Bella

I'm dead. My chest is heaving, and my breathing is so labored and heavy you'd think I'd just run a marathon. But no, I didn't. All I did was run a lap around the neighborhood. I think it's safe to say I'm definitely not a runner.

The patch of greenery looks like nirvana to me, and the second I sit my ass down and my feet meet the pavement, I let out the best breath of my life, even though I feel defeated as hell.

I go over everything in my head, wondering where I went wrong. But maybe, this Sunday Mrs. Cullen decided to go all out on a brunch-style buffet breakfast. Maybe he didn't go out for that run after all, and he's staying in with his picture-perfect family. And I am just sitting here wasting my time and energy, feeling like a lunatic stalker.

The sun is ridiculous this morning, blasting through thin, white clouds, warming the top of my head almost up to the point where I feel sweat sprouting from every pore of my scalp. Gross.

Deciding I'm ready to give in and just go back home to take a bubble bath, then read the rest of my book for class, I get up. That was the plan. Instead, my foot gets caught on the end of the laces of my other foot, and I fall down on my right knee, hard. Oh, such graceful genes my mother passed on to me.

"Fuck!" My voice sounds higher than it usually does as my palms rake across the cement, missing the plush patch of grass by mere inches. Pain burns through my skin, and I let myself fall down onto my ass with a huff. I should've worn sweatpants, definitely not biker shorts, even though they'd give me heat stroke. Then again, I hadn't anticipated my clumsiness getting the best of me.

"Shit, are you alright?" The deep timbre of his voice startles me, and I whip my head around with a gasp. Great, now I meet him with eyes burning from tears and a non-rehearsed look on my face. Gotta love that for me.

Crouching down next to me, his thighs strain the fabric of his running shorts. I swear my mouth almost waters at the sight of my neighbor out of his office clothes. Yes, he does corporate shark so well, but this casual, sporty and sweaty look makes me weak in the knees. Or maybe that's just my body's reaction to the stupid fall.

"Hey, you okay?" he repeats himself, dark brows furrowing. One hand shoots out to inspect mine, and I hiss at the wind that comes in contact with the cement-burn.

"I—I'm fine," I rattle, making a disapproving noise when I spot the dirt and little pieces of gravel stuck inside the wound on my kneecap.

"I saw you falling when I rounded the corner; pretty nasty dive you took."

God, I'm mortified, yet I can't do anything but stare at his mouth, imagining what that stubble would feel like against the insides of my thighs. I almost moan out loud, especially when his forefinger makes a trail around the inside of my palm, around the cuts.

"I usually don't fall for my neighbors like this," I blurt out.

A little smile flirts with the left corner of his mouth. I'm captivated by it, by the dimple underneath dark stubble, by the way his eyes join in on the smile, making his gorgeous greens sparkle.

Fuck, he's even more handsome up close.

"I'm sure they take you out to dinner first, don't they?" he jokes.

"Take me out, eat me out…" It slips out of my mouth without any type of warning. Motherfucker…I should really just try and filter my thoughts, try and contain them inside my head.

He isn't even fazed by my little outburst. No, his eyes smolder instead of sparkle, and the smile has vanished as he licks his lower lip so quickly I almost missed it.

"A connoisseur of the finer things in life, I see," he chuckles darkly. "Did you say neighbor?" he goes on.

I nod. Clearly, Mr. Cullen has no clue who I am. So I was right. Before this moment, he didn't even know I existed. That's a bummer.

"Mhm." I nod.

I bet he doesn't know I'm seventeen, either. I started looking like a twenty-something by the time I was fourteen. I used to hate it…but now? I'll take the lack of pubescent traits and the well-developed genes I asp got from my mother. Gladly.

"You live next door?" he asks.

I shake my head, the ends of my ponytail tickling the inside of my elbow.

"Across the street, the smaller Spanish-looking house."

"I hadn't noticed."

"I guess the big tulip tree makes it look like the house is actually in hiding, yeah. I keep begging to get rid of it, but I don't get my way so easily." I smile.

"Ah, your husband is the one in charge of the landscaping, then?"

I start laughing, but stop quickly, pursing my lips.

"My mom is in charge," I say, awaiting his reaction.

The wheels are turning in his head, and he adjusts his plain, navy trucker hat.

"Living with a parent is never easy," he answers.

"Preaching to the choir, sir." I lick my lips as his eyes darken.

Yes.

"You should go clean those wounds, chérie." I don't even detect the slightest accent as he calls me that. So, he's hot, loaded, and French? How am I supposed to keep it in my pants?

"I don't have a first-aid kit, sir." I try my best to look like a sad little puppy. It seems to work though, because he holds out his hand for me to take. I weave my fingers through his once I'm up, looking up, staring him dead in the eye. My hand feels electric in his, heat radiation off him.

"I suppose I'll have to patch you up, then." He takes a deep breath, his eyes traveling lower, then up again. Mr. Cullen makes my skin tingle with every blink of his forest eyes. "Come."

"Gladly, sir."

Thanks for the warm re-welcome xo