A/N: I have been completely shit at thanking reviewers the last 2 weeks. I don't mean to be; I'm just crazy busy right now. Just know that I read them all and I appreciate every single one. And for letting me know it's been rec'ed at A Different Forest. That made me smile.
Anyway, a much needed reprieve from these two...
Hoodwinked
Chapter 15
My chemistry exam comes and goes and with it the completion of my HSC. It feels surreal and a rush of relief at the same time. It's also the first time in too many hours that my thoughts haven't been centred on Edward.
I still have no idea what I feel. Or as Alice is convinced, I still can't admit what I feel. Edward's right; she's on the right track, so I can only conclude it's somewhere in between. My feelings for her brother, I mean.
What I can accept is that I've always had a certain affinity with him; something that's steadily progressing into...something. I'm almost positive it's attraction. Or more accurately, sexual attraction since I've always been aware of what a good-looking shithead he is. He's still the one and only male on the planet I can relax around and laugh with. He will always drive me nuts, though, but it still doesn't lessen the comfort I feel around him. I also really do enjoy messing around with him, and if the night before is anything to go by, I'm warming up to the idea of more with each passing minute.
What all this means exactly I haven't quite worked out. It's enough to go out with him, for real, and that's where I'm leaving it. That's my official starting point.
My exam finishes at twelve, and after going for a celebratory iced-coffee with Alice I head home and sleep. I barely got a wink of it last night and I want to be clearheaded when I'm out with Edward. He can so easily make me lose my head, and that's what worries me most. I always assumed I'd be safe from the effects of a handsome face; I just never took into account that one day that handsome face would belong to him.
He texts me just after he arrives home from work, letting me know he'll pick me up at six. And to wear my cozies. I assume he's taking me to the beach. I'm usually not pro about swimming in the ocean—not since I almost drowned when I was twelve—but considering how hot it's been I'm willing to make an exception.
He arrives right on time looking well put together and smelling just as nice. He's not wearing his board shorts, so I'm slightly confused. He greets my mother and shakes my father's hand; who only scowls down at him with continued mistrust before I arrive to save him.
"Hey," he says in greeting, his eyes dipping discreetly to inspect me. I'd thrown a beach dress over my bikini. It's hot and I'm revealing a lot of skin; something my father clearly disapproves of.
"Hey," I reply, placing my hand in his after he reaches for it.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, and after a quick farewell to my parents, I pull him outside and away from the awkwardness of their close attention. Charlie's is bad enough but Renee's is worse. The night before, while still completely under the effects of Edward's kiss, I revealed a little too much to her. She practically erupted with pride and promised to celebrate my approaching womanhood with me; I've been forced to avoid her ever since.
"So where are we going?" I question as he leads me in the direction of his car.
"I thought we could eat fish and chips on the beach," he says casually, opening the car door for me and giving me a lift up into it.
"Sounds good," I say simply.
"So, your old man still hates me," he speaks up five minutes into the drive with more than obvious amusement laced in his voice.
"He doesn't," I assure him.
"Yeah, he does, but that's okay. I'd hate me too if you were my daughter."
"Pray you never have a daughter like me, then."
He laughs lightly. "So, you pretty pumped about finishing your exams?"
"Relieved more than anything. Now I have to stress about my results."
"All those straight A's of yours? You'll be fine."
"I don't get straight A's," I contradict him, as he scoffs.
"You got more than me. You still have to fight with me, by the way?" he changes course, and just when he was making sense.
"You like me fighting with you?" I put to him dubiously.
"It's too weird when you're all polite and timid. You don't take my shit. I like that." He scoffs back a grin, and in response I break into a smile.
"Okay, I'll keep that in mind."
"So, what are you going to do for the rest of the week?"
"Relax."
"Hmm... You going partying Friday night? End of exam parties are pretty huge."
"Alice wants to go to a few."
"It means you have to take me, though. You know that, right?"
I sigh good-naturedly. "I do know how going out with someone works, you know."
"Just making sure."
"Where's your cozies?" I ask after a moment of silence. He's smiling to himself and I have absolutely no idea what's going through his mind.
"In the back seat." He motions behind us with a tilt of his head.
"Why aren't you wearing them?"
"I don't know..." He glances at me strangely. "You're uptight—why?"
"I'm fine," I counter.
"You're not going to get bent out of shape over this, are you?"
"Over what?"
"Us."
"I'm fine," I insist. "Alice suggested I continue to act as if we're still pretending."
He hums, his smile broadening. "Midget has her uses."
"When did you realise you liked me?" I ask rather slyly—another one of Alice's suggestions. To get him to fess up.
"What?" He arches a cynical brow. "Why are you still trying to trap me into shit?"
"Alice is pretty convinced," I point out my reasoning.
"Alice thinks Jas is some kind of god, too." He snorts to himself.
I laugh. "Well, he's not ugly."
"He's a girl."
"What's wrong with being a girl?" I protest.
"Nothing, if you actually are one."
I only release a conceding breath and shake my head. He's exhausting me already.
"Isn't it enough that I like you now?" he says after a moment.
"...Do you?" I ask, unsure I'm understanding him correctly.
"I don't usually go out with girls I don't like," he replies.
"You're not..." I begin but abandon it.
"I'm not..." he coaxes me to elaborate.
"You're not doing this because you know it'll piss off Mike, are you?" I ask with too much uncertainty.
He holds my gaze for a pause and I watch as his forehead knots. "You asked me that yesterday."
"I know..." I murmur, lowering my gaze.
"Just pretending pissed him off, so why would I need to get further invested if that was my only motive?" he points out.
"Yeah, I know," I acknowledge with a frustrated sigh. "I just..."
"You just," he over-emphasises and he suddenly sounds as equally frustrated.
"I dunno."
"You know what I think?" he asks after a moment of gauging at me.
"What?"
"Going out with that limp dick has made you doubt yourself."
I laugh without an ounce of humour. "Probably."
"But then you've always been pretty shy."
"I know." I shrug again.
"I have no idea why," he muses more or less to himself.
"It's just who I am."
"Yeah, but it makes no sense."
"...Why?" I probe uncertain of his meaning.
"Because you're hot," he says simply—too simply," and hot girls are usually aware of it."
I open my mouth to reply, but for a moment I have no words. "Are you messing with me?" I eventually ask, and it's frustrating that he's so hard to gauge. He's a bloody enigma is closer to the truth.
He scoffs out of some kind of irony. "Why would I be messing with you?"
"Because..." For the second time I have nothing, and with an exaggerated sigh I let it go.
"Jesus..." he mutters and I'm still have no damn idea what he's getting at. "Tell me I'm hot."
"What?" I ask blankly.
"Tell me I'm hot," he repeats himself.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
"No—god you're up yourself."
"I'm trying to make a point, you pain in the neck!"
"Fine—you're hot," I relent, my voice droll.
"I know," he says casually.
"What?" He's completely confounding me.
"That's how you're supposed to react.
"No, you're not. You're supposed to say 'thank you', or something modest."
He shrugs. "You never said that, either. You thought I was messing with you. Exactly what kind of asshole do you think I am?" he concludes, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear he was serious.
"One who humiliates me on Facebook where everyone in my school can see," I remind him, as he pointedly groans.
"Geez, you're not still pissed off about that, are you?"
"It was completely shitty. No matter how angry I was at you, I'd never do anything so malicious."
"Malicious..." he echoes, smirking to himself. "Okay, what do I have to do to make it up to you?"
"Let me think about it," I say, breaking into a subtle smile.
He scrutinises me suspiciously for a moment. "I think you're messing with me."
"I should. You deserve a dose of your own medicine," I point out, and in reply he only continues to smile to himself; all too sure of himself. "You still screwing around with your boss's daughter?" I ask after another lapse of silence. I find it surprisingly comfortable to sit with him without exchanging words.
"Nah," he replies, his lips twitching discreetly, and I suspect he's well aware how maladjusted I am over it. "She's pregnant last I heard."
"What!?" I burst, horrified.
He glances at me oddly until he obviously grasps my meaning. That's when he rolls his eyes. "It's not mine."
"You sure."
"Positive."
"How?" I press, unconvinced.
"I was messing around with her two years ago, that's why," he admits. "Jesus, Bella, I do know how to strap a condom on, you know."
"Why were you messing around with her?" I mumble as a cover for my sudden discomfort.
"She offered it," he replies, shrugging a shoulder.
"I mean, why didn't you just go out with her?" I clarify my meaning.
"She did nothing for me." Again, his answers are way too cavalier.
"But you were having sex with her," I state the obvious.
"Yeah. So...?"
I scrutinise him for a moment, wondering whether I'll ever figure this guy out. "You're such a slut!"
"Slut?" he echoes, scoffing to himself, no doubt thinking I'm being ridiculous. "You forgetting you offered it to me, as well?"
He's stumped me. Again. And in response, I only open and close my mouth in silence, feeling like a complete idiot.
He chuckles. "Bella, seriously, you need to lighten up."
"I just...I can't have casual sex," I offer as some kind of conclusion; something that only makes me feel infinitely worse.
His breath shoots from his nose as though he were on the verge of full laughter. "I know. You already told me."
"You're an asshole!" I snap, and by this point I'm a lost cause.
He does laugh this time before reining it back in. "You can't do that, either."
"Do what?"
"Get all jealous about girls I was with before you."
"I'm not jealous!" I blurt affronted.
"Sure you're not..." he drawls.
I huff, but we both know he's right. "Fine," I mutter.
"Don't get me wrong, I like it, but it will cause all kinds of shit."
"Huh?" I reply vacantly. Is he being deliberately cryptic?
"You're cute when you're jealous," he elaborates with that smirk of his tugging on his lips. "Just don't get all fixated on it."
"Will you seriously get over yourself!" I say, past patience with him, and naturally he only laughs. I wonder whether he's even capable of taking me seriously.
"What beach?" he asks after several moments of grinning to himself.
"What?"
"Bulli, Port Kembla...?" He raises his eyebrows,
"Oh." I shrug. "I don't mind."
He drives to Bulli, and after parking at the main beach lot, he reaches into the back seat and grabs his swimmers and a towel. Then, after pulling himself from his car and draping both of them over his shoulder, he holds his hand out to me; I take it easily, but I'm starting to feel everything but easy. I'm not even sure why.
"I don't have a towel," I say.
"It's okay. Mine's big enough for the both of us," he replies, tugging me in the direction of the several fast-food kiosks.
He orders a batch of hot chips, a dozen crumbed calamari, a hamburger—for him—and a small serving of battered white fish for me. Then after grabbing two cokes, he takes our paper-wrapped dinner and we find a place to eat on the beach.
With two hours until sunset, it's still incredibly warm and humid. The sea-breeze is relatively mild, but it sweeps over us damp and salty, quickly making us both sticky. Edward spends as much time removing strands of my hair away from my face as he does gorging himself on chips.
I graze slowly on my meal, my stomach steadily amassing with nervousness. Edward continually pushed the boundaries with me when we were pretending, but now that we're official... Or at least attempting to be official.
"What's going on?" he asks after several minutes of obviously noting my distraction while offering me a half-eaten chip.
"Nothing..." I say, shaking my head and gazing toward the cargo ship dotting on the edge of the horizon.
"You're not looking at me again," he adds.
"Am I supposed to?" I put to him, meeting his eyes for half a second before mine once more pull out over the ocean.
"Bella..." he says with a short sigh. "I've known you long enough to know when you start acting off."
"I'm fine. Stop pushing me," I say with a small smile, shoving my elbow into his side.
"Yeah, righto," he mutters.
"It's new and weird, so of course I'm going to act off," I further explain, taking the chip he offers this time and munching on it.
"What's weird?" He sounds offended.
"You and me," I state the obvious.
"How is it weird?" he's demands unconvinced, as I raise an eyebrow and break lightly into laughter.
"It just is."
He releases a breath in answer and takes a bite of his burger, and for the next several seconds I watch him eat. Until he notices.
"What?" he puts to me, tilting his head.
"You like me, right...?" I ask hesitantly.
He groans deliberately this time. "Yeah. You like me too, don't you?"
"You already know the answer to that," I say dryly.
"Say it anyway."
"I like you too," I tease him, as he breaks into a smile.
"You're right, I know."
I nudge him teasingly. "Stop being so cocky."
He laughs for a moment before taking another bite of his burger. "Would you get to the point," he says after swallowing.
"Huh."
"Why'd you ask?"
"Oh..." I say, quickly recalling. "If you like me, why do you only want to be real for a week?" I break his gaze again, staring down at my hands self-consciously this time.
"I already told you." He sounds almost exasperated. "Because, I have to see if it can work."
"What does that...?" I begin but let it go. I'm already aware of his meaning. He's not sure if I can handle it. Or, more accurately, him. Handle him without completely overreacting, anyway.
To be honest, I'm not even sure myself.
He doesn't answer. We understand each other in that retrospect, at least. Instead, he drops his hand to my knee, his fingers probing absently as he his gaze follows.
"Bella...?" he speaks up after a long, distracted pause.
"Hm?" I reply, grabbing his hand when he begins to inch it a little too further down my thigh.
"I'm sorry," he says, and it's clearly not for his over adventurous fingers.
I glance over to him, confused. "Why?"
"For giving you so much shit. I didn't realise."
"...Release what?"
"That you... I mean, that it meant something... To you."
I shake my head, conveying my confusing. "I don't..."
Before I can finish, he leans in and kisses me. He kisses me the same way he did last night; in a way I understand is something I now have to expect. In fact, he's kissing me the same way Mike once did. At least the way Mike had once aspired to but failed in every sense of the word. Because he's kissing me in a way that makes my heart race in both anticipation and fear. There's a definite purpose to it; one I realise I am all too willing to explore.
His lips are salty with both the ocean breeze and the tang of fish and chips against mine. They're supple but firm and as he continues to kiss me, they begin to burn. Until I realise it's his tongue, and that's when I pull back.
"Sorry!" I blurt out on impulse and the moment that smirk edges on his lips.
"It's okay," he replies, the timbre of his voice almost rustic, but his smile doesn't wane.
"What were you saying...?" I mumble after several moments of staring down at the sand beneath us in both mortification and flustered upheaval.
"Hmm..." He appears to contemplate it. "Doesn't matter," he decides, picking up a ring of crumbed calamari and bringing it to my lips.
I take it from him and nibble it, knowing my cheeks are flushing as rapidly as his grin is broadening. "You didn't kiss me like that when we were pretending..." I speak to my bare feet
"Because I was only pretending," he replies casually. "I'm not anymore. Actually..."
I turn to fully face him, my head tilting with more uncertainty. "What?"
"I wasn't pretending. I was holding myself back."
I move to shake my head but stop myself as I gaze into his eyes, unsure I'm even hearing him correctly anymore. "You're confusing me, Edward," I relay with an edge of frustration.
He smiles again, wholly at my expense. "I'm not holding back any more."
"Okay, but...hold back a little bit," I appeal to him, feeling the need to emphasise my inexperience while remaining conscious of it at the same time.
He laughs once, almost sarcastically. "You think I'm a real asshole, don't you?"
"No—of course I don't," I insist. "I just...I think you forget sometimes that I'm..."
"A virgin?" he pre-empts me. "How could I forget?"
"Then...what do you mean not holding back?" I'm not even sure what I mean, let alone what he does.
He shrugs both shoulders and turns momentarily to gaze out over the ocean. "I'm kissing you the way I've always wanted to."
"...The way you always..." I begin in complete and utter confusion when he clamps his hand over my mouth.
"Jesus, will you shut up," he mutters. "You want to go for a swim?"
"Don't we have to wait a half hour, or something?" I point out when he releases me.
"Come on," He rolls his eyes, and grabbing his board shorts and towel he pulls himself to his feet.
I gather the rubbish from our meal and stuff it in the plastic bag it came in. Then slipping my feet back into my thongs, I take Edward's outstretched hand. We stop to offload the rubbish in the bin before Edward pulls me in the opposite direction from where I'm expecting.
"Where are we going?" I ask, motioning to the lap pool on the edge of the ocean where several people are already swimming.
"Too crowded," is all he offers in explanation.
We walk to the northern most point of the beach where Edward leads me up to the jagged rock pools that gradually rise into the cliff face.
"Where are we going?" I repeat the same question curiously, just as it suddenly becomes obvious.
Among a collection of small naturally forming pools in the rock is a larger one, an enclosed cove at least twenty feet in diameter with a sandy bottom. It's high tide and the depth looks at least five feet.
"Is it safe to swim in there?" I ask, staring down at the water ambiguously as waves intermittently break into it.
Snorting, Edward pulls his shirt over his head and kicks his shoes off. "What do you think is in there—Jaws?" he teases me.
I shove him in retaliation. "A stone fish, or you know, a blue-ringed octopus."
He rolls his eyes, and before I can question him, he unzips his jeans. "Stop being such a wuss."
"What are you doing!?" I exclaim, immediately averting my gaze.
"What do you think I'm doing?" he replies all but laughing at me, and out of my periphery, I watch as he discards his jeans down to his underwear, and pulls on his cozies.
"Couldn't you have just worn them?" I attempt to explain away my flustered state.
He smirks. "I don't want to wear them home wet. You just gonna stand there?"
With a smart, internal sigh, I strip off my beach dress, and just as I drop it to the ground, and contemplate being self-conscious over it, Edward scoops me up in his arms and leaps into the body of water.
We go completely under before resurfacing, as I cling to him
"It's too deep," I say a little too anxiously. Despite being forced into swimming lessons until the age of thirteen, I've never been a confident swimmer. I suppose it didn't help having a near death incident at Cronulla beach six years ago.
It was roughly a year after Mrs Cullen's death. My mother had taken the three of us, and Alice and I, like we too often did, blindly trailed after Edward. I naively followed him too far out and then panicked. Despite his efforts to keep me above the water, I kept dragging the two of us under. He'd flagged down a lifeguard and laughed at me over it for the rest of the day. I ended up in hospital later that night with sea water on my lungs, and it was only for that reason that his jibes stopped.
"Hang on, I'll find somewhere shallow," he replies, inching closer to the edge where our clothes are strewn over the rock.
When the water dips to his mid-chest, I place my feet to the sandy bottom below and release him. This is when I can finally relax. It's lukewarm but still a relief from the constant hell of humidity we've been under the last week.
I find a smoothed-out crevice in the wall and nestle into it, watching as Edward ventures towards the centre of the pool, sinking beneath the surface several times. He's looking for something; something he evidently finds before bringing into over to me.
"Hold your hand out?" he instructs me.
"Why?" I ask suspiciously, as he sighs. Deliberately imitating him, I comply. This is when he places a hermit crab in my palm and on impulse I shriek and toss it back into the water. "Not funny!" I declare, shoving against him as he laughs.
"It was pretty funny," he says, his laughter dying down. "Shove over." He squeezes in beside me and curls his arm around my waist.
"You're still that boy you used to be. The one who put snails down my t-shirt," I say wryly, even as my tone drops with affection.
"I can put something else down your shirt, if you like," he murmurs against my earlobe, laughing again before I can react.
I nudge him in good humour. "Stop it. It's our first date. You're supposed to be on your best behaviour."
"You already know me, though," he replies, taking a strand of my hair and holding it beneath my nose like a moustache while attempting to supress his continued amusement.
"I know," I concede, and he's such a complete dork I'm flooding with affection for the shithead.
After tucking my hair back behind my ear, he pulls me closer and rests his nose and lips against my temple with a lazy-sounding hum.
"Bella...?" he asks after a moment; his arm around me lowers, his fingers trailing against my skin, and they're a lot warmer than the water temperature should allow. "I'm flying blind here, so tell me what you're comfortable with." He's suddenly serious, and unless it's the rapidly approaching twilight, his eyes are rapidly turning dark.
"What do you mean?" I ask, angling to fully face him. My skin's beginning to prickle with goose-bumps, but I'm not cold. It's the feel of Edward's semi-naked body against mine beneath the water, and realising I'm subconsciously pressing myself further against him.
"What can I do?"
I hesitate while my heart immediately follows. "What...do you want to do...?" I'm almost afraid to ask, but at the same time, curiosity is beginning to burn within me.
"...Everything," he answers, his voice practically dropping to a whisper.
"Edward..." I begin, but to say what I'm not sure.
"I'll overstep and you'll get pissed off at me, so you need to tell me," he reiterates, his eyes zeroing in on my lips, and trailing lower.
"I...I..." I stammer, completely out of my comfort zone. "I've never been asked that before..."
"You haven't?" He's surprised, and I have no idea why.
I shake my head in answer, uttering a softly spoken "no" a few paces behind it.
"I told you he didn't deserve you..." he says gently, leaning in to plant his heated lips to the curve of my neck.
I release my breath, every molecule of it, and with it the tension and rigidness that comes with so much uncertainty. I welcome the looseness that follows. And the willingness.
"Ask me what you want to do," I suggest as my voice catches; I clear it hastily.
"Can you...show me...?" he murmurs, dropping his lips momentarily to my bared shoulder.
"Show you...?" I ask as his head raises and he catches my gaze. There's a sudden depth to them; an intensity I'm wholly unfamiliar with.
"These," he elaborates, pressing an index finger lightly against the material of my bikini top.
My breath almost fails me this time as my mind races to answer him. "Not yet, but..." I eventually reply only for all words leave me. I close my eyes to the feel of his lips connecting back to my flesh as he again kisses my shoulder and then my neck, slowly on an upward path.
"But..." He cups a palm to the side of my face and covers my mouth with his.
His breath is hot against my tender skin, and it's beginning to conjure a whole scope of awareness that feels entirely too comfortable than it should.
"But..." I move before I'm barely in full comprehension of my actions, and taking his hand I slip his fingers beneath the top half of my bikini. "You can touch me."
A/N: you wanted less talking and more touching, right?
Thank you for reading, and to Kim, StarryEyedWriter8 and Biebs.