay," he breathes. "Cool."

I smile and bite my lip, inordinately pleased when his eyes go immediately to my mouth. "Hey, Edward?"

"Yeah?" His eyes are still on my mouth, and it's amazing how very seventeen I feel right now. Were this a different porch on a different street in this same tiny town, this could be the first-date kiss I missed out on a decade ago.

"Wanna kiss me?"

"Badly," he says.

"Do it," I say, and the words are barely out of my mouth when his lips are on mine and holy hell can the boy kiss. He may be regimented and uptight and occasionally awkward as fuck, but there is nothing uncomfortable or unsure about the way his mouth is moving over mine. His lips are soft and warm and his mouth is open, heated breaths puffing into my own open mouth even though, gentleman that he is, he keeps his tongue to himself. He kisses me hot and sweet before slowing, pressing a few more closed-mouth kisses to my lips before resting his forehead to mine.

He pants into the tiny space between us, his hands cupping my hips. "Listen, Bella, you're the only friend I have here, and I don't want to ruin that, but…" He trails off, pulling back to search my face before blowing out a breath. "You're so damn pretty, and if I'm being honest, my thoughts about you over the past few days haven't been entirely friendly in nature."

"Ditto," I breathe, trying to train my mind on his words and not on the way his warm palms bracket my body as I press a kiss to his chin.

"I…

"We can take this slowly," I murmur against his jaw, and as the words escape my mouth, I'm struck by sudden inspiration. "We can have a do-over!" I exclaim, pulling my torso away from his and meeting his gaze. His green eyes are hooded, his lips glistening, and his brow furrows in confusion at my outburst.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You said you didn't have a typical high school experience when it came to dating, and I didn't either, so maybe we take a page out of the books of our teenage students."

"And what, dry-hump in the back of my car in the driver's ed parking lot?"

"Exactly," I say, a hum buzzing through me at the mental image his words evoke. Judging by the spark in his eyes and the familiar roses blooming on his cheeks, he's not entirely averse to the idea. "Though maybe we park it somewhere off school grounds, just to be safe."

"Bella—"

"This will give us a chance to keep getting to know each other without letting sex get in the way," I continue. "By the time we get there, we'll have figured out if we're better off as friends." I lick my lips and drop my gaze to his mouth. "Here you go," I murmur, raising myself on tiptoes to breathe the final words into his mouth. "First base."

There's no hesitation as his warm mouth covers mine.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Next time:

"I should go inside," I say, licking him from my lips. "Otherwise second base might happen in the front seat of your car."