5
Old School's idea of casual is white linen cloths and a wine list thicker than the bible. Obviously, he deserves to be teased.
"I can't believe this place calls itself a restaurant, and there is not a single chicken wing on the menu."
He lowers his menu binder to the table. "I think the Statler chicken has a drumette if you're really feeling homesick."
"Actually that sounds pretty good, but so do the veal chop and the swordfish and the pumpkin tortellini."
Edward folds his hands on top of the menu and gives me one of his trying-to-figure-you-out stares. "Are you one of those girls who says she's starved and then eats two bites and says she's stuffed?"
"I wish! No, I'm the girl who finishes pretty much everything in front of her and then orders dessert."
His grin widens. "My kinda gal."
He proceeds to order the tortellini for us to share as an appetizer and a bottle of pinot noir we sure as shit don't sell at Hooters. By the time I get three-quarters into my swordfish, I'm stuffed to the gills.
"I hope you won't be too disappointed in me if I can't handle dessert."
"Suit yourself, but I'm ordering the donut holes."
"Like Munchkins?"
"Munchkins? That's like comparing an Annie Leibovitz to a bathroom selfie!" It seems I have pushed a button. He is adorably passionate all of a sudden.
"So that would be a 'no'?"
"These donut holes come out piping hot from the kitchen, crispy on the outside, tender and caky on the inside, rolled in cinnamon sugar, and served with a side of hot fudge dipping sauce. Does that sound like something you'd get at a rest stop on the highway?"
"What it sounds like is a person getting all hot and bothered over there."
"Just sayin'." Fuck. That dimple.
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier so I could have saved room?"
"My bad."
"Yeah, you don't look sorry at all."
Edward flags down the waiter and places the order. When the donuts arrive, steam and deep-fried goodness rising from their wire basket, Edward lights up. I have a feeling I'm about to see his "O" face.
"Would you like to be alone with your donut holes?"
"Nope." He plucks one out of the basket, dips it into the hot fudge sauce, and holds it over the dish while the excess chocolate drips off.
I'm literally on the edge of my seat, anticipating his first taste, but I should have known better. That's not Old School's style.
"Ladies first." He reaches across the table with the donut between two fingers and a look of wild yearning on his face. "No pressure," he says.
I'm powerless in the face of this man and his decadent pastry. "I hate you right now," I inform him before leaning in for a taste.
Okay, the donut is fucking ridiculous—warm chocolate giving way to the slight crackle of sweet crust against my teeth—but the best part is the expression of pure joy on his face as he watches me. This is a man who truly delights in giving pleasure. I let that sink in as I savor the tastes lingering on my tongue.
I kind of love that he doesn't ruin the moment by demanding any declaration from me afterward. There's no I-told-you-so, no hasty offer of another bite that would only cheapen the first. Instead, in what might be his sexiest move yet, Edward dips what's left of the donut hole back into the hot fudge, closes his eyes, and places the whole thing onto his tongue. He chews deliberately, as if committing every sensation to memory. I'm completely mesmerized by his appreciation of that single bite of food.
It seems a major effort when his eyelids finally open, and his mouth eases into a lazy smile. He looks so happily spent. Fuck me.
He pulls his napkin from his lap and wipes off the powdery, chocolatey mess from his fingers. Damn, one of us could've licked those clean. What a waste.
"So," he asks, "what do you think?"
I think he's sexy as fuck, but I haven't downed enough wine to tell him so.
"You double dipped."
His whole face smiles. "Seeing as I'm planning to kiss you as soon as we get outside, I'm not too worried about exchanging germs."
Gah! I'm sure there's a proper response, but all that comes out of my mouth is, "Oh."
He chuckles. "Would you care for another bite?"
"Um, have you seen my uniform? Where am I gonna hide a donut hole?"
I can't blame him for lowering his gaze to my chest. "I assume that was rhetorical."
"Yes. And speaking of uniforms..."
"Yes?"
"Why do I get the feeling you don't want to tell me what you do for a living?"
"Ahhh." He places his credit card inside the leather folio. I wouldn't insult a man like Edward by offering to go Dutch. "Do you think we could save that conversation for our second date?"
"Second date, huh? Very crafty, Mr. Cullen… or is it Doctor Cullen?"
"Just 'mister.'" He dabs his grin with the balled-up napkin. "I'm not trying to be crafty at all. It's just that once I made up my mind I was going to kiss you, I haven't really been able to concentrate on anything else."
Gulp. "And when was that momentous decision made?"
"Well, I knew for sure when Mrs. Cope opened the door tonight, but if I'm being totally honest here"—he pauses; I lean in—"I've been hoping ever since I got a good look at you on the bus."
Likewise, I'm sure, Mr. Cullen. "Huh."
Oh yeah, I am cool as a cucumber… until I jump out of my seat, foiling Old School's attempt to pull out my chair for me. This manners thing will take some getting used to. His gentle, guiding hand at my back scoots comfortably around my waist, and I float more than walk out the door.
Edward's pace picks up as he steers me toward his car. All I can think about is how his lips will feel on mine. I'm giddy by the time he spins me around in his arms, my back pressed to his car, and his mouth inches from mine. The air between us is so charged, I'm surprised I don't see sparks when his fingertips touch my cheek.
As quickly as we got here, everything slows. He steps close enough that I can see the rise and fall of his chest. His smile yields to something much more serious—awe, maybe? Fear of being consumed by desire? His trembling fingers leave a wake of chills as they skim through my hair, cup the back of my head, and draw me toward his mouth.
"May I kiss you, Bella?"
I open my mouth to answer, but I can't produce more than an embarrassing moan. Hey, I'm lucky I can still stand up.
"I really hope that's a yes," he whispers.
We breathe in sync—in, out, in, out—and then, we don't breathe at all. He presses his lips to mine, and we share the most effortless kiss I have ever experienced. Gentle and elegant and warm and sweet and chocolate-cinnamon delicious.
I lace my hands together behind his neck and hang on for dear life. He rocks us ever so slowly; we breathe as a single being, open our lips for a deeper connection, settle into a better fit.
Time and place lose all meaning. All that matters is this intimate conversation, our tongues passing secrets back and forth.
He pulls back from our kiss, that same glazed, post-donut-hole hangover settled into his eyes. Mine must look the same.
He looks as if he might say something, then gives his head a little shake. "Wow, can I just..." He dips in for another sweet kiss, and our lips try to hold onto it even when he backs away. "Oh, man."
I clear my throat instead of trying to say something that's just gonna come out like a big ol' squeak.
"I think I better take you home now," he says.
Before we can't stop ourselves.
Neither of us knows quite what to say when we get back inside the car. Riding next to him is torture when all I want is more kisses and more Edward. I can't stop staring at his face. I don't know when I'll see him again, and I don't want to forget a single whisker.
The hell with pride. I pull out my phone. "Do you mind if I take your picture?"
He turns to see if I'm serious. "Right now?"
"Yeah."
"Knock yourself out."
It's dark in the car, and the road is bumpy. The pictures are awful.
"Might want to put the flash on."
"I didn't want to scare you while you're driving."
"I'd be more scared if you walked away with a horrible picture of me. You might not say yes when I ask you out again."
He's smiling so hard, that dimple is a sitting duck. Click! The car lights up with the flash.
"You're right; that's much better. But then, I'm pretty sure I could have taken an upside-down picture of your left elbow, and I'd still say yes."
"In that case, let's lock this up right now. When is your next night off?"
"Sunday."
"Shit, really? That's four days from now." There's that adorable pout again, but this time I think he means it.
"I know."
"May I cook dinner for you on Sunday, Bella?"
"That depends. Are you a good cook?"
"No," he says sheepishly, "but we'll be alone."
"Sounds perfect."
"Aren't you going to put that in your phone?"
"Why?" I giggle. "Do you think I'm going to forget?"
"Don't worry. I'll remind you. A few times."
A happy buzz follows us home. Edward leaves the car running as he skips around to open my door. I take his hand, and he draws me out of the car and straight into a goodnight kiss.
He weaves his fingers between mine and walks me to the front stoop. I so want to drag Edward inside with me, but that's not how Old School rolls.
He wraps his arms around me in a close hug. This works—even though every part of me wants every part of him.
"Thank you, Edward. I had a really nice time tonight."
"Me, too, Bella."
###
Author's Note: Ahh, the first kiss. Something—writer's intuition?—tells me it won't be their last.
Loads of tinkering has happened here [Did you one-shot readers see what DIDN'T happen this time? SHHH!], so it feels like a good time to reiterate that ALL mistakes belong to me, especially going forward (where Chayasara hasn't seen the new versions) but also going back. Apparently, I accidentally erased part of chapter one's final line while posting, so those of you who read it before I fixed it and wondered what the hell happened there (no period, even!?) can go back and see what Bella said to Edward as she exited the bus. If you see a booboo, I always appreciate hearing about it (privately is better *wink*). But critiquer beware, you might just end up on my "list" for next time!
XXX ~BOH
