AN: Thanks for everyone who voted for me in The Twilight Awards and congrats to the winners!

Check out my new story with my beta, tamelaine, Going for the Gold. It's up on my fanfic profile and also on twilighted.

For anyone that's curious, theoretically I'm writing one chapter for TDIG then one for GftG, so chapter 2 for that story should be forthcoming.

Thanks to the wonderful ladies at the twilighted forums for making me laugh so hard I nearly pee my pants and encouraging me. Also my betas: tamelaine, CallistoLexx, Madeleine, and Theresa.

JPOV

I was a complete tool.

I was self-aware enough to know that from the moment we'd walked in here this morning, I was on dangerous ground. From the way Alice had moved, those slight yet sumptuous hips sliding around to the beat, to that outrageous silk thing she'd been wearing, my temptation level had hit a new high.

I hadn't been able to resist supervising her make the new batch of pancakes, even though that amazingly curvaceous butt had been way too close for my brain's comfort. Not my body's, naturally—certain parts of my anatomy had eaten up her adorable lack of finesse in the kitchen. Who knew that watching someone bumble their way through pancakes would be such a turn-on?

Watching as Alice flitted around the kitchen, clearly trying to do anything but meet my eyes, I knew an intense regret for finally giving into my baser, lusting self. I should never have kissed her.

The situation between us had been bad enough before the kiss, but now with my terrible judgment, it had reached epically bad proportions—not just for me, but for her as well.

Resisting the manifold attractions of Alice before had been difficult. Now that I knew what she tasted and felt like, how perfectly her short curvy body could conform to mine, every second of my resistance was now painful.

Now, she believed that my feelings were anything but pretend. Now she thought I wanted her.

God, I did.

I'd forgotten how insanely crappy it was to be around her and want her so much it hurt.

For the two months or so that Emmett and Rosalie had been together in high school, the two of us had been thrown together pretty frequently. At first, I'd seen it as purely a chore. Stupid, fashion-conscious and ditzy were all words I could have used to describe Alice when I first met her. It didn't take long for those assumptions to fall by the wayside. When she wanted to, she could easily keep up with me in a discussion of any number of topics. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, we rarely agreed, so we spent a good deal of our time together locked in intense debates about music, movies, books, and pretty much anything else we could think of.

Often during lunchtime, when we got sick of Emmett shoving his tongue down Rose's throat, we would escape to the theater, spread our food out on the empty stage and continue our debate, uninterrupted by silly demonstrations of puppy love.

Alice was a fierce arguer, her temper and her determination to win at all costs often overshadowing her diminutive size. Frequently when we were arguing, I'd completely forget that I was even arguing with a girl, and attractive one at that, until she'd twist a ring on her hand or tuck a choppy strand of hair behind her ear, and then suddenly, like a fist to the face, I'd remember far too well.

Every single mannerism of Alice's, every piece of clothing she'd worn, every single conversation we'd had in those two months was branded in my brain and the last six years had done nothing to dull the memories.

I remembered our last lunch debate like it was yesterday.

We'd snuck off again, as Rose and Emmett were snogging in the middle of the lunchroom, and it made both of us a little sick. Also, we disliked the attention that we drew by sitting near them. I mentioned it to Alice as we exited the cafeteria and headed down the hallway to the theater. She shook her head stiffly in response.

"They're not looking at Em and Rose. They're looking at us."

"Us?" I was completely incredulous. What was so interesting about Alice and I?

She hesitated, and then responded so quickly I could barely follow her words. "They think we're together."

"Together?" I could barely wrap my mind around the idea. Alice and I were friends and while I found her nearly criminally attractive, I hadn't had the guts or the glory to take it to the next level. I kept telling myself that I liked her friendship more than anything else, but I could tell that this argument was losing its potency in the fight of brain vs. body.

"Yeah," she mumbled, clearly blushing now.

"Really?" I responded, just as ill at ease as Alice, and having no idea how to right this sinking ship. "Do the girls ask you about it?" I asked, latching onto the first idea I could find.

"Sometimes," her eyes raised level with mine and I felt unmanned and unsteady. Why was it that I felt perfectly comfortable arguing with her for hours but as soon as our conversation headed into anything remotely resembling normalcy, I felt shaky and weird?

Better not to ask that question, I told myself, you wouldn't like the answer.

"I have to admit I'm a little surprised by that."

Alice chuckled. "You shouldn't be. Girls love to gossip."

"About me?"

Alice sent me a cute little sideways smirk as I opened the door into the theater and she slid past me.

"Jasper," she said patiently, "girls like to gossip about anybody and everybody. Especially," she smirked again, "someone like you."

"Someone like me?" I squeaked.

Nodding in affirmation, Alice nimbly lifted herself up to the stage. Crossing her ankles, she turned toward me, annoyance rife on her face. "Of course someone like you," she said with a indelicate snort I found unbelievably hot. God, I thought, I'm losing what's left of my mind.

I simply raised one of my eyebrows at her. She frowned back and cracked open her diet Coke.

"Are you going to tell me or not?" I finally was forced into asking.

"You really want to know?"

I groaned. "I did ask."

"Fine. You want to know, I'll tell you. You're hot, Jasper. Smoking hot. Every girl in school wants to jump your bones."

I felt my jaw hit the floor in record time. "Wh-wh-what?"

Alice crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. "You're not going to make me say it again."

"I don't want you to say it again," I snapped, "I want you to explain."

"Explain why girls think you're hot?" Alice seemed incredulous. Who could really blame her? But I couldn't seem to help myself.

"Well. . .yeah," I stammered.

Alice's lips pressed into a tight line and I felt her annoyance resonate through me. She stayed silent, only sipping out of her diet Coke and nibbling on the sandwich she'd bought from the cafeteria.

Obviously I'd have to backtrack—or try a different angle.

"So, you said every girl in school. . ."

"Yep, everyone except Rosalie, that's because she's forgotten other males besides Emmett even exist," Alice replied absentmindedly, not even bothering to look up from her sandwich. "Why do they put pickles in the turkey? That's gross."

I shrugged. "It's Forks High School. Very little they do makes logical sense." I paused, half-thinking I was cracked to even bring this up, but I continued anyway. "So you think I'm hot, then?"

Alice stopped fussing with her sandwich, and those incredibly expressive gray eyes met mine. Her face was so blank I had no idea what was going through that convoluted head of hers, but I wanted to know. Desperately.

"Yes," she whispered.

"You think I'm hot?" my voice dropped down a decibel to mirror hers. I had no idea why we were taking so quietly but it seemed to make sense.

She nodded slowly. "Yes."

I couldn't take my eyes away from her face. Of course she was beautiful and I should probably say so right now, but my tongue felt swollen and the words stuck in the back of my throat like phlegm. I wanted us to be friends. If I told her I thought she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever met, fifty times more stunning than her cousin Rosalie, I wasn't sure what would happen to this comfortable camaraderie that had unexpectedly grown between us.

Suddenly, she tore her gaze away from mine and focused it back on that damn sandwich. I spotted bright red flags of color burning high on her cheekbones. She was embarrassed.

Correction, I told myself, you embarrassed her.

"Alice," I stammered, desperate to say something to fix my obvious mistake in not speaking up sooner, but before I could get anymore out of my mouth, the bell rang.

She jumped down off the stage faster than I'd thought possible, and before I could even grasp what was happening, she was halfway out the door.

Great. I'd have to catch her after school and grovel. And I knew that the more time that passed between this incident and the subsequent apology, the more groveling I'd be forced to do.

Except that I never got the chance.

I couldn't find her in the halls, and as I walked to the parking lot to meet Emmett and Edward, I felt a fearsome combination of worry and anger surge within me. All I wanted to do was sit in my room and try to figure out what had imperceptibly changed between Alice and I in the last twenty-four hours.

Unfortunately, I knew the moment I stepped through the door that they'd left me. Again.

There was no sleek silver Volvo in the parking lot. I marched down the steps, enraged at my brothers for not waiting. Just as I was about to pull my cell phone from my pocket, I heard my name being called across the lot. I looked up and there was Edward, sitting by himself, on a small field beside the parking area.

I stalked over to him, and was even more annoyed at his unconcerned expression.

"Hey Jas," he said to me, his eyes closed, soaking up the little bit of sun that was trying to fight through the stifling clouds.

"Where the fuck is Emmett?" I asked, purposefully neglecting to match his friendly greeting.

Edward shrugged. "He tackled me, took the keys to the Volvo and drove off."

I gaped at his cavalier treatment of the events. "He took your car and you're not pissed?" This seemed completely unlike Edward.

"Oh, I'm furious as hell, but what am I supposed to do? I already called Esme by the way."

"Well that's great news," I replied more than a little sarcastically, "good thing we won't end up stranded here."

Edward sighed and I grew suspicious.

"What did you do?" I asked, suddenly comprehending that Edward's laissez-faire attitude had everything to do with what he thought he deserved and nothing to do with outrage.

He was silent for a good minute and I began to wonder if he'd heard me at all.

"He and Rose broke up."

I gaped at his news, and tried to stamp down the fear that was rapidly ballooning at the thought of never being able to talk to Alice again.

"What did he do?" I demanded. I knew that Emmett never would have dumped Rosalie. It had to be the other way around.

"He kissed Lauren Mallory." Edward's voice was clipped and emotionless, but I had a pretty good idea about what was running below the surface. Edward wasn't as quiet as me, but he and I understood each other the best.

"Was he insane?" None of us liked Lauren, with her crazily predatory ways.

"Unfortunately no," Edward sighed again, "it was a bet."

I instinctively knew who had been the one to initiate the bet. "I don't feel sorry for you at all. Even if he wrecks the Volvo," I said, incredulously.

"He won't. It would take too much time to fix."

I considered telling Edward just how angry I was for him likely ruining the beginning of what could have been a great friendship with Alice, but before I could say anything, we saw Esme drive into the empty lot. Standing up and brushing off my jeans, I took in her angry expression from behind the steering wheel and gave Edward a sympathetic look.

"If Esme finds out that you broke up Emmett and Rosalie, you're going to be in such deep shit."

"Dude," Edward said, "I'm already in deep shit." I couldn't deny that he was right. Both Emmett and Esme were going to kill him, then Carlisle was going to come home to pick up the pieces.

When we climbed into the back of Esme's Mercedes SUV, her lips were pressed tightly together and there was a terribly fury etched on her face.

"Could you please tell me," she asked, her tone short and dangerously calm, "why Emmett has the Volvo and why he left the two of you at school?"

I opened my mouth to try to explain, but Edward smoothly cut me off. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault."

Esme waited patiently for him to continue but obviously more explanation was not forthcoming. "Are you going to tell me why Emmett took off with your car?"

"Nope." Edward's eyes never left the window, not once turning towards Esme's in the rearview mirror.

She sighed with frustration. "Fine. But I know that when your brother and your father get home, this is going to get discussed." Esme's voice was in inexorable, and though she was the kindest, sweetest person, we all knew that a spine of steel lay underneath. We also knew that Carlisle was not going to be very happy with us.

When we finally reached the house and pulled in the driveway, it was hard to miss the silver Volvo sitting in the asphalt loop in front of the porch.

Entering the house, I couldn't blame Edward for heading right to his room and the protection of a locked door. We'd both pissed Emmett off enough times to know that hiding was much safer than direct confrontation. It was also safer for Esme's furniture. Carlisle was going to be mad enough at us without destruction added to the mix.

The house was so quiet, I had a feeling I knew where I'd find Emmett. In the garage, trying to working out his anger the only way he knew how.

Before I could head out the door, Esme grabbed me by the arm and steered me into the kitchen.

"Tell me what happened," she ordered, motioning to a bar stool.

I decided that there was no point in being anything but honest—and Esme knew I'd feel that way. I was the most straightforward of the three of us, and the least likely to evade her questions.

"Emmett and Rosalie broke up."

"Oh no," Esme gasped, her dismay evident, "what happened?"

I shrugged. I knew a little and had surmised a bit more, but all the concrete information I had was that they'd broken up and it was, unsurprisingly, my stupid brother's fault. Which one remained to be seen.

"That's really too bad," Esme said and I had to nod in agreement.

"I was going to find Emmett and see if he wanted to talk. . ." I trailed off, hoping that Esme would wave me off, which she did.

"Go find him and see if he'll talk. I'll deal with Edward and your father when he gets home."

I jumped off the stool and headed out the back door towards the shop. As soon as I opened the door, I knew I'd found him.

Stone Temple Pilots were blaring over the speakers and I heard a determined metal banging noise adding to the cacophony.

"Emmett!" I yelled, wandering around the shop, looking for the source of the banging.

Finally I found him, in the corner of the building, hammering out a piece of sheet metal. I wasn't sure why the music was so loud if he was wearing ear protection. I tossed a dirty rag at him to get his attention. He looked up, startled, and I noticed then that his eyes were suspiciously red.

Emmett pulled his protective eyeglasses and the headgear off. Reaching over towards the stereo, he turned down the angry 90's rock.

"What are you doing here?" He certainly didn't look happy to see me, but then Emmett had constructed a whole image based on looking strong and tough. He hated it when anyone saw him looking weak or vulnerable.

"Are you okay?" I asked, responding to his question with one of my own.

He shrugged and his eyes returned to the metal he'd been working on.

Finally he spoke up. "It was my fault anyway. I mean, only I would be stupid enough to mess up one of the best things that ever happened to me."

"So you really did kiss Lauren then," I stated, rather than asked. Somehow I hadn't believed it could be true. Emmett was stupid, yes, but not insane.

He nodded. "Worst mistake of my life."

I gestured to the metal on his work table. "You need any help?"

"No. Kinda just want to be alone."

"Okay," I replied, taking his hint. Emmett was not a good person to cross on his best days—in this mood, you'd have to be crazy to take him on.

As I walked back into the house, through the garden that had somehow become so associated with Alice and the "good times," I had a feeling that everything had changed. I didn't need to go grovel tomorrow morning. She wouldn't want to see me—and not because I hadn't told her she was beautiful. She was never going to want to see me again because she loved Rosalie and it would be wrong to continue being my friend when my brother had treated her sister so monstrously.

I'd been right. Alice and I never spoke again, unless it was absolutely impossible to avoid it, and even then, we did it without exactly looking at each other and our sentences were as clipped and short as possible. Then a year and a half later, we'd both gone off to college and left Forks behind. I'd honestly never expected to see her again, and in the still of the night, if that left me feeling bitter, so be it. I'd come to the conclusion that Alice had been an anomaly. I wanted someone so much different. Someone romantic and sweet and kind. Someone who wouldn't argue with everything I said. Someone who could care less what they put on in the mornings and who didn't carry around a ten pound copy of Vogue magazine at all times.

"Jasper?" Alice asked, snapping me out of my reverie, "do you still like Weezer?"

"Uh, yes. Of course," I replied, surprised she even had to ask.

She nodded her head briskly. "Thought so." She went over to the iPod, selected a playlist and grabbing the remote, sat down on the couch in the living room opposite the kitchen.

Cautiously, wondering what this was all about, I joined her on the couch.

The music started and I immediately recognized it. Of course she'd picked Pinkerton. Maybe she'd remembered as much about me as I'd remembered about her.

As the opening chords of "Tired of Sex" blared over the speakers, all I could think was that the last thing I could possibly say was that I was tired of sex. Especially not with Alice sitting here barely clothed.

"You know what I heard recently that made total sense?" Alice asked, during a lull in the music.

"Hmmmm?"

"Pinkerton is loosely based around Puccini's opera, Madame Butterfly."

"It is not," I spluttered, "whoever you heard that from is wrong."

Alice's voice edged up in volume. "If you really took the time to listen to the lyrics, and knew anything about Madame Butterfly you'd see you're wrong."

I was becoming more and more annoyed. Weezer had been one of my favorite bands forever and the thought that Alicecould know more about them than me was galling. Even more infuriating was her assumption that I knew nothing about opera. She should know me better than that.

"Excuse me, I definitely know something about both Madame Butterfly and Weezer. There is no way that they are interconnected at all." My voice took on that official tone that I used when I wanted to end a discussion with my opinion as the last word.

"For fuck's sake, it was called Pinkerton, Jasper," she drawled.

"Pinkerton?"

"I thought you said you knew Madame Butterfly."

"I do."

She sighed. "What, then, is the main male character called in the opera?"

"How am I supposed to remember minor details like that?" I snapped back, annoyed that instead of my proclamation ending the argument, it had instead incited the must-win streak in Alice.

"The main character's name is hardly a minor detail and in any case, it's fucking Lieutenant B.F. Pinkerton."

"Coincidence," I insisted, more rattled than I wanted her to see.

"Okay, fine, maybe. But the themes of the songs fit so well into the opera's plot."

"Like?" I countered.

"Well let's start with possibly the greatest song off the album. . ." she started, and glared at me when I almost jumped in to correct her, "Jasper, I know you think that 'Pink Triangle' is the greatest Weezer song but I have to submit 'El Scorcho' for that particular honor."

I raised my eyebrows in doubt. I found 'El Scorcho' hooky and dumb. Nothing resembling the deep introspectiveness of 'Pink Triangle.'

"Anyway, "Alice said pointedly, continuing her argument, "in 'El Scorcho,' Rivers refers to Cio-Cio San, which is the real name of Madame Butterfly."

"Just because he uses two characters names from Madame Butterfly in the album and songs doesn't mean that Pinkerton is influenced by the opera."

"Fine. You obviously don't want to be convinced. But you should really give Rivers more credit. He went to Harvard for god's sake. Clearly the man is smart enough to rework an opera in a punk album. Just check out Wikipedia sometime and then you'll understand." Alice's voice was shrill and bitchy and I recognized this as a good point to stop arguing, at least for the time being.

Besides, 'Falling for You' was just starting and I didn't want to audaciously talk through such a masterpiece.

As we sat and listened, I tried hard not to pay attention to the lyrics, but I failed both at blocking them out and at not managing to apply them to my own personal situation.

I was not falling for Alice. That way lay disaster. I needed to stay strong and emotionally uninvolved. Unfortunately this song, even more than usual, seemed to hit a resonating note within me, and I remembered again the way I'd felt that day in high school when I'd realized our friendship was over.

Cursing myself a million different ways, I slowly reached out a hand toward hers. She looked at me strangely for a half second, wondering what I was after I suppose, then, finally, she smiled in comprehension. And with the last chords of 'Falling for You' echoing around us, our fingers intertwined and for the first time since seeing Alice again, I began to feel some measure of peace.

EmPOV

I'd never seen Rosie this schizophrenic. First, she'd been beyond furious. I'd never been so grateful to Alice as I was in the moment she talked Rosalie down from calling the police. I suppose I should have said something, but the words had stuck in my throat. It shouldn't have been, but it was extraordinarily hurtful, still, to have her hate me that much. I told myself that I hadn't spoken because I hadn't wanted to piss her off more, but in reality, I'd been stunned into silence by her virulent hatred and the subsequent pain it caused.

God damn it. When was I ever going to get over this? Maybe sometime in the next hundred years? Longer?

I nearly groaned in frustration. I'd thought that the police incident had been the worst I'd have to endure during this visit, but I was so wrong.

Having Rose furious at me was bad enough—having her be friendly was like walking through the Gates of Hell.

As soon as our explosive argument ended, the frozen shoulder she'd been giving me since forever had promptly melted, throwing me more for a loop than the anger had.

She'd asked me if I'd read the new Car & Driver magazine and had indicated on her coffee table that she had the most recent issue. I'd mentally thrown up my hands and decided that if she was going to be civil, I could follow suit.

"Yeah, I thought the article about the new 'Vette was pretty interesting. Nice styling. Good power package."

Rose nodded, listening carefully and obviously thinking out her response as I spoke. As hot as she was, what had always made her fifty times hotter to me was her love and understanding of my greatest passion.

"It seems like GM finally got their head out of their collective asses," she replied, with a cautious and almost shy smile. Nervously, she nudged the magazine underneath it and I paused.

"You subscribe to 4x4?" I asked incredulously.

If I hadn't thought it patently impossible, I could have sworn Rosie blushed and in response to those flushed cheeks I felt something thrilling rush through me.

"Um," she stumbled, clearly disarmed by my discovery, "occasionally. I find the technical help sections invaluable."

"Really?" I said, trying to tell little Emmett that now was not the best time to get excited about Rose's apparent enthusiasm for automobile mechanics.

This time the blush was unmistakable and little Emmett, far from being dissuaded, roared in delight.

She ducked her head slightly, as if she was trying to hide her reaction, and I was both horrified and fascinated by it. The former because as much as I might try to fight it, my feelings for her had never completely died out. The embers clearly still burned in the corners of my heart. The latter because I wanted nothing more than the very best for Rosalie, and I was convinced that could never be me.

"Bella has a Grand Jeep Cherokee," she finally admitted, "and I keep trying to convince her to upgrade some of the engine and the exhaust."

"Did you at least get a K&N on her?" Good Emmett, I told myself, talk really technical and get even more turned on.

Rosie looked at me like I'd just come unhinged. "That's an insult to my skills, Emmett Cullen."

"I was just testing you," I joked jovially, lightheartedly hitting her on the arm. For a half second her expression was one of shock, but she quickly rearranged it back to normal and smiled again—much bigger this time. I didn't know what it was, but screaming at each other had seemed to burn all the old anger and bitterness between us away. Truthfully, I was more worried now than I'd been before. The old heartbreak had been a nice safe wall. Now that it was broken down and gone, she was in danger of causing me to fall for her all over again.

We were interrupted by Alice announcing that the pancakes were done. Sitting down at the table with my brothers and Alice, Bella and Rose, I had to admit that we made a pretty cozy, comfortable group. I couldn't have been more surprised.

After the pancakes were gone, I approached Rose again, emboldened by her clear interest in my work at the table, and by the conversation we'd had earlier.

"You want to show me the mods you've made recently on the R32?" I asked casually, half-hoping she'd deny me flat the way she'd done the night before when I'd asked her to dance. She could never know that I was more in danger of tackling her to the hood of a car than I'd been of seducing her on the dance floor.

Unfortunately an amazing and genuine smile bloomed on her beautiful face and I felt like I'd just been slammed in the face with a metal folding chair, WWE-style.

I was in such deep shit. There was almost no way I'd be able to keep my hands to myself with her dressed that way and in a garage, talking about what she had under her hood.

Still, I followed her out to the garage she rented from the townhouse community, reading myself a litany of what I was absolutely forbidden to do.

RPOV

I couldn't believe how I'd acted since nearly calling the police on Emmett and his brothers. Okay, I couldn't believe I'd almost done that either. But at least calling the police had made some logical sense. I had every right to be as furious as I was that they'd just showed up in my townhouse on a Sunday morning, uninvited and unwanted.

Okay, maybe two out of the three of the Cullens had been wanted. Alice had clearly renewed whatever high school tendre she'd had for Jasper, and Bella could barely keep her eyes or her hands off Edward.

As for me and Emmett, we were just the odd ones out, and even taking my broken heart into consideration, it made me extraordinarily edgy. That edginess, combined with my sleepless and emotional night, had combined to push me into the deep end where Emmett was concerned.

But the way I'd felt around him after our fight was completely unexpected. It was as if every ounce of anger, resentment and hatred I'd carried around for the last six years spilled out of me, and now I felt strangely empty. Empty and comfortable.

Truthfully, I liked feeling empty a lot better than being a mass of burning bitter rage, so I rolled with the punches, and asked him about the new Car & Driver as my own version of a white flag.

Now we were outside, headed to my garage and I had no earthly idea why I'd agreed so readily. I was supposed to hate Emmett, except that hatred was the last thing I was feeling right now, much to my dismay.

"My garage isn't that big," I threw over my shoulder apologetically, as we walked the short distance from the townhouse to the shed-like building that housed my most precious possession.

Emmett simply shrugged, as unconcerned about that as he'd ever been. One of the reasons I'd loved Em was his laidback attitude. The only time I'd ever seen him truly rattled was the day I'd caught him in the classroom kissing Lauren Mallory.

Bad. Don't go there.

Good thing we'd reached the garage because I was now distracted by how close he stood as I pushed the garage opener and the door raised.

Emmett was immediately inside, prowling around the small space that the R32 didn't occupy.

"It's still gorgeous," he sighed.

I smirked at him. "That was unlikely to change."

He rose from the bent position he'd been in to peer inside the driver's window, and looked me straight on, his dark blue eyes boring into my lighter ones.

"Definitely," he said in a low and serious voice, "unlikely to change." It was hard to mistake that instead of my car, he was referring to me. I suppose I should have felt gratified that he still found me attractive. I certainly still found him way too good-looking. But instead of relief, I knew only a straight shot of panic as I felt my heartbeat accelerate.

An easy but charged silence built between us, as Emmett gave the R32 an incredibly careful and thorough examination. I had to counsel myself not to remember the way that Emmett had seduced me with that same controlled passion. I sighed and leaned against the wall. It was inevitable that I would remember. I'd never felt such incredible oneness and pleasure as I'd felt with him. Of course, I would die before I admitted it to him. He didn't have to know that his sex had pretty much ruined me for every other guy's.

"You've done a great job, Rosie," he finally admitted, running a hand carefully along one of the graceful sleek lines of the car.

"As good a job as you could have done?" I asked.

He only grinned.

"Guess not," I snapped back with annoyance.

"Rosie, seriously. It's a fabulous car, and you've done a magical job with it. But, this is my job, and it's just your hobby. There's a few propositions I might have for you." He'd fully circled the R32 now and came to a stop beside me. Way too close for comfort, I thought.

"Propositions?" My eyebrow lifted and his grin grew wider.

I felt the burning low in my stomach at his frankly sexual smile, and attempted to block my much wetter panties from my mind.

"You know. Propositions." Emmett stepped even closer and my heartbeat skittered out of control.

"What kind of propositions?" I asked, my voice growing quieter. We were on such dangerous ground now that I couldn't help but indulge. There was something about him that had always egged me on, and god damn him, he was doing it now, irregardless of what a truly awful idea it was.

"Let me draw up a few ideas and I'll run them by you. Just some performance-enhancers." His voice had never seemed more seductive to me than in that moment, and I probably would have done anything he'd asked of me: jumping off a bridge, trying crack, maybe even kissing him.

I didn't reply that I remembered all too well his lack of need for any performance-enhancers. His sexual ego was already large enough.

"Okay. We should probably get back to the house," I said, a little too breathlessly for my liking, "whenever you get the plans done, just email them to me and I'll take a look."

He glanced up at me from under heavy-lidded midnight blue eyes. "I'll make sure to do that."

"Good," I said, moving out of the garage, ready for this interlude to be over. I didn't know much more my heart or my panties could take.

"Okay," he said, smirking at me again as he followed me. I tried to reason with myself that he couldn't possibly know how flustered he made me. There was no way.

I clicked the button to shut the garage door and tried desperately not to imagine me plastered against him, my back to the wall, our hands and tongues exploring. . .

Rosalie! I yelled at myself, that is not helping at all.

EPOV

I had to get myself under control. From the moment I'd woken up this morning with the fantasy of a naked Bella playing through my head, I'd had little to zero finesse. I'd been attracted to women before—plenty of times—but never had I felt as if I were spiraling out of control.

Bella is going to be disgusted by you, I told myself, and that would be unbearable.

So when, after breakfast, we returned to her room by mutual silent agreement, I firmly told my hands to keep to themselves. No matter much my body screeched at me to take a stand and make her mine now this was neither the time nor the place.

Initially I'd come to see her because I wanted to get to know her better. Rolling around on the bed, intertwined in as many ways as possible, might be an extremely pleasant way to pass the time but it wouldn't bring me any real knowledge of what made her tick.

Bella closed the door with a decisive click and her eyes gleamed as they met mine. Uh oh.

For all my vaunted preaching, I hadn't taken into account that maybe Bella wanted the exact same thing that I was trying to resist. How on earth was I going to be able to help myself if she threw herself at me?

I would, I decided, just have to cut her off before we ever got going in that direction. After all, it was truly a desire of mine to get to know her better—that desire just often got overshadowed by my desire for her amazing body.

I hadn't had a chance to look about her bedroom earlier, but I took the time to do it now, my eyes roving over the neat white modern furniture and the funky colorful accessories she'd added to brighten it up. There was a row of pictures on the top of one the bookcases, and I walked over to examine them, feeling her eyes follow me as I moved.

The pictures were almost entirely of Alice, Rosalie and Bella, with the exception of one that featured an older man with a pretty woman who resembled Bella. Her parents, I thought.

My gaze fell lower on the shelves, to the books that were carefully arranged. There were a lot of them—clearly Bella was a reader, and from the look of it her taste varied widely from the classics to even romance novels and mysteries. Jane Austen and the Brontës joined Agatha Christie and Elizabeth George and Nora Roberts. Despite the latter, her library impressed me. Even I, upon occasion, needed a break from serious literature and would devour a Stephen King or a James Patterson novel. I could hardly hold the Nora Roberts against her.

"Are you done yet?" she asked, coming up behind me, amusement rife in her voice.

"Done with what?" I responded, as though what I was doing wasn't painfully obvious.

"Examining me."

I turned, and was surprised to find her very close to me, her beautiful brown eyes shining with mirth.

"I'm not examining you, necessarily. . ." I started to say, but my voice died as she ran her fingertips up the bare skin of my arm.

"You're just examining my things," she finished for me, her inquisitive hands feeling the strength of my shoulder now.

"Uh . . ." I could barely spit any words out, I was so distracted by how much I wanted her. The bed, my denied body purred, was only several feet away. It would be so easy.

I wrenched my body away from her, and I saw her face turn confused and almost embarrassed. I had to reassure her that none of me pulling away was her fault.

"Bella," I said soothingly, reaching a hand up to stroke her smooth cheek, "don't. It's not that I don't want you, I just want to get to know you more."

She shook her head slightly, her ponytail of thick hair bobbing along with her response. "Sometimes I don't think you're real, Edward," she said, in an almost awestruck voice.

"Oh, I am, believe me. I'd like nothing better than to continue right where we left off, but that doesn't help me get to know the real Bella any better."

She smiled wide. "You want to get to know me?"

"Of course, silly," I teased, tweaking her ear. Bella moved to her bed and sat on it, legs criss-crossed. For half a second, I thought about joining her then decided against it. Me, plus Bella, on a bed, was a bad idea all around if we actually wanted to talk and get to know each other.

"So you know all about me," I said, sitting down on her desk chair and propping my legs up on the bed, "tell me about you."

"Actually," Bella said, "I know barely anything about you. I only found about you four days ago."

"Just me or all of us?" I had to say I wasn't all that surprised. Rosalie wasn't the type to talk about her humiliation, even with someone who was a good friend, and Alice would have respected her wishes.

"All of you. I had no idea you existed at all." Bella sounded a bit perturbed by this and I felt immediately protective. I didn't want her to feel slighted or less important. I wanted her to feel secure and loved.

God, I thought, where had that thought come from?

"Bella, I don't think they didn't tell you because they wanted to exclude you. I can tell just how much you mean to Alice and Rose—they adore you. I think it's hard for Rose to tell anyone about Emmett because she felt so betrayed."

"As she should," Bella retorted.

I sighed. I could hardly argue with that.

"Listen," she said, reaching in the pocket of her sweatpants, "I want you to hear something."

"Okay. . ." I trailed off, not having a clue what it could be.

She pressed several buttons on her phone and handed it to me. "Listen to this."

I looked down on the screen and saw it was a video playing. There was nothing on the screen except some wavy blue lines. In fact, it kind of looked like bedding. Stupefied, I had no idea what to expect. Then a bad, a very bad thought hit me. What if Bella had. . .recorded . . .herself performing for me? Sexually?

I nearly dropped the phone. "Bella," I asked, with a voice thick with desire, "please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

She frowned. "What do you think it is?"

Suddenly, I was too embarrassed and too unsure to confide what I thought it was. I shook my head minutely and held the phone back towards her, hoping she'd take my temptation away from me. How was I supposed to possibly keep my hands off her if she kept up this form of persuasion? A monk wouldn't be able to resist.

"Just listen to it!" Bella said, pushing the phone back to me. "I don't have a vocal recording feature, so the video recorder was the best I could do."

Okay, so I wouldn't be able to see it but I was still going to hear her amazing little moans and groans. That was going to be the acutest form of torture. Put anything the Chinese could come up with to shame.

But as I tuned the rest of the crackling noise the speakers were making out, I began to hear something completely different than I'd been expecting. These weren't moans of pleasure, they were sobs!

Then I heard a voice and I knew it was Rosalie. Suddenly, everything made sense. Bella's choosing this particular moment to show me this, her insisting on me listening, and even what the blue squiggles meant. They were threads on a bedspread. Rosalie was sitting in bed, sobbing at how much she still hurt over Emmett.

I felt my heart plummet to the ground. If I'd been honest with myself, this was what worried me most of all. The solemn and serious expression in Bella's beautiful eyes lit a spark of worry in my heart.

Maybe I never should have admitted to her that the reason Emmett and Rosalie broke up was me. Maybe this was a tactical error from which I couldn't recover. I knew how loyal Alice and Rosalie were—they would never a pick a friend who wasn't equally loyal.

"I just wanted you to know," she said to me, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them, "what you really did to her. And this is six years later, even."

"It was wrong, I know." What else could I say? Please don't dump me before I can even make you mine over a mistake I made six years ago?

"If I didn't really believe that you had their best interests at heart, I'd never let you do this, but I can see how good this is for Rosalie, and even for Alice. I just wanted you to really understand."

I nodded. She might be annoyed with something that my younger self had done, but she wasn't going to throw me out for it. Thank god.

"So tell me about yourself," I asked again, handing back the cell phone and feeling an immense relief that the worst that had happened was that I now felt even guiltier about six years ago.

Bella shrugged. "There's not much to tell. I grew up in Phoenix. You saw the picture of my mom and dad. I'm an only child. I went to University of Portland where I met Alice and then Rosalie. Now I work selling medical equipment."

"Your major was literature?"

A smile broke over her face. "How did you know?"

"All the books."

She giggled, and it turned me on so much I could barely resist jumping on the bed and ravishing her. What was it about this girl that shredded my self control so completely? I was beginning to suspect I wasn't ever going to figure it out.

"Yep," she smirked at me, "Alice and Rose still can't believe all the books I have."

"You do have quite an extensive collection," I said, taking in the several large bookshelves in the room—all packed full.

"Alice keeps saying I should sell them back to Powell's or something, and get the money for clothes."

"Alice would say that," I said, smiling.

"But I couldn't, you know? They're all like. . .friends."

Was there anything not absolutely fucking adorable about this girl? I was rapidly running out of reasons to not jump in bed with her.

"Favorite music?"

"Oh, I like a bit of everything. Rock, pop, that sort of thing."

"No, 'that sort of thing,' about it. You're going to have to be more specific than that." I encouraged her with a grin.

"Well, I love John Mayer," she said, and I had to force myself not to make gagging noises. Of course she liked that douchebag.

"I love the Donnas, and Muse. . .the Hives. . ." she rambled on, almost as if she were going through a list in her head.

"If you're trying to discourage me," I laughed at her, "it's not working. Muse is brilliant, and one of my favorites too."

"Really?" she asked, perking up.

"Oh yeah. Absolution is brilliant."

"That's their best album," she agreed and I couldn't help but beam at her.

"What about you?" she asked, turning the tables, "what do you like?"

"Oh, a bit of everything," I imitated her almost perfectly, causing Bella to frown momentarily then burst out laughing.

"You jerk!" she exclaimed, but she was clearly not angry at all. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I'd made her laugh and I hadn't tried once to seduce her so far.

"Well, really, I do like all kinds of music. Except country. Country makes me want to use someone's intestines for guitar strings."

She guffawed some more at that, and I felt like I was on a roll. I couldn't remember ever having this much fun with a girl or sharing this much chemistry.

"I hate country too," she confided, leaning towards me and tempting me with her lips.

Maybe, I thought, it would be okay to give her one kiss. Just one. For the road.

"I should probably be getting going," I said reluctantly, getting up from the chair, "I'm sure that Emmett and Jasper are getting antsy."

"Yeah," Bella said, climbing off the bed and joining me by the door. If I wasn't mistaken, she looked just about as disappointed as I felt. Excellent.

"Do you want to say goodbye to me here, or in front of everyone?"

That brought a huge smile to her face, and before I could even take it all in, she tackled me, grabbing me and pulling me toward her.

I'd never particularly liked aggressive girls, but there was just something innocent yet dirty about Bella that made me like everything about her. Especially the way that she threw her whole soul into kissing me.

My tongue drifted over hers, and I let my hands wander some, probably more than was prudent, but I couldn't seem to help myself. They stopped just under the curve of her breast, and I nearly panted into her mouth with the restraint. Finally, I broke the kiss and moved away a little, before I devoured her all over again.

"Bye," she said breathlessly and I opened the door, extremely reluctantly, not wanting to leave this cocoon that we'd enjoyed so much and re-enter the real world.

"I'll see you soon, hopefully?" I asked, and she nodded, enthusiastically.

"Great. Bye, Bella," I said, giving her one last kiss before I had to drag myself down the hallway to find my brothers.

as always, reviews equal MORE WRITING