8
If I burned the candle at both ends before Edward, at least there was a rest in the middle—a few hours between class and work to catch my breath and organize my thoughts. Now, it seems as if every spare breath and thought I have belong to Edward. Not that I'm complaining.
I can't help but muse that my mother would find this whole situation immensely amusing. She, who always loved to say, "Now, Bella, a man won't chase a bus he's already caught," would get a good chuckle out of the fact that it is Edward who manages to stay just out of reach while pursuing me with remarkable determination. I'm not a game to him; he isn't playing hard to get. In fact, he's pretty damn clear that I've already "gotten" him—in every way but one.
And that one holdout is driving me nuts.
I know Edward wants me; he's told me as much. But there's some set of rules in his head about what should happen when, and I'm not privy to the particulars. All I know is that when a limit is approached, he cuts me off like a boozed-up bar patron.
Last night's incident in his studio set us back big time. Poor Edward, barely able to kiss me on the lips when he dropped me back home, as if he had to average out the "porn shoot" with a chaste kiss to set us back on second-date track.
The tortured texts I woke to this morning tell me Edward spent a rough night beating himself up further:
I confess I did look through all the pictures this morning, but only to copy all the photos to a flash drive for you and delete off my camera and the cloud.
Kept this one for my phone *wink* [Here, Edward attached a pure head shot of me.]
Can I see you before Thursday? Free after class today?
The only way I can figure to ease his mind is to go with his flow and not seem overly eager to move forward faster than he is comfortable. It won't be easy. Old School grows hotter by the minute, and his old-fashioned courting routine might just break me.
Holy hell! Did he have to show up here at the library entrance, wearing his Meatloaf Monday blazer and holding his cheer-up-Mom bouquet of the week? So not fair.
I rise slowly from the library steps, imagining my feet tied to massive stone blocks so I don't leap forward and tackle the man to the ground. Despite an early alarm and a boring-ass lecture on supply-and-demand curves, I am a lightning rod waiting for his spark—and there it is: that jolt of recognition when he first sees me. His gorgeous smile breaks across his gorgeous face, sending shivers up and down my spine. Will I ever not respond this way to him? I can't imagine it.
I'm giddy before he even takes my hand; his soft kiss on my cheek makes me swoon. "Hello, beautiful."
"Hello, handsome." I think I might be nauseating, and I don't even give a shit. "Those tulips are so pretty. Your mom is going to love them."
"They're not for my mom." Hello, dimple.
"No? You got another girl at Shady Acres?"
"I got another girl right here," he says, pressing the cellophane to my chest.
"These are for me?" He nods. "What's your mother going to say when you show up empty-handed? First, the umbrella; now, her flowers. She's going to think I'm just after you for your stuff."
He leans in and whispers into my ear. "I'm going to pick her up an orchid in the gift shop."
Did I just beat out Mother Cullen for the choice bouquet?
"Ha! Good thing I'm not the jealous type, or I'd start to wonder about you and every florist in town!"
The way he says, "Mmhmm," confirms I have zero to worry about, florist or not.
"So, how was Professor Monotone today?"
"Thrilling, as usual."
"Excellent." He fidgets with something inside his front pocket, and I realize he's turning the USB stick—his reason for meeting me here—over and over between his fingers. "Were you heading inside to study, or do you have time for a cup of coffee?"
"Is that a trick question?" I throw my backpack over one shoulder, and Old School promptly removes it and slings it over his back, offering me his arm. "Okay, fine. Take it," I grumble cheerfully, as if Old School would ever let me carry my own bag.
"This is so light! Aren't there any books in here?"
"Nope, just my laptop… and my uniform."
"Oh! No wonder it weighs nothing!" He doesn't even try to contain his smirk. I think about punching his arm, but last time I tried that, I came away with sore knuckles.
"Shush, you!"
He tucks his arm—and me—closer into his side. "So, I've been thinking about Thursday…" I catch his smile in profile. It's Monday, and he's thinking about our date three days away.
"Very smooth shift of topic there. Yes?"
"I know it's a little cheesy, but I thought maybe we could head down to the pier and check out all those tacky tourist attractions?"
"I kind of love that idea. Can we hit Madame Tussaud's?"
"Only if you'll do Ripley's."
"Deal."
"Perfect. Crabs or Mexican?"
"Crabs could be entertaining." Getting down and dirty with Edward and hammers and a pile of crabs tossed onto brown paper-covered tables? Hell yes.
He turns to regard me head-on. Even through his sunglasses, I can see his eyes dancing. "I'll book us at the Crab House. And for dessert…"
"Apple cider doughnuts from the street vendors!"
"How'd you know?" He's grinning so hard, the smile ripples meet his ears.
"Wild guess."
He stops just in front of the coffee shop door. "Is it bad that you know all my secrets already?"
I could mention exactly what I don't know: how he looks with his clothes off, exactly how he moves that body I crave so hard, what kind of sounds he makes in the throes of passion. What are his fantasies? How do I touch him to drive him wild?
But I've made a pact with myself to put all those thoughts right out of my head. Or at least pretend to.
I cup his cheek and give him a little love tap. "Yep, it's all downhill from here."
As he pulls the door open for me, he shakes his head and chuckles—it's a good look on him. We both have the same idea when we see a small out-of-the-way table in the corner.
I claim the seat with its back to two walls, all the better for viewing naked pictures of myself. He drapes the strap of my backpack over my chair. "The chocolate croissants are really good here."
"How are you not five hundred pounds?" I ask. "Or are you wearing Spanx?"
He shakes a finger at me. "There you go again… always thinking about my underwear."
One of these days, I think, but say nothing.
"What can I get you?"
"How about a large black coffee and that stick in your pocket?"
Oops. I said that.
And he heard it, judging by the scratchy throat-clearing, the you-naughty-girl lift of his brow, and quick shake of his head. Edward's hand dives into his pocket. The flash drive appears on the table, his finger firmly on top of it.
"Normally, we'd go over these together, you know, if this had been an actual shoot." He lifts his finger as if it weighs thirty pounds, sighs, and stuffs his hand back into his pocket. "But as I said, this is everything, and it's all yours to keep."
I place my palm on top of the precious files. "Thank you."
He forces a smile. "I'm gonna go get that coffee now."
My curiosity is through the roof. I whip out my laptop and hold my breath while the files download in a fast-forward retelling of our ill-fated evening.
Wow. There I am, all right, in all my full-color glory, head-to-toe coverage in a few, but loads of close-ups, too. Even in the wider angle shots, I barely recognize myself—that feeling of wild abandon coming through with startling clarity. The camera lens—no, Edward—seeing straight into my soul and reflecting it back to me. Just the way he described it to me.
I know I'm one of the lucky ones—blessed with good genes and a healthy attitude toward my body, once I passed through that awkward too-tall-for-every-boy-in-the-class stage. I may not be an expert at relationships, but the physical dimension has never been a problem for me. Not that I strip off my clothes for every Tom, Dick, and Harry, and I've certainly never considered posing like this for anyone else, but I'm not conflicted about how I earn my tips.
Still, there's a far cry between unconflicted and stoked. Reviewing these pictures, there's no question how much I enjoyed posing nude for the camera or how incredibly talented Edward is.
A loud throat-clearing signals Edward's return. He stands awkwardly, holding the coffee—just one—on the opposite side of the table. His cheeks are pink, which could be from the hot drink at his chin, but more likely my boyfriend is blushing.
He sets down my coffee at a safe distance from my computer, then sinks into the seat across from me. Experience has taught me when the guy on the other side of the bar is not going to initiate the conversation, and Edward is clearly in that place.
I have a bit of a hard time finding the right words myself.
"Edward, these are… Does it sound conceited if I say these pictures are just gorgeous? Because I don't mean I'm gorgeous, but—"
"You are spectacular, Bella." He looks relieved to have had the excuse to tell me so.
Now I'm the one who has to look away.
He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his, still toasty-warm from the hot drink. "I'm glad you can see what I saw in those photos, what I felt in that room with you. We have some mad chemistry together."
"I figured you made everyone feel that way—being your super power and all. It was just so easy to let go with you. You know I've never done anything like this before, right?"
He huffs. "Neither have I."
Color me confused. "Huh?"
"Bella, I really hope you don't think for one moment that's how I conduct myself with my clients."
"No, of course not. I know you're the consummate professional. But what about with a… non-client female?" It already pains me to consider him with another woman.
"God, no. I've never brought a date into my studio before. Of course," he says with a soft chuckle, "I've never made coq au vin before either."
"Let's blame the whole thing on the coq."
"While I appreciate the compliment… on my cooking… it really was you. You're so comfortable in your own skin, you can't help but radiate that kind of energy. Clearly, I fed off that, and the fact that you're perfect…"
"Edward, stop, please."
He smiles, drawing his thumb across my knuckles. "Okay. But can I tell you that if these photos weren't so intimate, I'd want to show them in a gallery somewhere?" His wistful smile tugs at my heart. "One more thing, and then I promise I will stop. Those fifteen minutes with you on the other side of my camera were the easiest I've ever had. I've been doing this long enough to know what true inspiration feels like and exactly how rare it is. I just want to say thank you for that."
My eyes fill with tears. This man. How did I get so damn lucky?
Before I can even begin to express my gratitude, he kisses me on the cheek and stands up to leave. "I've got to run. Meatloaf waits for no man."
Somehow, I have a feeling he's wrong. I think they'd wait for Umbrella Man. "Say hi to Mom for me."
He turns back to wink. I melt.
###
Author's Note: Yes, let's blame the coq! Wow, you guys blew me away with your thoughtful reviews on the last chapter. Whether you know it or not, your questions/insights/challenges help me see the story in a new light. I frequently tweak future chapters based on your input, as I did with this one after reading your comments on chapter 7. Isn't it cool to know that the story would literally not be the same without you guys? Hey, I know what true inspiration feels like too! Thank you for being mine.
X's and O's to my girl Pa Trizia for giving her heart to this story.
XXX ~BOH
