Seventeen
B
Whoa, what a ride.
I step into the bathroom and take a look at my reflection. Flushed cheeks, wild eyes, and messy hair. I look thoroughly fucked, and I love it.
I'm ready for a shower and bed, so I take a moment to clean myself up and gather the trash from all the stalls. When I make it back to the kitchen, I notice that Edward hasn't returned yet. I get to work and am drying glasses when he stumbles inside. I can tell from the look on his face, he's stuck in his head, probably regretting what we've done, again.
I ignore him and go through the motions while he goes out front to mop and count down the drawer.
The silence is deafening, and I fucking hate it.
I'm thinking maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tease him so much tonight, but we're both adults, and he's a big boy. He's the one who made the first move after all.
As the time passes, my guilt turns to anger. I close the dishwasher with too much force and stomp out front.
He's counting the drawer and turns to me, takes in the way I'm standing, hands on my hips, and a glare directed right at him.
"What?"
"Are you going to ignore me now?"
He blinks. "Come again?"
"Are we going to pretend it didn't happen again? Because this is the second time you've fucked me and gotten all awkward afterward."
Edward closes the register and leans against it, mimicking the way I'm standing. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I throw my hands in the air in exasperation. "If you regret what happened just let me know because your hot and cold attitude is giving me whiplash."
"I don't regret it, Bella."
"I know you do. I just don't understand why. I mean, you obviously want me, and then when you get me, you change."
He walks to me slowly. "You don't know anything."
I scoff and try to pull away when he reaches out to touch my face, but I can't because I crave his touch too much.
"I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone in my life." He swallows thickly. "And that terrifies me."
I cover his hand with mine and lean into it. "You think it doesn't scare me?"
His eyes bore into mine. "You're young."
"Age is just a number," I argue. "You weren't worried about how old I was when you screwed me."
"Bella." He sighs tiredly.
"What?" I pull away. "Be honest with me."
"You make me want things." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "We shouldn't be having this discussion here."
"Okay ..."
"Come home with me. We need to talk."