A/N: Twilight is the property of Stephanie Meyer. Anya Simms is all mine.

Chapter 29: Impromptu Flashdance

APOV

Thurs March 3/2005

I had finished dinner, put the wine away, and settled on tea instead. I wasn't entirely sure how this Anya—American Anya—handled her alcohol, and the last thing I needed was a hangover in the morning. Besides, my mind was too restless to indulge in a third glass.

I settled into the desk in my office, pretending to work on my dissertation. The familiar words and research spread across the screen, and pages of notes laid out in front of me, but my thoughts were wandering far from the French Resistance.

I wasn't sure who I was more pissed at—myself, or Edward, for effectively cockblocking me. Not that I expected to take Jasper to my bed. I wasn't that stupid; he was still a vampire, and I knew how easily he could snap me in half if things got out of hand. Emmett yanking Jasper off me had given me a small taste of that as I glanced down at the light bruises on my midriff where Jasper's hands had been.

But I had definitely hoped for a romantic, albeit PG-13, evening. You know, cuddling in front of the fire, swapping war stories—maybe a hand up the shirt. Was that too much to ask? Instead, I was sitting alone in my office, sipping tea that was rapidly cooling, trying to muster the focus to work on my dissertation while replaying the events of the evening in my head.

"Not that it was entirely Edward's fault," I muttered to myself, setting the mug down with a bit more force than necessary. I could almost picture him, all broody and melodramatic, probably thinking he was doing everyone a favour by "saving" Jasper from himself. Ugh, gag me with a spoon.

But there was no denying that a part of me was angry at myself too. Maybe I had been pushing things too far, getting caught up in the moment and forgetting the very real risks that came with being close to Jasper. Still, it wasn't like we were rushing into anything reckless. We knew the boundaries, even if those boundaries were frustratingly firm.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair, letting my gaze drift to the window where the night was dark and quiet. I had wanted more than just a stolen moment in the kitchen, more than the thrill of Jasper's hands on my skin. I wanted to really connect with him, to have something real, even if it had to be PG-13.

It wasn't fair. We'd been careful—both of us had taken things slow (the slowest I'd ever taken a relationship since I was a damn teenager), respecting each other's limits. But just when it felt like we were making progress, Edward's overprotective instincts had to swoop in and ruin everything. I'm nearly thirty years old, well nearly twenty-six in this world, I should be able to kiss and make out with whomever I want.

I pushed away from the desk, abandoning any pretense of working on my dissertation and wandered into the living room. My thoughts were too jumbled, too annoyed to focus on anything academic. Instead, I found myself pacing the room, trying to burn off the restless energy that seemed to be pulsing through me.

I needed something to shake this off—some kind of release. Music. Maybe I could dance the frustration out of me. Flashdance. That could work.

Rifling through the vinyl, the familiar beats and upbeat tempo came to mind. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to hate the fact that I was at home, bemoaning the fact that I couldn't go further with Jasper—basically, having a pity party. I was acting like Bella did, ad nauseam, pining away over broody Edward's every mood swing.

I froze, my hand halfway to the record player. Ugh, I thought, a wave of disgust washing over me. I've resorted to acting like a 17-year-old teenage girl.

That realization hit me harder than it should have. Here I was, a grown woman, and instead of handling this with some semblance of maturity, I was letting myself spiral into a sulky mess. I could almost hear my own internal monologue echoing with the whiny undertones of adolescent angst, and it made me want to cringe.

So, I did what I'd learned I did best in the Dreamworld—I leaned into it. I channeled my inner Bella and put on a performance for myself, because why not? If I was going to act like a teenager, I might as well go all in.

"But Edward," I purred dramatically, throwing a hand to my forehead as I paced the room, "what do you mean we can't kiss? Surely, we can kiss?" I batted my eyelashes at my imaginary Edward, letting myself get lost in the ridiculousness of it all, before dramatically swooning onto the couch, trying my best to be alluring.

It was all in good fun, a way to shake off the lingering frustration and have a laugh at my own expense. I didn't expect anything to come of it—until I felt the cool, familiar touch of lips on mine.

My eyes snapped open in shock. Vampire—mine.

Jasper was leaning over me, his gaze intense as he kissed me, clearly having caught the tail end of my little performance. He must have come in without me noticing, and now here we were—me in the middle of an over-the-top Bella impression, and Jasper responding in a way I hadn't anticipated.

Merde, I thought, my heart racing as I tried to process what had just happened. How do I explain this to Jasper?

I pulled back slightly, my cheeks flushed from both the kiss and the realization that he'd caught me in the act. "Uh... hey, Tex," I managed to say, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "Didn't hear you come in."

Jasper's lips twitched into a small, amused smile, though there was a heat in his gaze that told me he was still very much in the moment. "Didn't mean to interrupt," he said, his voice low and teasing. "But I couldn't resist."

I laughed, more out of nervousness than anything else, and ran a hand through my hair. "Well, I guess that's one way to bring me back to reality."

Jasper, clearly enjoying this, teased me with a playful grin. "So, was that another one of your dramatic readings you do for book club?"

"Yeah, something like that," I said cryptically, my smile widening. "Let's just say The Duck didn't like getting her wings clipped."

He caught on immediately, his eyes lighting up with understanding. "I got my own version of that at the house. Apparently, Heathcliff's quite jealous that you and I are... ah, beyond handholding, shall we say?"

I barked out a laugh, loving how Jasper was leaning into our own perverse secret code about how the novel was unfolding.

"Yeah, Tex, that's one way to put it," I said, still grinning. But as the laughter faded, I couldn't help but let my thoughts swirl back to the question that had been nagging at me. Was I pushing too far? Expecting too much? Or was Edward really just the sexually repressed teen Meyer wrote him to be?

I looked at Jasper, sitting up slightly, my smile dimming just a fraction as I considered the implications. "But... can I ask you something?" I began cautiously, not wanting to ruin the mood but needing to know. "Am I ... I dunno, pushing things too far? Expecting too much?"

His expression softened, and he shifted slightly, moving closer as he took my hand in his. "You're not pushing anything, Anya. We've both been careful, and we both know where the boundaries are. As for Edward..." He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Well, let's just say he's got his own hang-ups and I refuse to let them dictate how we handle things."

I exhaled the tension I hadn't realized I was holding in my chest easing a bit. "I wholeheartedly agree with that! Even if things are complicated for us."

"It is," Jasper agreed, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand in a soothing gesture. "I don't deny that, but I believe it's worth figuring out. We're not in Edward and Bella's story. We're in ours. And we get to decide how it plays out."

"Yeah, Tex," I said softly, meeting his gaze with a renewed sense of certainty. "You're right. We write our own story." To hell with Meyer's script. At least for tonight.

Jasper smiled, his eyes warm and full of that steady, unwavering calm that calmed the racing thoughts in my mind. "That's the spirit. So, what do you say? Ready to get back to the real show?"

I grinned, feeling the tension melt away completely. "Well blondes do have more fun, so yes."

I have to say, I enjoyed the company. Jasper was every bit the true Southern gentleman, leaving at a respectable hour despite the fact that neither of us wanted the evening to end. I couldn't help but tease him as he was heading out the backdoor. "Oh, how you protect my honour, dear sir," I said, laying the drawl on thick—horribly thick, really—but he laughed all the same.

Earlier in the evening, when we'd finally come up for air and Jasper had noticed the bruises on my midriff, when he straightened my shirt out (oh yeah! there was definitely some skin on skin, let's just say a vampire's cold hands and a woman's chest – OMG match made in heaven and those lightly buttery swirls of his fingers and thumb, mon dieu! I found my own hand sneaking under my shirt to cover his!) he didn't react like Edward would have towards Bella—thank God for that. There was no panic, no melodramatic self-flagellation. He simply muttered that he'd gladly beat Emmett up for me, which made me laugh so hard I nearly spilled my tea.

It was in that moment I realized just how dissimilar these two vampires were—Edward and Jasper. Edward was all intensity and brooding, constantly caught up in his own head, overanalyzing every move, every emotion. Jasper, on the other hand, had a quiet strength about him. He was protective, yes, but in a way that felt mature and reassuring, not suffocating. He didn't treat me like I was made of glass, like I was one wrong move away from shattering.

And as much as I appreciated the depth of Jasper's character, it saddened me that Meyer had chosen to focus so heavily on Edward rather than exploring someone like Jasper. There was so much more to him, so many layers that went unexplored in the story I remembered reading in the fall. It made me wish for an alternate version of the tale—one where Jasper was the lead, where his struggles and his growth were given the attention they deserved.

But that wasn't the world I'd found myself in. This was Edward's story, for better or worse. And yet, even in the shadows of the broody vampire's overwhelming presence, Jasper was carving out a place for us, something real and solid that couldn't be overshadowed by teenage angst and melodrama. Settling into my morning routine, I couldn't help but feel grateful for that. For the fact that, despite everything, I had something with Jasper that was ours—something that wasn't dictated by the narrative I'd once read in a book. And as I thought about the night before, about the way he'd looked at me, laughed with me, and left with that lingering promise in his eyes, I knew I wouldn't trade it for anything. And that was more than enough.