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not beta'd

storyline - Sultry

prompt - sofa

Toenails painted, I cap my bottle of nail polish and sit up. They look good, pretty. The weather's warming up some, here and there, and I'll be able to wear sandals today… not that Oakland's winters are all that brutal in the first place. It gets cold, but nothing like in some parts of the country.

I needed to do something for myself: I woke up feeling off today.

Not sure why; it's just one of those things, I guess. It's been a busy week for both Edward and me, but I suspect I'd be moody even if our time together hasn't been limited. There is a part of me – and I hate that part – that worries things are going too well. Life has a way of balancing itself. Masen's death was intense and awful, and I learned all sorts of things that forced me to reevaluate what I thought we'd had. But then meeting Edward was one of the best things that had ever happened to me. It was then, and it is now.

I have yet to meet his parents, but that's about to change. They fly in next Friday night and leave the following Sunday. I'm not worried about meeting them, per se. I'm just anxious in general.

There's a knock at the door, and I go to answer it, walking funny so I don't smudge my toenails.

"Hey." It happens every time, this smile that starts deep inside and beams outward till it irradiates my face. For a second, I forget my funky mood.

Edward's smile is soft. He's tired, I can tell. His phone rings right as he wraps his arms around me, and I feel him sag a little. He kisses the top of my head and then lets go, following me inside.

"You okay?" I ask, shutting the door with my hip.

Shrugging, he slides the phone from his pocket. "Let me see who that was." He glances down at the screen and frowns. "Sorry… let me just –" he breaks off and goes back outside.

I blink at his abruptness, wondering what's going on.

What if things don't work out?

Indeed. What if they don't? But it's unpleasant having thoughts like that, and honestly kind of stupid. Edward has given me no sign that things are anything but great between us. I can't let other men pay for what one did wrong… especially when there is only one that I want, and maybe forever.

I empty the dishwasher with gusto, not wanting to waste energy fretting over things that will likely never happen.

But when I'm done, Edward has still not come inside. Chewing my lip, I retrace my steps to the front door and open it. He's a couple of feet away, his back to me.

"Love you, too. So much..."

I slink back inside and sit on the sofa, feeling shady for overhearing. It's probably his mom or something, but I can't help the icky feeling I feel at hearing him say those words. Why couldn't he just talk to whoever it is, in front of me? I realize I might have more trust issues than I thought I did, and that they're kicking in really belatedly and really inconveniently.

He joins me a moment later, resting his hand on my knee. "So… what did you want to do today? I'm kind of hungry."

I love the weight of his hand, warm even through the dress I'm wearing. He affects me so physically. I hope he always does.

"There's this rooftop spot down in Berkeley… Mexican food."

"Perfect."

"You want me to drive?"

He shrugs, and then nods. "If you want, yeah. That would be nice."

We stand to leave, but I step in front of him. "So… who was on the phone?"

He gazes down at me, and the little crease between his eyes deepens. "My cousin Kate. Masen and I spent summers with her when we were children."

I swallow, feeling out of sorts. I'm relieved for me and saddened for him. Kate must've been close to Masen, too. There is a whole group of people who know him in a way I never did, and never could have. Once, this would have broken my heart but now? It's more of an slight ache than a sting. No matter how inappropriately he dealt with his romantic entanglements, he had countless other intimate relationships with friends and family, and they sound like they were pure and good.

"What's wrong?" asks Edward. He looks wary now.

"Nothing," I say, vaguely ashamed. But even the tiniest of lies are still lies. "I just - I overheard you just now."

I'm still learning his expressions. Something I don't recognize falls over his face, and he takes a breath. "Not all men cheat."

Tears spring to my eyes. I never want to feel this way, or to make him feel that way. "I know."

"Not all men cheat," he repeats.

I nod. "I know… "

"I will never cheat on you. Ever."

Damn, he's making me cry.

"I'll tell you everything if you want me to," he says.

Shaking my head, I grab him and hold on to him, forcing myself in to his arms. "I trust you." And I do.

He turns and collapses back on the sofa, bringing me with him so that I fumble on to his lap. We sit the way we often do, with me straddled across him so that we're as close as we can be. He unbuttons my cardigan a bit and kisses my collarbone.

Sighing, I run my fingers through his hair. "I missed you."

"I know; I miss you during the week, too," he murmurs, his words brushing my skin in little puffs. He kisses my neck; I kiss his forehead.

Our lips meet. He smoothes his hand up and down my back, up and down, and then up and under my dress. I link my fingers around his neck, holding him so that I can kiss him good, telling him without words how I feel and what I want.

He pushes my body back a little and slips his hand down my panties, touching me.

"I love how you touch me," I whisper, resting my forehead on his.

His fingers are inside me, and I'm rocking on them, against him, with him. My mind isn't blank, it's filled with him. I want so much with him. Everything.

He moves faster; I move faster.

And when I come he whispers he loves me.