Saturday afternoon, Edward shows up on my front porch. He's here to hang out with Jacob.

I step out the front door and gently close it behind me.

"Can I ask you something, Edward?"

He straightens his shoulders and jams his hands in his front pocket. "Of course."

"Why do you keep coming here and hanging out with Jacob? I mean, it's a very big deal for him and, I don't know—I don't want him to get his feelings hurt or anything."

"I do it because I like to. He's a fun kid and it's always boring at my house. Plus when I'm here I feel like I can be myself. He doesn't expect anything from me." Edward shrugs.

"Just always shoot him straight, okay? He's been through enough."

Edward takes a step forward, practically trapping me between him and the door. The smell of his clean scent mixed with a light cologne invades my senses. I can even taste him on the back of my tongue and there's not one bone in my body that wants to push him away.

He reaches his arm around me to grab the door one step gone between us and I'd be in his arms.

Pure temptation.

"Come play with us." His breath is all minty as it wafts past me.

I have to lean my head back to look up to him.

"I'm not very good." I inch backward toward the door.

"I don't care, it'll be fun." Edward steps forward.

"Jacob doesn't want to share you." I'm almost pushed up against the door now.

"Jacob likes me; I think he'll share if I suggest it." Edward's eyes are shifting side to side, watching my own.

"Do you want me to?" I don't know why I ask, but something about the thought of him wanting me, even if it's to do something mediocre, excites me.

He nods his head, slow and deliberate. "Yeah, I do."

Then his smile—it swipes the word 'no' right out of my vocabulary.

"Okay," I say in an all too breathy voice.

Edward twists the door knob behind me and it's all I can do to catch myself before I fall flat on my ass.

He starts laughing at me about the same time I start giggling. In the blink of an eye, Edward wraps his arms around my waist and picks me up. He takes off in a sprint and carries me toward Jacob's room.

I squirm, trying to break free, but I don't try very hard.

"I never knew you were so clumsy," he murmurs into my hair.

In the short distance, I catalog it all. My hands are converting his, reveling in how different from Peter he feels. Edward is all muscle and tone, and his skin is rough from the light hair that covers his arms. He so strong, he totes me like I am weightless.

My back is pulled flush against his chest. His arms are wrapped around me. I throw my head back when his fingers dig into my side with a light squeeze. I fight to catch my breath through my squeals and I surely don't miss how perfectly his shoulder cradles my head.

He tosses me down on Jacob's bed and I just lie down there, my whole being still in a tailspin.

"Jacob, how about we show your sister here how to kick a little Zombie butt? After all, it wouldn't hurt to have a third person on our side."

"That's a great idea; I bet we can even beat that next level!" Jacob cheers.

I seriously can't believe my brother agreed.

/ / /

When Edward and I are on stage, it's like magic happens. He's done an amazing job at memorizing his lines. We complement each other and it's safe to say that he practically knows my actions before I do.

We have great chemistry.

It's never far from my mind that Edward's still this rowdy guy; that's the side of him I've never seen. I'm not even sure I want to because when he's with me, he's kind of perfect.

Edward says these things to me that are so contradictory to his personality, but there's a part of me that thinks this is how he charms all the ladies—that I'm just another quest to notch into his belt.

"I can't explain what these stage lights do to your eyes."

"Has anyone told you how good your hair looks pulled up like that?"

"You should wear that shiny shit on your lips more often."

With each flirt, smile, and with every word he speaks, I fall into his trap a little more.

It's a dangerous place to be.

The next few weeks carry on the same, Edward and I flirt and joke and he touches and I don't pull away. It's nothing serious—he'll throw his arm around my shoulders and tell me how fine my ass looks in my jeans. Or he'll grab my wrist and hold it up to his nose and inhale it, and moan about how mouth-watering I smell.

I laugh and blush and tell him to stop, but I think he knows that secretly I love it. Peter never is or never has been so crass and verbal and so ...raw. Peter is always sweet and orderly and just… nice.

I think I like a little variance.

/ / /

I rarely see Peter—rehearsals and set design consume all my free time. When I do have time off, his mother makes a point to keep him busy.

It's frustrating. In a way I feel guilty for how I'm behaving without him, even though I haven't technically done anything wrong, and often I feel bad for not missing him more than I do.

Every few days Edward comes over to hang out with Jacob and when I can, I join them. It's harmless, but it's so much fun. We all get along so well.

/ / /

April 2008

We only have a month before opening day, so I schedule some time on the separate small drama stage to go over Edward's lines with him, especially the ones we'd already practiced before he started.

When he shows up, he somehow looks different. He has this goofy grin on his face and his eyes are glossy and red.

I pick up my copy of the script and tell him to follow me.

He grabs my hips, and walks so close behind me that I almost trip on his feet.

I spin around, and a familiar smell sets me off.

I push his hands off my hips, "Are you high?"

He brings his hand up to pinch his fingers together, "Juss a lille bit."

"And you've been drinking?"

This is the Edward I don't know.

"Juss a lille," he slurs.

He grabs my hips again and pulls me to him, my body so close to his. He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. "I'm sorry, I had a bad day. Don't be mad."

I can barely make out what he's saying and it doesn't help that I feel him all over me, head to toes, top to bottom. It makes my bones soft and my skin tingle.

"Whatever Edward, go home. Sleep it off." I try to back away but he grips me tighter.

"No, don't go away." His head falls forward and lands on my shoulder. "Why do you do this to me?"

I don't know where to put my hands, so I lift them and hold them straight out to my sides. It's a fight to not wrap them around his back or tangle my fingers in his hair. My brain, my body, and my conscience are all at war.

"Do what to you Edward? I'm not doing anything." It's practically a cry, I feel so incompetent. His helplessness is a riptide and it's pulling us both under.

He drags his head back and forth along my shoulder. "Why do I want you so much? I mean, fuck. What I wouldn't give to dirty up that mind of yours. That's really what I want... you. Juss you."

I can't let his drunken foolish words get to me even though I would like nothing more than to roll around in them, bathe in them.

I freeze as his nose begins to slowly slide against the skin in the crook of my neck, his breath is humid and ragged. I feel the contrast of his lips as they come in contact with my bare skin.

"Stop, Edward." I push at his chest. "Stop."

With a sob, he crumbles against me. My arms are barely strong enough to hold us both up. I don't hear his cries, but I feel them wet on my shirt.

"Come on, I'm taking you home."

It's all I can do to lead him to my car. He's staggering and clumsy, but we make it.

He barely fits in my front seat, his body is so long and lean, he looks out of place. Edward doesn't belong in Honda's, he was made for convertibles and hot rods and Aston Martin's.

He slumps down in the seat and relaxes his head against the headrest. He's quiet now, his eyes closed.

Neither of us says a word on the drive to his house. I can't quit thinking about what he said—that he wants me. Could he have meant it? Like... for real?

I pull up as far as I can from his front door, I help him out of the seat and lead him to the front door. His mother opens the door before I get there and looks at me with sad, heartbroken eyes.

She's reaching for him and apologizing to me. Tears are pooling in her eyes and all I can do is tell her it's okay.

Even if I don't know that it is.

"After a storm comes a calm." ~Matthew Henry