See you next Friday! Thanks for reading.

are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?
it's just a game, but really
i'm bettin' on all three for us two
get my car door, isn't that sweet?
then pull me to the backseat
no one's ever had me, not like you

.
nineteen
so high school
.

Cold shock washes over me when I read Edward's text.

My drafted message telling him that I can't work for him anymore is still there, waiting in limbo, and I quickly backspace so I don't accidentally send it now.

I reread his accusatory words that I lied.

I don't reply right away, waiting it out, hoping for a second message from him or more context.

I think over all of the things I lied about, but come up short. There haven't been any outright lies. I've evaded questions and twisted truths, but for the most part, I've been dangerously, stupidly honest with him.

Instead of replying, I stick Jasper's drawing on the fridge and get ready for bed. I hop into the shower and take my time washing my hair, exfoliating, and shaving. Once I'm out, I start my nightly skincare routine which lasts eighteen minutes and involves ten products.

I'm stalling with self-care while actively avoiding Edward's message and dissecting it to an unhealthy degree because there's no way he knows who I am. I've been vaguely honest about my backstory but not enough for him to connect the dots. Not yet.

Once I'm out of the bathroom, I towel-dry my hair and dig through a basket of clean clothes at the foot of my bed. I grab a pair of underwear and a T-shirt to sleep in, and it's not until it's over my head that I realize it's the one Edward gave me.

Why does it have to be so soft and the most perfect oversized fit? I pull away the back collar and crane my neck to check the tag for the brand.

"What the fuck?" I say aloud to myself when I see it's Dior.

Of course, the man owns a luxury T-shirt. Why wouldn't he?

Leaving the bedroom, I turn off lights around the house and double-check the doors are locked before climbing into bed. Too curious for my own good, I Google "Dior men's plain T-shirt" to find they're $750 a pop.

Damn.

I bet Edward looked good in it, too.

Since he's still on my mind, I open my messages to find his lone, taunting text still there. He hasn't said anything else, so I finally bite.

Bella: Lied about what?

He doesn't reply via text.

He calls.

"Calling after one date? I'm starting to think you have it bad for me," I tease, hoping the worry in my tone doesn't translate through the line.

He doesn't laugh.

"We basically had our second date today. And you're a liar liar, pants on fire," he drawls, but he at least sounds amused.

"I'm not wearing any pants," I admit because I want to throw him off his game.

"Oh?" he asks, smug. "Would you like to tell me more about that or should I change the subject?"

I snort a laugh, trying to stay calm. "Stick to the topic. What did I supposedly lie about?"

"The movie," he says, and I'm still lost until he says, "How To Lose a Guy in 10 Dates."

"10 Days," I correct, filled with relief that this is what he's calling me out for. "Wait, did you watch it?"

"It's on Netflix and I got curious. I skipped to the end and saw they had their happy ending. So you lied."

"Well, sorry for lying about the ending, okay? But you should know something about me…"

"What?"

"I follow a strict spoiler etiquette. In good conscience, I couldn't tell you the ending."

He laughs. "Oh, so in good conscience you lied," he drawls, appropriately summing up our entire relationship.

"Yes."

"The movie is from twenty years ago. It's safe to say it's okay if you spoil it. And you weren't even old enough to watch it when it first came out, anyway. Were you?"

Alarm creeps into my bones. It's a casual question that has come up naturally. It's not like he's asking about my age out of the blue.

"No. I think I was nine," I admit. "I watched it a few years after it came out."

"So that makes you… thirty?"

I pause. "I'll be thirty in September. But enough about me, guess what I found out about you today?"

"What?" he asks, and I swear there's a hint of reluctance in his voice.

"You're a bougie bastard."

"And what makes you think that?"

"You happily overpaid for a side table. And you have a Dior T-shirt," I scoff. "Hanes isn't good enough for you? A good ole 6-pack of cotton tees from Costco doesn't cut it?"

He laughs deeply. Happily.

"First of all, I don't have a Costco membership. No reason to buy in bulk if it's just me. And second… fine. Guilty as charged," he admits. "I'm not particular about too many things, except clothes. If I'm going to buy something, I want it to last."

"So is it safe to say your boxers are also a luxury brand? I mean, I can't imagine you in cheap Fruit of the Loom now."

"Since you're imagining me in my underwear, you should probably know I'm a boxer briefs guy."

A lean but muscular vision of him in only black boxer briefs pops into my mind.

"Thanks for that mental image," I quip, trying to sound teasing but it mostly just comes out as flirtatious.

"Yeah, just want you to get the full picture."

"Uh huh." We lapse into silence, but I'm fucking smiling. "Why are you quiet?" I ask.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"Lots of stuff, but..." he trails off, not expanding.

"I sketched your living room today," I tell him randomly to fill the silence.

"You did?"

I text him the picture I snapped earlier when I was done with it. "Check your messages."

"Wow," he muses. "Wait, you drew this?"

"Yeah."

"I figured you'd use some computer program to create something like this."

I don't tell him about Chelsea's astute prediction that he's inspiring me.

"Yeah, I mean, eventually I will use a program. But sometimes I like to hand sketch in the early stages."

"Yeah, no, it looks great," he says. "I like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I've never lived in a space that's looked this good before, so I'm ready for you to take over."

I hesitate. "Are you sure it's a good idea that we work together?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I mean… okay, I know it's pretty new, but what if things go sideways between us and you're stuck looking at your redecorated condo? Would you want that reminder of me?"

"Ohhh, so you're an overthinker?" he accuses.

"Yes."

"It's fine, okay? You'll break my heart and I'll wallow on the new couch you insisted I get. That's life."

"Oh my God," I laugh. "Stop."

"I haven't put myself out there in a long fucking time. I haven't really wanted to. But I like where this is going, and I'm enjoying getting to know you."

"Hard same," I quietly admit.

"So, whatever happens… yeah."

I chew on his words, my guilt easing when I decide to not make any commission on his condo.

"Okay, well…" I pause, wanting to leave this topic behind. "I was mostly playing around when I sketched your living room, so like, we can go over other ideas. This is just one space, though. We have a lot of work to do."

He sighs exaggeratedly. "How much is this gonna cost me?"

"Ummmm, you buy $750 T-shirts. Money is no object, is it?"

"You Googled my T-shirt?" he asks rhetorically. "And you say I'm the one who has it bad."

I playfully scoff but then he's fucking FaceTiming me.

"What do you think you're doing?" I accuse.

"I just wanna see one thing."

"I'm in bed with wet hair and zero makeup."

"So am I. Answer."

I reluctantly accept the video call to find him shirtless in bed with damp hair, some pieces falling across his forehead.

"What?" I ask, but his gaze brightens like he's pleased.

"One, you're cute. And two, I knew it—you're wearing my shirt."

"Well, someone has to get their money's worth. And you said you didn't need it back. Which is crazy because of how much it costs. Like you're clinically insane for that."

He laughs and seeing his smile on the screen stupidly warms me.

"I've been accused of being worse," he says with slight apprehension.

"Like what?"

"Bougie bastard?" he offers, recalling my previous accusation and making me smile. "I meant to ask, what's your last name?"

The smile slides off my face and I fucking hate that he has me on camera right now.

"Why?" I ask, sounding too defensive for how simple of a question that is.

My paranoia doesn't register for him.

"I bought your ticket for the gala next weekend. They need a name for the seating chart. Unless you want your place card to say Edward Cullen's date, but I figured you're too progressive for that?"

It's a plausible reason to need my full name. And he's right. The feminist in me would rage at the misogyny.

"What should I wear to that, anyway?" I ask, changing the subject but not enough for him to be suspicious. "Is it black tie? Is there a theme or anything?"

"Yes, black-tie and the theme is speakeasy."

"Hmm. Okay. I think I have something for that."

"Don't tell me—a flapper dress?"

I laugh. "No, I'm not in the habit of wearing tasseled fringe."

"As distracting and devastatingly beautiful as you'll be in whatever you choose to wear, I still need your full name."

I swallow.

"Bella Swan," I say, using Charlie and Renee's last name. The one I only had for three years before Uncle Garrett and Aunt Katherine legally adopted me. I tell myself it's not a total lie. Swan was my last name at one point in my life. But still, I feel a slight pang of guilt in my gut.

"Bella Swan," Edward repeats, testing it out. "Cute."

I force a small laugh. "You keep saying that."

"It keeps being true."

"It's just a name."

His gaze darkens a bit, but it's less suspicious and more seductive. "Well, I was referring to more than your name."

"Is this normal for you? FaceTiming and flirting with women when you're shirtless in bed?"

He exhales a short, cute laugh. "Actually, no. Would you believe me if I said I don't think I've ever used FaceTime before?"

"Stop. What?" I ask in disbelief. "I popped your FaceTime cherry?"

"Yes, you did, so you better make this a memorable video call," he jokes, but his voice still has that underlying flirtatious tone.

"The pressure," I remark dryly.

He bites back a grin. "I know. Don't fumble this now. I have faith in you."

"Well… we haven't even kissed so flashing you is obviously out of the question."

"Is that what FaceTime is used for?" he innocently asks.

"Not always."

"Is this normal for you? FaceTiming men and flashing them?" he wonders, a variation of the question I asked him.

"You wish," I shoot back, my chest feeling light and excited. "This conversation is quickly derailing. I think it started when you mentioned your underwear."

"Technically, you were the first to mention my underwear." He just shakes his head and smiles. "But sorry. Should I let you go?"

"No. How's your wrist doing?"

He holds it up. "It's okay."

"When will you be cleared to operate again?"

A flash of uncertainty passes over his face. "I don't know."

I frown. "Your wrist seemed okay today. You didn't have a problem carrying the side table."

"Well, I'd hope not. It only weighs like, ten pounds," he says, amused. "But… I have to be honest about something."

"What?" I whisper, nervous from how serious and slightly vulnerable he's turned.

"I was on leave before I ever met you."

"What do you mean?"

"I implied I was on leave because of my injured wrist after saving you, but that wasn't true. I… lost a patient." He pauses, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. "There wasn't anything I could do. But I still feel responsible for it."

"I'm sure no one blames you," I say too quietly.

His gaze lowers. "It coincided with some other shit going on in my life. So I decided to take a leave for a bit to get my head straight."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, meaning it because he seems so torn up about this. "Losing a patient can't be easy. I can't imagine."

He stays quiet.

"Even if I'm not operating yet, I still go in to keep somewhat of a routine," he says after a beat. "And I'm still involved in consultations and meetings. I didn't lie to you about that part."

I nod, approaching this delicately. "What other stuff was going on? I mean, if you want to talk about it."

"It's a long fucking story. And I'm not sure I want to scare you away or bore you with all of that yet."

"You don't scare me," I say honestly, and his gaze softens. "Or bore me. I enjoy talking to you."

A small smile plays on his lips. "I like talking to you, too. But I swear there's something about you that makes me want to tell you everything. And that's rare for me. So stop with your bewitching voodoo," he jokes, holding eye contact. "It's distracting."

A playful smile curves my lips. "Like I put a spell on you?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. It's been a while since I've practiced witchcraft," I joke. "Maybe I need to pick it up again. Are you scared?"

"No," he says earnestly. "Not of you. But this feeling? Kind of. It's got me calling you the day after our date. It's not exactly smooth or patient."

"Patient, no. But I don't know. You're pretty smooth, I'll give you that."

"I guess you were the first one to reach out after our date, so you're not patient, either."

"Yeah, but that was work related. So it doesn't count."

"Right. Work," he says dryly, making air quotes with one hand as he says the word. I watch him swallow, turning serious. "So, is it just me that's feeling like this? 'Cause I can back off."

"Don't back off," I encourage. "I…"

"What?"

"The sketch I did of your living room today? That's rare for me," I confess, offering up some vulnerability because he just did. "But you… inspired me?" I cover my face with one hand. "It sounds so lame!" I mumble from behind my palm.

When I peek out from behind my fingers at the screen, I see he's grinning.

"You like me," he accuses.

"Hanging up now!"

"Bella."

The way he says my name makes my stomach clench with excited nerves.

He's right. I won't admit it to him, but I'm done lying to myself. I'm starting to feel something real for him. And that might be scarier and more dangerous than anything.

Lucy jumps on the bed and she's the perfect distraction. "Do you wanna see my cat?"

Edward's a mixture of surprised, smug, and shy. "Is this a euphemism or…"

I laugh. Loudly.

"That's funny, but no." Holding my phone, I flip the camera. "Meet Lucy."

Even though I can still see him on the screen, the only thing he sees is my cat.

He smiles. "Cute."

She meows. And then like the traitor that she is, she purrs and rubs up against my phone.

Then again, I guess I'm the traitor right now. I've just spent the last fifteen minutes talking to Edward as if we're actually dating. It's fucking confusing and I need to get a grip. I need to pull back.

"Hey Lucy, can you have Bella flip the camera again? You're adorable and all but I much prefer to look at her."

My chest squeezes and I turn the camera back on me. If he notices I'm more guarded than seconds ago, he doesn't comment on it.

"I should go to bed," I say, feeling self-conscious from our easygoing conversation.

He scrubs a hand over his mouth again. "Yeah, I'm beat."

"If you ever want to talk about... anything." I let the offer hang open. "I'm here."

"Thanks." He nods, smiling somberly. "Sleep well, Bella."

I echo the same sentiment before we say goodnight, ending the call.

I toss.

I turn.

When I do eventually doze, Edward's in my subconscious again.

But unlike last night, they're only good dreams.