A/N Twilight is the property of Stephanie Meyer. Anya Simms is all mine
Chapter 32: Seattle Joyride Lemonade
JPOV
Fri March 4/05
I caught the sharp edge of Anya's irritation long before I saw Eddie boy, her annoyance radiating through the school. It was the kind of frustration that rippled through the air, pulling me in, drawing my senses tight. I didn't need to hear her thoughts to know what she was feeling—I could feel it as if it were my own.
The moment I stepped into the library, I found Fucker standing too close to her, his stance tense, like he was barely keeping himself in check. The protective instinct surged in me, faster than a heartbeat, and before I knew it, I was moving toward them.
His presence was a familiar one, but today it carried a dark intensity that set my nerves on edge. I didn't need to ask what he was doing here; I could sense the conflict brewing between them, the way Anya's emotions spiked with each word he spoke. She wasn't backing down, her anger flaring as she stared him down. Fucker, of course, was being his usual brooding self, but I could see the predatory gleam in his eyes—a look that warned of trouble.
Edging closer, I picked up on the last few words he spoke, something about risks, concern, danger and struggles. It was almost laughable, really—Edward lecturing her on risks, as if she didn't already know what she was getting into. The irony of it almost made me smile, but then I saw the way Edward's gaze darkened, how his posture shifted ever so slightly toward aggression. That was when my own temper flared.
Without a second thought, I was between them, the protective instinct kicking in full force. My presence was enough to make Edward hesitate, and I didn't waste any time making my stance clear.
"Back off, Edward. This isn't your territory." I said, my voice low, carrying a warning that I knew he wouldn't ignore. Our eyes locked, a silent standoff between two forces that knew each other too well. Edward was used to getting his way, but he wasn't going to intimidate Anya—not while I was here.
He didn't move immediately, still processing the shift in the dynamic. Anya's anger was almost palpable now, a storm barely contained, but I knew she wasn't afraid. That's one of the things I admired most about her—she stood her ground, even when faced with the full intensity of a vampire like Edward.
Slowly, Edward's expression softened, the predatory edge receding as he took a step back. His eyes flicked from me to Anya, and I could see the frustration simmering just beneath the surface, but he didn't press the issue. Smart move on his part.
Once Edward turned and left the library, he took his tension and frustration with him, but I could still feel the lingering charge of Anya's emotions. She was furious, and rightly so, but there was something else mixed in with the anger—a kind of exhausted frustration that cut deeper than just this confrontation.
I turned to face her, concern tightening my chest as I searched her face for any sign of distress. "You okay?" I asked, my voice softer now, letting the protective edge fade.
Her response was a muttered string of French curses, a familiar cadence of frustration that made me want to smile, despite the situation. But this wasn't the time for amusement. I could see her hands trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of her anger. It was an anger that evolved into a rage I knew all too well, one that burned hot and didn't easily dissipate. Yeah, not going to manipulate that, it just needs to burn out naturally.
I stayed quiet, giving her the space she needed as she marched into her office, her movements sharp and purposeful. She was working through it in her own way, she needed to feel this, to process it on her terms. And so, I followed at a respectful distance, ready to step in if she needed me, but content to let her lead.
When she finally spoke, it was with a mix of disbelief and anger, her words laced with a bitterness that cut deeper than I'd expected. I listened, letting her vent, knowing she needed to get it all out before she could even think about calming down. The frustration in her voice was raw, almost desperate, as she tried to make sense of the absurdity of the situation. She wasn't just angry at Edward—this went deeper, touching on something more personal, more existential.
And I could feel her desire to escape, to get away from all of this, as it bubbled to the surface. She was ready to bolt, to put as much distance between herself and this place as possible, but reality kept her tethered. She was trapped, not just physically but emotionally, and that realization only made her anger burn hotter.
When she finally paused, the weight of it all pressing down on her, I stepped closer, offering the one thing I could—my presence. I couldn't fix this for her, couldn't erase the frustration or the anger, but I could be here, steady and unyielding, a reminder that she wasn't alone in this.
"Where were you planning on going?" I asked, my tone gentle but curious, trying to gauge just how far she was willing to go to escape this madness.
She crossed her arms, leaning against the desk with a defeated sigh. "Anywhere but here," she grumbled, her voice carrying a hint of resignation. But then she remembered the practicalities, the impossibility of making a dramatic exit in a town like Forks without a car.
That's when I offered her the escape she so desperately needed. I knew it wasn't just about getting out of the library—she needed to escape the Dreamworld, even if just momentarily. She needed this, and I was more than willing to give it to her.
When Alice's text came through, offering us an out, I didn't hesitate. The mischief in her eyes as she realized what Alice had set in motion was enough to convince me that this was the right move. We were breaking free, if only for a day, and I couldn't wait to see her smile again, to watch the tension melt away as we left Forks behind.
Pulling out of the parking lot, the thrill of escape buzzing between us, I glanced over at her, the tension from earlier completely gone. Now this is a reason to play hooky from school. Fast car, hot woman and the open road. What more could you ask for?
"Seattle?" she suggested, the excitement in her voice contagious. It was a brilliant idea, and I couldn't help but smile as I hit the gas, taking us onto the highway with a renewed sense of purpose.
But as we drove, I could feel the subtle shift in her emotions, the worry that crept in alongside the excitement. She was concerned, not just about our escape, but about me—about my need to hunt. To recuperate from my stand off with Edward. When she asked me to pull over, I didn't hesitate. I knew what she was asking, even if she didn't say it outright.
She never outright asked or said the words, she merely asked that we pull over. No accusations. Honestly it felt no different than if she was asking for a pitstop to pee.
Man, this woman! I respected her for not being afraid to call me out when it mattered.
After taking care of what needed to be done, I returned to the car, feeling more centered, more in control. Her smile when I settled back into the driver's seat was all the reassurance I needed. We were ready to continue, and the worry that had been hanging over us lifted, leaving only the excitement of what lay ahead.
Speeding down the highway, the music from her MP3 player filling the car with familiar tunes, I couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. The conversation that followed was light, easy, a welcome contrast to the tension of earlier. She asked about my "vegetarian diet," and I couldn't help but laugh at the way she tried to make sense of something that was so foreign to her. Her curiosity was endearing, and I answered her questions with as much honesty as I could, wanting to give her the understanding she sought.
And the way she joked about being a harlot in Edward's eyes, dripping with sarcasm, made me laugh harder than I had in years. I didn't see a harlot; I saw a woman. But I could see how Eddie boy wouldn't be able to recognize that, especially with him so wrapped up in Bella, a mere child compared to Anya.
When the city skyline came into view, I glanced over at her, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Welcome to Seattle," I said, my voice filled with the promise of the adventure that lay ahead.
She grinned back at me, the excitement in her eyes matching my own. "Let's go get that latte," she said, her voice carrying a lightness I hadn't heard in a while.
When my woman said she wanted a latte, she wasn't kidding. The moment we parked, she kicked off her rain boots and switched them out for a pair of three-inch heels she'd pulled from her bag—a sharp contrast to the laid-back vibe of Forks. Then she pulled out a compact and started fixing her makeup, the swift movements of someone who had done this a thousand times before. Not that she needed it—she had a natural beauty that didn't require any enhancement.
The blood-red lipstick she carefully applied was an interesting choice, though.
"What?" she said, catching my glance. "It's Russian Red, Tex. Deal with it."
I couldn't help but laugh at that, appreciating the fire in her response. She wasn't just preparing for a latte; she was preparing for a moment that felt more like home, more like the woman she was before Forks.
Stepping out of the car, she moved with the grace of someone who belonged in the city—confident, poised, completely in her element. For me, this trip to Seattle was just a temporary escape, but for her, it was more than that. It was a chance to reconnect with a part of herself that had been on pause for too long.
And I wasn't the only one who noticed. The moment we walked into the coffee shop, every single male in the room stopped to take note. It wasn't because she had a vampire on her arm—no, this was all her. Anya had a natural poise and allure that turned heads without her even trying.
She had a sensual sway to her hips as she sauntered up to the counter, completely bypassing the line and placing her order like she owned the place. The barista didn't even blink, just nodded and got to work, clearly as captivated as the rest of them.
In that moment, a fleeting thought crossed my mind—damn, she'd make one hell of a vampire.
The moment the thought crossed my mind, I pushed it aside. The idea of Anya as a vampire was intriguing, sure, but it was also dangerous—too dangerous. She was fierce, no doubt about it, but she was also human, and that humanity was a big part of what drew me to her. Her emotional cocktail of joy and contentment, there was no guarantee it would even survive the transformation. I'd hate to lose that. Edward may see Bella as heroin, but Anya was my insulin and I wanted the real deal, not the synthetic.
But still, watching her command the room with just her presence, it was hard not to imagine what she could be if she had the strength and speed to match that inner fire. She had an undeniable power in her, one that didn't rely on supernatural abilities. It was in the way she carried herself, the way she spoke, and the way she looked at the world as if it had to meet her on her terms, not the other way around.
When she turned back to me, latte in hand, there was a mischievous glint in her eye. "Got it, Tex," she said, taking a satisfied sip. "You want anything, or are you just going to stand there looking all broody?"
I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I'm good," I replied, shaking off the lingering thoughts. "This one's all about you."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Damn right it is."
Anya didn't just blend into the background—she commanded attention effortlessly, and as we made our way to a table, I could feel the eyes still on her, curiosity and admiration in their gazes. If she noticed, she didn't show it; it was obvious she was used to it, and it made me curious to know more about her life in Montreal.
The attention didn't stop when she removed her coat, draping it casually over the back of the chair before sitting down. It was then that I realized just how preoccupied I'd been earlier, too focused on keeping Edward from snacking on my human to fully appreciate what she was wearing.
A dress, I think. But calling it just a dress didn't do it justice. The deep red fabric clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve in ways that were hard to ignore. When she crossed her ankles under the table, the movement was subtle, but the ripple it caused in the room was anything but. The lust radiating from the men around us was almost overwhelming, making it difficult for me to keep my own instincts in check.
I forced myself to focus on her face, on the way she casually sipped her latte; her lipstick leaving a crimson red stain on the lid. But it was a challenge to ignore how she was the centre of attention in the room, given how effortlessly she drew every gaze in the place. I could feel the collective desire, the admiration that bordered on envy, and it was getting a bit too much. It wasn't just her looks—there was something about her presence that stirred something primal in everyone around her.
And I couldn't blame them. Even as a vampire, I found myself captivated by the way she moved, by the confidence she exuded with every small gesture. But there was also a possessiveness creeping in, an urge to remind every single one of them that she was mine.
Apparently, I failed to keep myself in check. Anya's eyes met mine, a curious glint in them, before she casually glanced around the shop, taking in the stares we were attracting. Her gaze returned to me, and a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.
"Oh," was all she said, the word carrying more understanding than surprise. Then, with effortless grace, she slipped her jacket back on, her movements fluid and deliberate, as if she was reclaiming the moment for herself.
"Darling, how about that walk now?" she suggested, her tone light as she stood and waited for me, perfectly composed despite the stir she'd caused.
I couldn't help but admire how easily she handled the situation, her calm confidence a stark contrast to the simmering emotions I was struggling to contain. She knew exactly what was happening and was already steering us out of it, giving me the out I didn't realize I needed until she offered it.
With a nod, I rose from my seat, more than ready to follow her lead.
And then, just as we stepped outside, something unexpected happened—she grew bashful. I glanced over, caught off guard by the sudden change. What? Why was the sexiest librarian in the Pacific Northwest suddenly bashful?
Her usual confidence seemed to waver for a moment, a slight flush colouring her cheeks as she avoided my gaze. It was a side of her I hadn't seen before, a vulnerability that felt out of place after how effortlessly she'd commanded the room just minutes ago.
"What?" I asked, trying to make sense of the shift. "What's going on?"
She glanced up at me, a sheepish smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Nothing," she murmured, clearly flustered. But it was more than that—something had stirred her, something she wasn't used to feeling.
Seeing her like this, so uncharacteristically bashful, only made her more irresistible. It was a reminder that beneath all that fierce confidence and sharp wit, there was still a part of her that could be caught off guard, that could feel shy, even if only for a fleeting moment. And somehow, that made her even sexier and her emotional cocktail with that hint of bashful, wow, sent shivers running throughout my body.
"Anya, it's obviously not nothing. What is it?" I pressed, sensing there was more to her sudden bashfulness than she was letting on.
She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "Right, empath."
I couldn't help but smirk at that, but I stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. She took a deep breath, then glanced around as if searching for something. What it was, I had no idea, but once she spotted it—or made up her mind—she set off in that direction with newfound confidence, her hips swaying in a way that drew every eye in the vicinity.
Once again, I found myself fighting off the wave of lust from the men of Seattle, their gazes trailing after her as if she were the only thing worth looking at in the city. But this time, there was a flicker of something different in her stride, a determination that piqued my curiosity even more.
Eventually, she settled on a bench overlooking the harbour, the soft sound of the water lapping against the docks providing a peaceful backdrop. She sat down, her earlier confidence giving way once more to that surprising bashfulness. As she turned to face me, I could see it in her eyes—the uncertainty, the vulnerability she rarely showed.
I sat beside her, keeping my distance just enough to give her space. "Anya," I said gently, searching her face for clues, "what's going on?"
She hesitated, her gaze flickering out over the water before returning to me. The moment stretched out, the usual sharpness in her demeanor softened by whatever was weighing on her mind.
"I'm not a vain woman," she began, her voice measured, as if she was carefully choosing each word. "But I'm also not naive. My family… hmm, how do I put this? We move in elite circles back in Montreal—literary, musical circles. So, I'm used to attention, and over the years, I've learned to wield it. Hence my bravado about singing with Mike Newton in the cafeteria."
Was she a groupie? Partied with rock stars? My mind raced, painting the wildest pictures. Anya in smoky clubs, surrounded by musicians, her voice cutting through the haze like a siren's call. Did she drift through those elite circles, breaking hearts, leaving men in pieces? The idea made my jaw clench. I could see her commanding a room, every eye on her, every man wishing he could have her.
It was maddening. The thought of those other men—men who got to touch her, hold her—before I ever had the chance. It stirred something dark in me, a flicker of jealousy that I couldn't shake. But damn, it was also intoxicating. Knowing she'd lived boldly, unapologetically. It made me love her even more, but it also brought out that possessive streak. She was mine now. And I wasn't about to let anyone forget it.
As these wild thoughts raced, Anya paused, her expression remained contemplative as she took another sip of her latte, her eyelashes fluttering as she savoured the drink, using the moment to gather her thoughts.
"It's one thing to have attention on me," she continued, her voice quieter now, more introspective. "But it's another to subject an empath to it. I didn't think about how it might affect you, being surrounded by all those emotions in the coffee shop. I'm sorry."
Her words caught me off guard, cutting through the haze of my thoughts. My own emotions were a jumbled mess—jealousy, desire, possessiveness—but her concern was genuine. She was thinking of me, worrying about how all that attention might mess with my head. And damn it, that made my chest tighten, my resolve waver.
I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted to brush it off, tell her I could handle it. I'd been an empath for over a century. I'd seen and felt things that would make anyone else lose their mind. But another part of me—the part that had been battling against those wild thoughts—wanted to tell her the truth. That being in that coffee shop, feeling every man's eyes on her, their lust hitting me like a tidal wave, had been torture.
I took a breath, my gaze locked on her. "You don't have to apologize," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "It's not your fault. I know you can't control what people feel when they look at you." And I couldn't blame them, either. She was mesmerizing, like a magnet pulling them in.
She tilted her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face as she considered my words. "Hmm," she murmured, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. "Perhaps, but I'd much rather have you feeling that cocktail of desire from solely me, without it being amplified by random men."
The playful edge in her voice was unmistakable, and I couldn't help but smile back. "Well, when you put it that way," I replied, leaning in just a little closer, "I'd say that sounds pretty perfect."
She laughed softly, the tension from earlier fully dissolved now, replaced by the easy chemistry we always seemed to fall into. "Good," she whispered, leaning in just close enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. "Because that's exactly what you're going to get."
I didn't have a heartbeat to race, but her words stirred something in me that went deeper than instinct. She could command a room with a single glance, but right now, all her focus was on me, and I was completely captivated. And then, without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed me, fully. Her hands curled up around my neck, pulling me closer as she poured everything into that kiss.
Wow. If I could be breathless, I would have been.
When we finally broke apart, she giggled softly, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. "I've been wanting to do that all day," she confessed, her voice a playful whisper.
"Oh, is that so?" I teased, my voice low as I gently nuzzled my nose against hers. The closeness was intoxicating, and I couldn't resist daring to take a small inhale, opening my senses to what she was feeling.
Her emotions washed over me in a wave—warmth, desire, and a hint of that earlier vulnerability, all blending together in a way that was uniquely her. Damn that emotional cocktail. I think I'll just sit here for a moment and take it all in.
She smiled, a soft, genuine smile that sent a spark of affection through me. "Mm-hmm," she murmured, her lips brushing against mine as she spoke. "Just waiting for the right moment."
"Well," I whispered back, savouring the connection between us, "I'd say your timing is perfect."
"Well, here at least, we're two adults—not librarian and student," she laughed, the sound light and free, before pulling back slightly to look at me more fully.
Her expression shifted to something more serious as she searched my face. "Tex—does it bother you? Pretending to be younger than you are?"
The question caught me off guard, but I could see the genuine curiosity in her eyes. It wasn't something I'd really talked about before, not in this way. The life of a vampire came with its share of pretenses, and playing the role of a teenager was just one of them.
I took a moment to consider her question, my fingers gently tracing patterns on her arm as I thought. "It can be… strange," I admitted, meeting her gaze. "There are times when it feels like I'm living in a loop, going through the motions of something that doesn't really belong to me anymore. But at the same time, it's a necessary part of this life. It's what keeps us safe, what keeps others from asking too many questions."
She nodded, understanding flickering in her eyes. "But does it ever feel like you're losing yourself in the act?"
I gave her a small, thoughtful smile. "Sometimes, maybe. But then there are moments like this, where I get to be fully myself—with you. And that's what makes it worth it. It's not always easy, but it's the life I've chosen. And being here with you? That's as real as it gets for me."
She seemed to consider that, her expression softening. "Good," she said quietly, her hand coming up to rest against my cheek. "Because I want the real you, Tex—the one who doesn't have to pretend."
I leaned into her touch, appreciating the sincerity in her words. "You've got him," I promised, my voice steady. "No pretending with you, Anya. Not ever."
She kissed me lightly once more, her lips brushing against mine in a way that made it hard to think about anything else. Then she pulled me off the bench—or at least tried to. Clearly, she had something in mind, and I wasn't about to resist. So, we walked, her arm looped through mine, and for a moment, it made me feel oddly like my old human self.
She laughed lightly, and I couldn't help but smile. "Yes, ma'am?" I drawled, giving her a playful look.
She rolled her eyes and nudged me gently. "Well, I can kind of relate to the whole 'being in a loop' thing. Kind of."
I was intrigued, curious to see where she was going with this. "How old am I?" she asked suddenly, catching me off guard.
That wasn't the line I thought she was going down, but I answered anyway. "Twenty-five. Twenty-six later this year—I saw your date of birth on your driver's license."
She laughed, shaking her head. "No, you saw American Anya's date of birth, which, yes, is my date of birth… but not my age."
I blinked, processing her words. "Wait, what?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
She smiled, enjoying the confusion on my face. "I was traveling home to Montreal in January 2009."
"And you arrived in Forks in January 2005," I added, still piecing it together.
"Precisely," she confirmed, her smile widening. "So, I'm actually twenty-nine—almost thirty—but here I am, apparently getting to relive my twenties!"
I stared at her, still trying to wrap my head around it. "You're… twenty-nine?" I repeated, more to myself than to her.
"Yes, call me Mrs. Robinson, Tex," she laughed, the sound light and teasing.
The name hit me like a punchline, catching me off guard. Mrs. Robinson. Hell, it was perfect, wasn't it? A sly smile tugged at my lips as the realization settled in. Anya, with her confidence, her poise, her ability to command a room—it all made sense now. She wasn't some naive twenty-something; she'd lived, seen things, experienced the world in ways most people twice her age hadn't.
I couldn't help but think about how different she was from Bella, from most humans. Anya had an edge, a depth that made her irresistible, not just to me, but to every man who crossed her path. Mrs. Robinson. The words rolled around in my head, teasing at the idea of Anya as some kind of seductress. It was a wild thought, but strangely fitting. Her age didn't matter to me, but the idea that she was a few years older added a layer of intrigue.
I shook my head, a smile tugging at my lips. "I'm still trying to process this."
She chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Well, here's another twist for you. Your creator published their opus from late 2005 through to summer 2008. I read them—well, 2.5 of them—back in late 2008, but I had the first book with me on the train ride home to Montreal."
I blinked, caught off guard by the layers of reality she was revealing. "So, before you somehow found yourself in this Dreamworld…" I trailed off, recalling what she'd shared with me earlier—her acceptance of this existence as though it were a coma, a Dreamworld she'd found herself living in.
"Exactly," she said, nodding. "Not only did I somehow find myself in a fictional world, but I did a little time travel too. It's like the universe decided to throw in an extra twist, just for fun." She paused, a wry smile on her lips. "I try not to think too much about it, though—it'll do your head in if you let it."
I could see the mix of resignation and determination in her eyes as she spoke, the way she was trying to make sense of the impossible.
"But my point is, Tex," she continued, her tone softening as she looked at me, "like you, I'm also pretending to be younger than I actually am—the real me, the one from Montreal and 2009."
"So, you've been living this double life, just like me," I said, my smile returning, though there was a new edge to it. "Only you've got the benefit of seeing it all unfold before it even happens. You know the future, don't you?" My words were half-serious, half-teasing, but I couldn't deny the flicker of excitement at the thought.
"True," she said, her tone suddenly shifting to one of mock seriousness, though I could sense there was a ring of truth beneath it. "But I do want to settle something very important."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yes? And what's that?"
She paused for dramatic effect, then looked up at me with a playful glint in her eye. "Well, Tex, when we get around to me being officially introduced as your girlfriend to your family—and yes, I am absolutely going to live out every tween girl's fantasy of being introduced to the v-vegetarians—there's something we need to clear up."
I couldn't help but chuckle at the way she emphasized "v-vegetarians." "And what's that?"
She leaned in, lowering her voice as if sharing a great secret. "When Emmett undoubtedly makes some joke about robbing the cradle, we need to decide—who's the thief and who's the baby in this scenario? I feel it's very important we get our stories straight."
I grinned, caught off guard by her humour and the genuine concern hidden within it. "Well, considering you've got a few years on me—technically speaking—I'd say you're the cradle robber."
She tilted her head, pretending to consider it seriously. "I suppose that makes you the baby, then," she said with a wink.
"Looks like it," I agreed, playing along with her game. "But let's be honest, Emmett's going to have a field day with this no matter what."
She suddenly stopped, turning to face me with a playful glint in her eye, as if she'd just discovered a loophole in my logic. "You're right—if we go by biology, I'm definitely the cradle robber. But chronologically?" She paused, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "You, my dear Tex, are most definitely robbing the cradle."
I raised an eyebrow, amused by her determination. "Oh, so now we're playing the age card, are we?"
"Absolutely," she replied with mock seriousness, as if she'd won some grand debate. "Because when it comes to age, you've got me beat by… what? A century or so?"
"Give or take," I said, unable to suppress a grin. "But you've got to admit, it makes things more interesting."
She laughed, the sound full of warmth. "That it does. So, when Emmett starts in on us, we can just let him figure it out."
"Or confuse him by switching the story halfway through," I suggested, enjoying the image of Emmett's baffled expression.
Anya's eyes lit up at that, clearly loving the idea. "I like the way you think, Tex. Keep him guessing—no one will ever know who's really the cradle robber."
"And that," I said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as we started walking again, "is what makes us a perfect match."
She leaned into me, her earlier mock seriousness giving way to a contented smile. "Perfectly matched in every way that counts."
Then suddenly, her mood shifted. It was as if a cloud had passed over her, and the lightness we'd shared dropped into something heavier, something that felt like dread.
"What? What's wrong now?" I asked, alarmed by the sudden change.
She caught herself, realizing she'd let her emotions slip, and quickly tried to cover it up. But it was too late—I'd already felt the shift.
"Oh, Tex," she said softly, her voice tinged with an uncertainty that hadn't been there before. "I'm sorry, but I don't have the answer to that." She paused, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting mine again. "I didn't finish the series, remember?"
I blinked, trying to piece together what she meant. And then it hit me—she was talking about the books, the ones that had somehow shaped this strange world we were living in.
"Anya," I said gently, reaching out to take her hand. "You're worried because you don't know what's supposed to happen next."
She shook her head, a small, frustrated sigh escaping her lips. "No, it's not that. I'm actually annoyed at myself for not remembering how it all ends. But… ultimately, your creator wrote a love story—for tweens who love a sappy happily ever after."
I could hear the frustration in her voice, the way she was grappling with the idea of being part of a narrative that wasn't hers, a story that had been written with a very different audience in mind.
"But," I said, squeezing her hand gently, "that doesn't mean we're bound by it. Just because it's a love story with a happy ending for someone else, doesn't mean we can't make our own version of it."
"Sacrament!" she exclaimed, the frustration rolling off her again in waves.
She paused, glancing around before heading toward a nearby bench. I followed, sensing that she needed a moment to collect her thoughts. When she sat down, I joined her, waiting patiently as she gathered herself.
"Tex—Jasper—the truth is, I could give a rat's ass about Heathcliff and Duck. Team Jasper to the end, remember?" she said, her voice edged with both determination and irritation. "My annoyance is more about the fact that I read all of this… what, five months ago? Or really, four years into the future? You know what I mean. I was so wrapped up in my fantasy about you that I kind of glossed over parts that, well… that Eddie boy is gonna want to pull another 'stalk the librarian' stunt like he did this morning."
Her eyes met mine, a mix of concern and resolve swirling within them. "Which means you'd have to step in, be the dashing Southern gentleman you are. And as much as I dislike Edward, I don't want to sow discord between you two. You're both part of the same family, and I know how important that is to you."
I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face as I took in her words. "Anya," I began softly, "you don't need to worry about that. Edward and I—we've been through worse. We've disagreed, we've fought, but we've always come out stronger. If I have to step in, I will, but it won't tear us apart. And besides, I'm not going to let him disrupt what we have. Not now, not ever."
Finally, she sighed, a hint of exasperation slipping into her voice. "Is it awful that as much as I don't want to sow discord between you two, I still hate the fucker and want to mess with him? It's ridiculous—I'm over ten years his senior, and he's as irritating as my younger brothers!"
I couldn't help but laugh, the honesty in her frustration breaking through the tension. "Not awful at all," I assured her. "In fact, I'd say it's pretty understandable. Edward is as you put it, an annoying fucker."
She groaned, rolling her eyes. "And he's so self-righteous about it, too! Like, I know he thinks he's doing the right thing, but it's infuriating."
"Believe me, I've had my fair share of wanting to mess with him too," I admitted, a smirk tugging at my lips. "But you know what? Maybe a little well-placed irritation could be good for him. Shake him out of that brooding routine."
Then I saw that telltale look in her eyes—the one she got right before launching into a dramatic reading. She straightened up, affecting Edward's signature intensity, and in an exaggerated, brooding tone, she declared, "It is about Jasper, but it's also about you. You need to understand the risks you're taking."
She stopped, shaking her head in disbelief before dropping the act. "Like seriously, dude, you have the audacity to lecture me about risks when you're the poster child for sexual repression! Ugh, Jasper, I swear, if you hadn't walked in when you did, I would've slapped him. And yeah, it probably would've hurt me more, and with my dumb luck, I'd end up splitting my skin open and giving broody boy there a free pass to snack on me. All because he can't contain his… addiction to vegetables!"
I couldn't help but burst out laughing at that, the vividness of her frustration mixed with her perfect imitation of Edward's self-righteousness was just too much. "Anya, I don't think I've ever heard anyone sum him up quite so accurately," I said between laughs.
She grinned, clearly satisfied with her performance. "Well, someone had to say it. And honestly, the idea of putting him in his place is just too tempting."
"And who better to do it than you?" I replied, shaking my head in amusement.
She leaned into me, her laughter subsiding but the mischievous glint still in her eyes. She paused a moment and took another sip of her latte, "Well we could always christen his car – not like he'd ever get around to doing that."
I chuckled, imagining Edward's face when he found out. "That might actually be perfect. A little scandal without crossing any serious lines."
"Very entertaining," she agreed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But for now, we'll let him keep his car—and his sanity—intact."
She paused for a moment, then her grin widened as another idea sparked. "On the other hand, that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun on the hood. There's a car wash in Forks, right?"
I raised an eyebrow, instantly catching onto her plan. "You're thinking we give his precious Volvo a new kind of shine?"
"Oh, Tex, you are that special kind of stupid, aren't ya?" she replied, her voice laced with playful sarcasm.
I paused for a moment, trying to piece together her meaning. But the dark look in her eyes and the rapid beat of her pulse made her intention very clear.
"Oh," I realized, a slow grin spreading across my face as I caught on. She wants to leave her mark—her human mark—and then we'd wash the car.
I shook my head, equal parts amused and impressed. "Oh, my devious little human," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
Anya just grinned, that mischievous sparkle in her eyes brighter than ever. "Well, we wouldn't want him to miss the message, would we?"
"No, we wouldn't," I agreed, my mind already spinning with the possibilities. "I think it's safe to say we'll be giving Edward a day he won't soon forget."
Hours later, after dropping Anya safely back at her place, I drove the Volvo through a car wash, just as we'd planned. The evening had been a blend of thrill and laughter, we had found a quiet spot off the highway, an old logging road. I was a proper gentleman and opened her car door, unclicking her seat belt. She took my hand and swung her legs, still wearing her heels, out of the car and I walked her to the front of the car. I placed her on the end of the hood, kissed her lightly, slowly, loving the feel of her soft warm lips on mine, in time, she leaned back at her arms and looking at me with that intense look she has, the one that says she knows what I am but isn't afraid. And I found myself running my hands up her legs, slowly, and she softly moaned, "Don't be a tease Tex" and I kept raising my hands up her skirt and –
Well, let's just say it was an education for me, how trusting Anya was of me, how arousing she found my touch. I managed to keep myself in check and not lose control by only allowing myself to feel a small portion of what she was emoting to me – love, joy, desire. But the visuals, what I saw – her hooded eyes, her cheeks turning a deep rosy red and she'd bite her bottom lip ever so sexily as I ministered to her needs. I found myself able to trail kisses down her face, her chin, even a few chaste ones on her neck as she tangled her fingers in my hair. And yeah, I took a souvenir – her black lacy panties, stuffing them into my jeans pocket, I wanted to surround myself in her scent. And I most definitely stole a few bases. I really didn't want the evening to end as I found being with her made me feel more human than predator.
In a sentence: Anya is the devil and an angel all rolled into one as she christened Eddie Boy's pristine Volvo.
But, as I pulled the freshly cleaned Volvo into the Cullens' garage, I couldn't ignore the flaw in Anya's otherwise brilliant scheme. No amount of soap and water could erase the one thing she hadn't considered—Edward's heightened senses. The faint scent of her arousal still clung to the car, subtle but unmistakable to a vampire. Stronger from the leather of the passenger seat where Anya sat commando afterwards. I leaned against the Volvo, smiling to myself as I imagined Edward's reaction when he caught wind of it.
He'd pick up on it the moment he got close enough, and knowing him, he wouldn't just let it slide. His curiosity—and that stubborn, overprotective streak—wouldn't allow it. Part of me almost looked forward to the confrontation, to seeing how he'd try to handle this little twist Anya had unwittingly added to our prank.
"Looks like we'll have to be a bit more careful next time," I murmured, running a hand over the sleek hood of the Volvo and adjusted the passenger mirror back to its original position, before stepping back and heading inside.
I wonder if she'd want to christen my car like that.