A/N: Well hello again! I know that Yoga said this in the last chapter, but I wanted to take the time to thank both lexiecullen17 and araeo for their incredible support through recs within their fics. I read them both religiously, and that you, as a reader, trusted their judgment and came over here... is beyond words.
Seriously, the love through alerts, reviews, hell even lurkers, is UNREAL. Thank you. So, so much. Really, I'm beyond words with this. Did I say that already? Who gives a crap, it's true.
To lexiecullen17, her beta mastery knows no bounds. I gave her this chapter, and I got it back from her within not only the same night, but barely few hours. That, right there, is cause for boob gropes, and copious amounts of alcohol.
Things are a LITTLE different this time around. I hope you enjoy it.
Now, I own a lot of shit, mainly biology textbooks and far too many cat treats, but I can say without a doubt, that I really don't own Twilight. The story would have been much different. JS.
Without further ado, I give you, Hackerward!
"Branch to Fishkill"
The guy in CVS was staring at me like I must have been the single most idiotic person on the fucking planet. Maybe it was because I had been standing in the fucking gum section for fifty-seven minutes.
I screamed at "Brock," or "Trey," or "Guy," or motherfucking "Soybean…" or whatever the fuck this pimply, new-age emo boy in girl pants' name was - in my mind - telling him to shove that black nail polish bottle straight up his ass and to stop looking at me. Apparently, Captain "My Girlfriend Left Me So I Cry With My Guitar," didn't grasp the enormity that was purchasing my particular items for a certain brunette.
Seriously Mr. I Bleed to See Color Since My Soul is Black, you don't get it. This is going to I-s-a-b-e-l-l-a.
Since I was in the same predicament as Dr. Evil, and I couldn't have sharks with laser beams attached to their heads at my disposalto kill off my mortal fucking enemy at the counter, I turned back to the merchandise on the shelf with renewed interest.
Okay, so I already had grape…
There were just so many fucking choices. Bubble bum, chewing gum, teeth-whitening gum, gum with crystals, gum with shit in the middle for a burst of fucking flavor, gum in the shape of band-aids...
No band-aids, you don't want her to think that you are going to injure her, fucking stupid ass. Bad omen sending, motherfucker.
The grape was safe. She had left me that as an adhesive collection of her DNA and a note written in mascara. I mean, if she had left me a note written in women's beauty products, she must not care about them, right? So, sending her the gum made sense. It did.
My logic was perfect.
As of right now, there were five different companies that made grape bubble gum. And, after much poking and prodding, I'd discovered that only three of the five companies produced a product of equal size to the piece of gum that was left on my door. By Isabella. The insanely hot brunette.
No, I didn't save it, you assholes. I have a fucking photographic memory. I'm not pulling some creepy "Hey Arnold!" or "Silence of the Lambs" crap and making a fucking shrine out of her various "pieces" and possessions. I'm fucking civilized.
Two hundred, twenty-seven different types of gum were all screaming in their packages for me to pick them, and each one had their own shittastic campaign tactics, worse than Sarah fucking Palin and her walking tombstone of a running mate.
Yes, I'm a fucking democrat. Get over it. I wonder if Isabella is a Democrat… I mean, could I date a Republican? She already can't spell "vegetarian…"
Regardless of her spelling errors, Isabella was an animal lover with a rockin' fucking bod, so I didn't give a shit about what side of the arrow she fell on... Just as long as she fell on mine.
Stop thinking about sex, dumbass! Just buy the fucking gum before the fucking post office closes.
Thirty-eight minutes of further debate, three algorithms, and four statistical analyses of the gum selection later, I'd finally settled on five different choices to send to Isabella with my shitty cop-out of a note along with her mail.
"Find everything okay?" the little emo boygirl asked once I made it to the counter.
"Yeah, fine," I answered, praying that this asshole didn't want to make fucking conversation. I was on a fucking mission.
Operation "Return Hottie Mail Thus Winning Affection and Entrance to Pants" was in full effect.
"You were over there for a long time. Did you need help or anything?"
"Clearly not, since I'm buying this now. I'm in kind of a rush, though…"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Dude, I just have one question. Oh, and that'll be $10.58."
"What's your question?" I asked angrily, while fishing the money out of my wallet and handing it over.
"How do you get your hair like that?"
I stared, probably resembling one of those mounted singing fish that assholes in trailer parks hang on their walls as flashy décor. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah, man. I've been tryin' to rock that hairstyle forever. It's so in right now. How do you do it?" he asked, handing me back my change.
"Uh, no clue."
Grabbing the bag off the counter, I hastily retreated to the exit.
Store number one on my "I can never return here again" list in my new neighborhood. Fucking wonderful.
-- ~ --
Linux and I had been in the apartment for two days, and while the cabbage smell was better than it was when I first opened the door to this place, there was still the underlying scent of old vegetables permeating the apartment. Then again, the smell was significantly more tolerable than the constant vision of my mother's naked breasts and my father's sack, so living here was already five hundred levels of fucking better than living at home. No, not at home. Better than living at my parent's house. This was home now.
And Linux, well, she was happy as shit. Since I couldn't bear the thought of a fucking roommate, the second bedroom was a space for my computers and all her various cat contraptions. I didn't have a fucking girlfriend, but I did have my girl, and I spoiled her every fucking chance I got.
A cat castle, a fucking carpeted jungle gym, her litter box that was fancier than some of the cardboard homes I'd see people living in on the street, and all of her toys blanketed the majority of space within the room. I'd even gone as far as to tie a long string and a ball of aluminum foil to the ceiling fan so she would be entertained while I was working. Or watching porn. Both occurred at these computers.
Also, when your cat watches you jack off, you tend to get a little shy. Ever since she had mistakenly taken my up/down motions as a cue to come closer, and then my dick had become an accidental scratching post, I'd made sure that she was either not in the room or completely enthralled in another activity.
We hadn't had an incident since, and my dick made a full recovery.
Chicks dig faint scars too, right?
Sitting down in my computer chair, I opened up Twitter, as it had been a few days since my ass tweeted while high, and that was the dumbest thing I could have done. Part of me was too afraid to check Isabella's account to see if she might have possibly gotten the package with her mail. Or if she would even mention it. I knew I could have fucking checked the tracking numbers, so I did that instead. That made more sense. There was no guarantee that she would even write about her mail. Or the note. Or the gum. Checking for my balls with a quick grab, and since they were still there, I "manned" up and updated, before checking to see if Isabella had written anything else.
I am man… hear me… squeak?!
I nearly jumped out of my seat when I looked at her profile to find a tweet I hadn't seen before. Actually, I'd discovered a multitude of tweets to my account And I. Hadn't. Written. Them.
There were responses.
With a picture of me.
And if I read correctly, she thought I was attractive. And had used the words "stroke" and "pussy" within the same sentence.
That's… NOT about a cat.
My dick loved this new development, and I shifted in my chair to make things more comfortable. Jeans and erections do not play well together in the same sandbox.
And Emmett admitted I had no fucking clue what I was doing with women? With a dick deflating faster than a tire with a nail, my phone was in my hand, ringing Emmett's ridiculous ringback tone before I could even register what I had done.
"What up, bro? We still on this week for the game? You need to come."
"Oh yeah, asshole? I need to come to the game? Is that because you sold my ass out faster than a trashy mag and the latest Senator affair scandal? What the fuck, Emmett? You couldn't leave shit alone, could you? What the fuck were you thinking? Do you realize what you've done?" I was screaming, and Linux was hissing, but I couldn't find it in me to care. He'd just ruined any chance I'd had with Isabella. While embarrassing me. I could have killed him.
"Slow down, Edward. Seriously. Slow the fuck down. I was helping you out! We both know that you would have cyber-stalked her ass forever and wouldn't have done shit about it! I mean, you could have brought her mail over, but you sent it like a dumbass! And did you give her your name? Does she know? You've royally fucked shit up, and I'm trying to get you out of the mess you're in! You need to fucking come clean about how you know her before you can even pretend to date the girl. And, I found out that she's interested in you, fuck you very much. Would you have known that otherwise? The answer to that is 'no,' Edward. So, fuck you for calling like an angry ass when you should be fucking thanking me for getting you an in."
"Emmett, you know that I can't do this. I'm just not…" I trailed off, embarrassed and too afraid to admit my failures. I might have graduated as the valedictorian at MIT, but when it came to social situations, I was the most clueless person on the planet.
"Listen, bro. I'm going to help you out, but you need to come to the game and at least try and talk to her. And hear me now, little brother, if you don't tell her, know this. I. Will. Tell. Her. Everything. And I mean everything. Finding her picture, looking at her transcripts, stalking her Twitter and address. I'll fucking tell her if you don't. So, if you know what's good for you, you'll come. If you want a chance, you'll be there. Two days, brother. Two days."
My heart stopped in my chest. I was terrified. If he told her everything, she could not only report me to the Police, but I would get in serious trouble. Maybe she would understand. From what I'd learned about Isabella, and there wasn't much I didn't know, she seemed like a wonderful girl. And for the first time, I regretted looking into someone's background without their knowledge.
"Emmett," I croaked, holding back emotion, since guys weren't supposed to deal with that shit, and I felt like a fucking pansy. My eyes welled up with frustrated moisture. With a deep breath, I continued, "Tell me how to make this right. I'm so lost here, and I need your help."
"Edward?" His voice was the softest I'd ever heard it.
"Yeah?"
"I've been waiting twenty-five years for you to say that."
"Well, I've got my big girl panties on, so teach me the ways of the world, oh wise one."
"See, what you need to do is…"
Emmett and I spoke for hours, and I could finally admit that I was grateful for my parents' humping tendencies when they created him in the back of the limo on the way to the airport for their honeymoon.
During our conversation, a ray of light came in a few words from Isabella's Twitter account. Whether I thought the reaction was good or not, Emmett assured me that the words posted were positive.
She was thinking about me.
NoSleepTill718: I know there's a warning about taking candy from a stranger. But what about gum?
Not only was Isabella gorgeous, and smart… She. Was. Thinking. About. Me.
And she seemed to be wary of taking candy from a stranger. With those few words, she stuck another invisible piece of bubble gum to the side of my heart.
I reached down to check for my dick once more before heading into the shower.
Yep, still there.
-- ~ --
I hated that Emmett had my fucking number, and sure enough, like the social pariah I was, I found myself under a damn tree with my laptop while the guys were playing basketball. As the steroid-team expressed their testosterone through sweat and hand-eye coordination, I did as well… just through different means…
Camping might have been illegal in Central Park, but my tent was pitched.
Taking to stalking Isabella's Twitter feed while I was supposed to be watching the game, and "subtly looking for her," wasn't going too well. My gaze darted to every entrance of the courts on a constant loop; I must have looked like a fucking owl with how wide my eyes were.
Then again, you would have done the same damn thing. She had been everywhere for the past few days. Anytime I left the safety of my damn apartment, I could swear that any brunette was actually Isabella. And me, having the stealth capabilities of Mt. Everest being planted in the Mojave desert, would run in the other direction.
Turning back to the computer, I reread the last two tweets she made with a smile on my face.
NoSleepTill718: Sometimes I feel like a Barbie Doll when Alice takes me shopping. Although I wouldn't topple over from my boob size.
Boobs and mathematical references. There was no way Isabella could have gotten any better. Until, of course, I read the next tweet in the timeline.
NoSleepTill718: Warning: eating an entire box of Thin Mints can cause the sugar shakes.
Girl Scout cookies were my weakness. One, I could never turn away people asking for something, since I had no backbone as Emmett pointed out. That, and when I was at my parents' house, there was no way I was going to subject young girls to the sexscapades happening on the property. I would quickly order far more Thin Mints than any human should ever consume, and then send them on their way.
Two, Girl Scouts wore uniforms. If I thought about uniforms, I thought about the little catholic school girl outfits. That would, without a doubt, lead me to thinking of Isabella in a tight, plaid, sock to the knees, skirt looking…
Fuck. Now I'm not only hard, but I'm fucking panting in public. I'm such a fucking weirdo.
I looked at the computer's clock, realizing that Emmett and I had gotten to the park almost an hour ago, and I was convinced that she wasn't coming. He told me not to get my hopes up because there was a chance that she wouldn't show. My dick, much like my soul, shriveled up and hid in shame and rejection.
The game paused for a moment, and Emmett ran over to me, a somber expression on his face. "Hey, Edward. You okay?" He sounded surprisingly concerned.
"Yeah," I replied, running my fingers along the top of my computer. "No big deal, right? I mean, I shouldn't be surprised. Or shocked. I'm not the kind of person that someone would go out of their way to meet, you know?"
"Edward," Emmett started, squatting a little too close for my liking. "It's not the end of the world. Maybe it wasn't meant to happen this way. We'll find a way to make this work, alright? Just hang in there.
"Thanks, Emmett. I'm fine. Go back to the game." He looked like he was about to speak, and I cut him off. "Your balls are far too close to me right now. Incest is illegal. Go away."
"You're a dick."
I watched as he ran back to the court, spoke to the guys for a moment, and they all turned to look at me. Great. So, he had told them all about Isabella. I felt even more like a social outcast than usual.
Figuring that I could at least attempt to get some work done, I turned back to my computer and started working on an algorithm for my newest client. It didn't take long for me to get lost in a sea of numbers and keystrokes.
"Is that him?" a girly voice said, and my ears perked up.
"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Emmett's voice called out, and I looked up to watch the happenings on the court, doing my best not to turn my head in the direction of the girly voice. I heard muffled whispers, and I couldn't fight the urge to look any longer.
And there she was.
She was, hands down, the single most exquisite creature I'd ever seen.
They say that pictures don't usually do people justice, and I couldn't have agreed more. My dick was on board with the thought as well, since he perked the fuck up to say hello. I groaned in pain as my hard-on turned into a Rock 'Em, Sock 'Em robot within my fucking pants. Shifting slightly, I tried to ease the pressure from the involuntary twitching like someone with Tourette's, but nothing worked. I couldn't take my eyes off her. But, I remembered what Emmett said the other day on the phone. "Don't look at her too much. Let her look at you. Let her appraise the goods, man. Appraise the goods. You know, like, when you buy a car or some shit. Gotta look at it from the outside before you take it for a test drive. You figure out whether it'll look good on you."
Would I look good on Isabella? The monster in my fucking pants thought so. The head on my shoulders agreed.
A lot.
I remained "aloof" and let Isabella stare, or I assumed she was staring, since the hairs on the back of my neck stood up like I had just pissed myself on stage and everyone was looking. Instead of glancing at her, I turned my eyes to the court and watched the game for about point four seconds before looking at my computer screen. That was easier. Not even the numbers could keep me occupied, though, so I opened a blank word document and started typing.
Don't stare at Isabella.
Don't stare at Isabella.
Don't stare at Isabella.
Don't stare at Isa
My eyes looked up at the sound of giggling from her direction. There were three girls, but my eyes only saw one. She wasn't looking at me, thank fucking God, and I got to stare at her without consequence. Her hair was shiny, pretty, much like the rest of her. She had a face that could stop traffic, and my eyes zeroed in on her lips.
I turned back to the computer before she could catch me. Again, I started typing.
Isabella's lips are perfect. They're ideal for kissing, I bet. Right?
I want to kiss Isabella.
I want to feel her lips on mine.
They would look perfect around my dick.
Apparently, I'm a sick pervert that types his desires.
I want
I want
I want my fucking dick to stop aching.
Throwing my head back with a slight groan, I thought about everything possible to will away the giant fucking erection I was sporting in public.
A public park.
A park with children.
Fuck, I'm going to hell.
Charges for pedophilia had my dick running for cover, and I smiled. I'd won the fight against hormones and evil.
Again, I could feel eyes on me and could hear laughter carry over to my place against the tree.
I was already a fucking cyber-stalker, as Emmett so eloquently pointed out, so I decided it was better to be creepy in person. That made sense. Plus, she had no idea I knew it was her. So, any normal male that feels eyes boring holes in their God damn forehead would look, right?
I. Am. Normal.
And I looked again.
Her eyes locked with mine. My breath stopped. My heart pounded. My dick woke up… again.
Could she see my dick from over there? I mean, it had to be blatantly obvious, like the Great Wall of China from outer space. With a whimper, I silently fumed over my lack of self-love this morning. Linux was being needy, and I couldn't get a moment alone.
It was really sad that I couldn't jack off because my cat demanded attention. I was owned by pussy in more ways than one.
Okay, time to cure the erection problem. And cue the blue balls.
I opened my internet browser, and brought up rotten(dot)com. But, sadly, not even dead bodies or other sick shit worked. I knew that it was probably because I was half staring at the screen, and half playing eye-tag with Isabella. When she turned her attention back to the game I closed my eyes, and thought of that list that every male has in his arsenal to lose a boner.
Dead kittens. Grandma Cullen's boobs. Mom's boobs. Dad naked. Botfly larvae. Stepping on a slug, barefoot at night. That hairless monkey's wrinkly sack at the Zoo in London. Marshmellows. Eating cheese with maggots. Emmett's naked dancing when he had the brief whim to become a male stripper.
And, I'm okay again.
I watched the game a bit more, further lessening my overwhelming inability to stay soft for longer than a minute, and staring at a bunch of dudes helped. When I looked back at Isabella, I laughed. I couldn't help it. It was like dogs watching a tennis match or ping-pong tournament, as her and all of her girlfriends' heads were moving back and forth. The blonde was looked like she was drooling, Isabella looked like a zombie from some shittastic horror flick, and the little one just looked mildly interested. I looked to see what they were staring at, but shit just started moving in slow motion, like a bad action sequence.
Someone hit the ball out of Emmett's hands.
The ball flew toward the girls.
And the last thing before the crash impact was Emmett screaming Isabella's name in warning. For some reason, she stopped watching the game and had been looking in my direction.
And her gaze had just shifted as she was smacked with the ball.
In the face.
And no, you assholes, I didn't get hard thinking about the words balls and face. Give me a little fucking credit.
Emmett ran over to me, just as I had tossed my laptop to the sid, and started getting to my feet. I had no concern other than whether or not Isabella was okay.
"Sit down, Edward."
"Emmett, I need to see her. She could be really hurt!"
"Listen, one of the guys already called 911, so just stay put. This is not how you want this to happen."
I glared at him. "Not how I wanted this to happen? This is your fault! You hit her with your ball!"
Emmett snorted. "I hit her with my ball, Edward? Really? That's too easy."
"Douchewad, stop thinking with your dick! She could really be hurt!" I was frantic.
"Fine, but I'm coming with you."
As I ran over to Isabella's still body, I was afraid that Emmett's wandering ball killed her. And before I could get too upset, I knew what I had to do. Groaning, I pulled my phone from my pocket and made the last phone call I wanted to make.
"Edward?"
"Hey, Dad. I need your professional opinion."
"Don't forget clitoral stimulation, son. It's vital for the inexperienced lover."
Emmett was talking to Isabella's friends, and I was ready to throw myself off a cliff. I could hear sirens in the distance.
"No, Dad! Not that opinion. Your job title before professional penis. Isabel- I mean, a friend just got knocked out by a basketball. What should I do?"
"Well, first you need to find a pulse, does she have one?"
"Are you kidding me? You actually want me to touch her?"
"Over here!" Emmett yelled, and I looked toward the street, the ambulance was parked then I nearly celebrated.
"Nevermind Dad, the paramedics got here. Bye." I hung up before he could tell me about places in which to stimulate her into awareness.
"Hey everyone, so what happened?" a deep voice asked, and when I turned, I was eye level with someone's collarbone.
This was the biggest motherfucker I'd ever seen.
"Jake? What the hell are you doing here?" asked the short little thing hovering over Isabella.
They knew this jolly… brownish…giant?
"Hey Alice, Rose, what's going on? Where's my girl? Is she with you?"
"Uh, yeah, dumbass. She's your patient," the girl I now knew as Rose, answered.
His girl? HIS GIRL!? I THOUGHT ISABELLA WAS SINGLE!
"Emmett?" I asked quietly.
"Yeah, what's up bro?"
"I'm going to go," I pointed to the tree where my laptop sat "sit over there. Just, tell me if she's okay."
My tail cowered between my legs. I felt pathetic. Rejected.
"You sure?" he asked.
I simply nodded and walked away.
-- ~ --
"Edward!" Emmett called out. I didn't even look up from the computer screen where I was currently typing words that would have made that Soybean kid at CVS look like Mary fucking Sunshine. "Dude, she's not dating him. That's her ex, man. She is single. The girls told me. And, I've got other news."
His shit-eating grin was enough to make me a little happy, but nothing compared to the revelation that Isabella was still single. She hadn't rejected me without even using words.
That would have been worse than that Sex and the City episode where Carrie gets broken up with on a post-it note…
Fuck. You. Seriously. My mother used to make me watch it. Plus, I only saw that episode. Really.
"What news, Emmett?" I asked, looking up at him while using my hand to block out the sun behind him, making him resemble the fucking baby in the sun on the fucking Teletubbies.
I used to watch it when I was high. Fuck you again.
"Well, she's been mumbling about her Java and asking for you. Well, not you specifically, but the hot blonde girl pointed you out when Jake asked who that was. They just put her in the ambulance. So, go talk to her!"
I didn't even answer him as I picked up my computer and sprinted towards Isabella. When I looked inside the open doors of the white truck parked at the curb, I found her, gorgeous as ever, bruised and swollen, but still beautiful. She was moaning, and I tried not to think about it.
What I wouldn't give for her to make that sound, NOT because she was hit by a ball. Especially if I was the reason behind it…
Climbing in, I set my laptop on the bench seat and sat down next to it. She groaned once more and shifted toward the edge of the stretcher, and my hands reached out to catch her if she should fall. She did.
And I caught her.
And my arms felt like Tim must have felt when he was still holding the fucking fence in Jurassic Park when the power turned back on.
Electrocuted.
She woke up slightly, opening her eyes; they were brown. But not like boring brown, like gold, and other fucking pretty colors. I was still a fucking man. And I liked them. Enough fucking said.
"Dr. McDreamy?" Isabella's voice was rough, but still, the most gorgeous sound I'd ever heard. Not high-pitched, but not too low. Not squeaky or fake. Just pure, auditory bliss.
"Umm, well, no. I'm not…that…I'm not a…" I trailed off, running a hand through my hair, and looking anywhere but at Isabella.
"House?"
Now, I was a sarcastic crippled fucking doctor? How hard did the ball hit her? "Do you see a cane anywhere? I mean, I can walk. Well, just... fuck. WAIT! Not fuck, I meant, damnit. Are you okay?" I was worried. It was quite possible that she was hallucinating, and while that would have been a terrible thing to suffer, I wasn't opposed to the possibility that she wouldn't have seen or recognized Jake.
"Am I...okay? I...I'm not sure. My head really hurts." My heart ached and the pit enlarged in my stomach like that creepy fucking scene from James and the Giant Peach. I wondered if I'd spontaneously turn into a giant fucking fruit.
Rather than worry, like fucking Grandma Cullen and her fear of everything like how you'd get electrocuted if you pressed the fucking elevator button, I looked at her to see if anything was wrong that I could tell. I was no doctor, regardless of how many times she'd call me one, and I couldn't see any noticeable damage other than a big red spot, swollen, in the middle of her forehead. And even then, she was still the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. In person.
Shaking my head to focus on injuries instead of the fact that Isabella was here, next to me, talking to me, and being within a few feet of my socially broken ass, I told her what I thought about her injuries… Since my opinion mattered for some reason. "You got hit with a basketball. It shouldn't feel good. Not unless you're into that kind of thing. I'm not saying that you are, just... Fuck. Nevermind."
And the foot in mouth award goes to…
"No…. I'm pretty sure I'm not into people pelting me with basketballs for fun sexytimes. Where am I anyway?" Isabella sat up, and her body waved like a third base coach telling me to run home. Except this wasn't a dance of seduction, this was probably dizziness, and I was doing no good by watching her sway in the non-existent breeze of the ambulance. I was a fucking idiot.
Near twitching with the current beneath my hands, I helped her lay back on the stretcher. These things had fucking seatbelts for a reason, but in order for me to reach for one, I'd have to maneuver myself over her luscious boobs. Now, I wasn't opposed to copping a feel of Isabella's sweater pillows, but doing so while she was barely conscious wasn't something I'd get off on. Distractedly, I said, "We should lay down. I mean, you! You should lay down."
Did I seriously just say I wanted to lay down with her? The look on her face confirmed that I must have said just that. Shit.
"Um...you can lay down, too. You know, with me. I mean, just to make sure I don't roll over or pass out again. Strictly for medical reasons."
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. She wanted me to lay down with her. On the stretcher. Though, she did mention it was for her safety, I couldn't deny that it might have been a good idea because she could have fallen off, and she didn't need any more injuries today. I needed to be responsible, and since her jackass of an ex-boyfriend couldn't have bothered to strap her into the fucking stretcher, it would be against my morals not to help.
Keep telling yourself that. Maybe, you and your dick will actually believe it someday.
Sure enough, hearing the words come from Isabella's mouth, the monster in my pants made its fourth appearance of the day. Right as I was about to lay my body down next to hers, careful to shield my traitorous dick from her soft, good-smelling, and fuckawesome body- not helping - a loud voice came from the open door of the ambulance.
Jake the Douchebag bellowed, "Yeah, I'm just going to check and see if she's awake."
I froze. There I was. Isabella looking at me, I was looking at Jake, and Jake… was looking directly at the tent in my pants.
Fuck my life.
A/N:
IMPORTANT NOTE: So, since Yoga and I don't plan jack shit for these chapters, I thought I'd address how things like Twitter, and conversations between our lovely characters have happened, and will proceed in the future. Yoga tells me she needs tweets from Hackerward. I email her a bunch of tweets (the ones you see in the previous chapter) and that's it. We don't talk about meaning. This conversation you just read? It happened over gchat, and literally, it went like this. I typed the line of dialogue, and she typed the response. If BELLA makes a move with her body, i.e., sitting up, she says, "words, words, words," (sits up). Again, this is it.
I wanted to make sure you all knew. We practically roleplay with our characters over gchat. It's kinda hot, honestly. Well, not really hot. More like, I live in an awkward place, and Yoga types stuff.
Yoga's up next, and I can't wait.
THANKS AGAIN TO EVERYONE FOR THEIR SUPPORT! I HOPE YOU'RE HAVING AS MUCH FUN AS WE ARE!
::end epically long a/n::
