Author's Note: This is a one shot that I wrote today. Without giving anything away, try and pay close attention, let's just say this jumps around a lot without any warning. I really hope you like it; I really enjoyed writing it. Also, the theme is loosely based on a movie, two bonus points if you can name the movie.

Nice reviews are better than chocolate, unless maybe you're licking that chocolate off someone.

The Secret Life of Edward Cullen

We were having sex. No matter where we started out, it always ended up this way. This wasn't just your run of the mill, if it can ever be called that, sexual encounter; this was movie sex. Hot movie sex. The kind they say never happens in real life, whoever they are, well I just feel sorry for them. I had just come off the dirty, slightly sticky stage and was walking down the dark hallway with my guitar when someone pulled me into a closet. Isn't the guy supposed to do that? Well whatever, I was turned on by the role reversal. So now here we were, in a tiny closet of this seedy little club, having the hottest sex of my life. My guitar was somewhere forgotten, but hopefully not harmed; I could barely see my hand in front of my face, but I knew it was her. It was always her.

She's up against the door and I can hear the faint sounds of the DJ getting started over her moaning. Her skirt is up around her hips and my hands are around her waist. The bass line is so loud it buzzes the door; I nip at her neck and I think that should about do it –

The phone was ringing, taking me rudely out of my fantasy, yet again. I answered, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. "This is Edward."

The voice on the other end reminded me of the adults in that one cartoon, or was it a comic strip? I don't know, but she was yelling, I don't think she has another volume. She was kindly reminding me that we went to print at 10 p.m and I was the only one that hadn't finished my work. That's what I do, by the way, I'm a copy editor of the only real newspaper in town. I fix other people's work; I don't get to actually write anything, but maybe one day. I ran a hand through my hair, I do that when I'm tired, stressed, bored, thoughtful; I do it a lot.

"I'm finishing it up right now Ms. Brighton; it'll be ready in ten minutes." She gave a loud "humph" and hung up without saying goodbye. I like to pretend that noise she makes is her way of saying thank you and goodbye. Checking my watch, I see that it's only 8:30 p.m.

It takes less than the promised ten minutes for me to finish and send my work off. That gives me just enough time to hit the bookstore and see her. I have her shifts pretty much memorized, believe me, I know how creepy that sounds, but don't judge me. I can't help it, she has this, I don't know, power? That works, this power over me. I slip my suit jacket over my now wrinkled shirt and loosened tie, and all but run out of the office. My paper takes up the top three floors of the building; I work on the bottom of the three. I stepped into the elevator and closed my eyes. There are no security cameras in here.

The power had gone out, but the backup generator was on, providing just enough light that we could see each other in the small space of the elevator. She was toying with the buttons of her shirt, facing me, daring me closer. I take a step closer, then another before she loses her cool. She grabs my shirt and pulls me the rest of the way, wrapping a nylon encased leg around my waist. I run my hands up the fabric until I discover, "oh," I moan, "thigh highs."

The bell from the elevator dinged, the doors opened. I sigh and step out into the lobby of the building. I walk through the big glass door and head right. It's a quiet Friday night, couples are out enjoying one of the last decent evenings before autumn fully kicked in. I stick my hands in my pockets and try to block out all the lovey dovey stuff, some seeps in anyway.

They seated us at our usual table outside, under the white twinkle lights wrapped around the branches of the small trees. It was a perfect evening, she looked beautiful as always. I pulled out her chair and she sat, I took my seat and tried to calm my nerves. I told her how gorgeous she was, how much I loved her. The waiter brought the champagne on cue, it was important; her glass was extra special tonight. He handed it to her; she looked at it carefully, "is that?" She gasped, a smile beginning. I used a fork to fish out the ring and got out of my seat to kneel in front of her –

I looked inside the doors of the bookstore to see if I could spot her before I walked in. Sure enough, she crosses the main center aisle – fiction to biography. I take a deep breath and walk in. I browse through the travel section looking at books about going to the south of France, waiting for her to go back to the customer service counter. I'm approached twice by sales people asking if I need help finding what I'm looking for. I try not to laugh. I pick up a book about French beaches, pretend to read.

She looked stunning her dark blue bikini. She was shy about it when I bought it for her, but I persuaded her. "It's foreplay, love, foreplay." The beach was deserted at this time of day; the sun was just about to touch the horizon. Her hair looked disheveled, sexy; it reminded me of, well let's just say it reminded me of something very specific. I kiss her shoulder; turn us so I'm above her. This particular bikini unties at the neck and at the back.

She's behind the customer service counter again. I stand there dumbly holding the book in my hands, trying to work up the courage to finally talk to her. Confession time, I've never actually spoken to her. Well no, that's not exactly true. Two weeks ago I asked her to look up the name of a book for me. And about a month or so before that I asked her for the time. I put the book back on the shelf and try to get my heart to stop fluttering.

I walk up to the counter slowly, what's the worst that could happen right? Ok, I could make a fool of myself. She might have a boyfriend, she might laugh at me, I might burst into flames right in front of her.

I lean over the counter, she turns and smiles at me. "I need to tell you something. I'm in love with you. I think you're the most stunning woman I've ever seen and if you come with me right now I'll make sure you never want for anything. I'll do anything for you."

She beamed at me, "Oh, Edward! I've been dreaming about this moment," she had tears in her eyes. I grabbed her and pulled her over the counter, into my arms.

Ok, there was no going back now; I was too close to the counter, if I turned away I'd just look stupid. It was at this moment I realized I had no opening line, no question, no witty anything. Crap. She turned to face me. Crap. Ok, be cool….ok, just don't be dumb. "Hi," she said. She looked a little tired, but she smiled anyway.

I smiled back a second too long, just creeping past the line from friendly to I might be freaking her out. "Hi." Yep, good one.

"Can I help you with something?" She bit her bottom lip lightly.

She was biting her lip, her face flushed with desire. I licked up the inside of her thigh, her hands were in my hair, moving my head further up – I don't have time for this.

"Um, I'm looking for a book," that works, yeah, that'll be fine.

"Ok, do you have a title? Author's name?" She was doing the lip thing again.

"Uh," crap crap crap, "I uh,"anybody's name, any title, say anything, "I forgot it." Oh my God, this is bad.

"I'm sorry, but I can't really help you if you don't have any information," she looked apologetic.

"Uh, that's ok. Maybe I'll come back when I remember it," I practically jogged across the aisle into the fiction section.

Well, that went about just as badly as I'd feared. However, it was the most we'd ever spoken, so it was sort of a success, right? I browsed fiction for a while, trying to keep her in my line of vision at all times. After a while, I looked up and she was gone. It was almost 9:30; she had gone home for the night. Damn. I found a book that looked interesting, an anthology of peak era pulp fiction. Nothing fed the imagination like it. I took it up to the front and waited with all the other last minute shoppers. There were two guys ringing people up. After a minute, a girl walked behind the counter to talk to one of them. He nodded at her and moved away from his register with her.

She clamped her mouth shut, trying not to make any noise. My lips were against hers, our breathing sounded ragged. The stock room was deserted. We moved from leaning against the shelf to the floor, with her rocking on top of me. I grabbed her hips in a futile attempt to control the pace, not that I minded any pace she felt like keeping.

And then she was there, behind the counter where the guy had been moments before. I held my breath in anticipation, trying not to get my hopes up too much. There was still a chance I'd get the guy. There was one person at each register, one lady in line in front of me. Was I starting to sweat? Great, that's just what I need. The lady in front of me moved to her register, crap. That meant that most likely I would get the guy, his customer had been there longer; he should be finishing up any second now.

"Do you guys have that one book? I saw it on tv, it's got a blue cover? It used to be in front here, but I looked today and it's not there? Do you know which one I'm talking about?" The customer was talking to the male cashier. Yes! Keep talking, keep talking. I moved my eyes from him to the lady, willing her to finish up faster. Come on, come on, come on. The lady took her bag and stepped away from the counter.

"Wait!" Crap. The lady turned back to the register, to her.

"You forgot your card," she smiled and handed it to her. The lady left. It was my turn.

"You found it," she said as I handed her the book. I had no idea what she was talking about. "When you came up before? You said you'd forgotten?"

Realization dawned on me then, "oh! Yeah, it was this one." Ok, don't screw it up again. There had been no one in line behind me; I could prolong this for at least another moment. She rang me up while I tried to find the perfect line. Ok, brave face. "I know the store is closing up soon and I was wondering," please please please, "if you wanted to maybe get a cup of coffee or something? It's a really nice night out." I couldn't tell how she took my question; I had sounded a little desperate in my head. I watched her mulling it over while she put my book and my receipt in a bag.

"Sure," she smiled.

I swear I heard music. It swelled for a second and blocked out every other sound. She said yes, she said yes!

She looked at me knowingly, "you come in here so often I feel like I know you. My name's Bella, by the way." Maybe too knowingly, had I been that obvious? I don't care, she said yes. I told her my name and then about the coffee shop next door and she told me she'd meet me there, that she had a few things to do before she could leave.

I left and floated next door to wait. Inside the shop was warm, several couples sat at the various tables and sofa's strewn about.

We lay in bed together; she had the Sunday crossword and a pencil in her hands. "What's a six letter word for lust?" I put my cup of coffee down on the nightstand and grinned, trying to move the paper and pencil out of her hands.

"Edward," I said, trying to be persuasive.

She laughed as I pulled her down flat on the bed; I kissed her collarbone which seemed to quell the laughing.

"Edward," Bella walked to where I was standing next to a shelf of coffee beans. "Hi, sorry that took so long."

"I didn't mind at all," I couldn't stop smiling.

We ordered and sat at a small table, talking. I told her about my job, how I wanted to be a journalist. She said she wanted to be a novelist. We talked until closing time. She was better than I could have ever hoped. I offered to walk her home, or at least to her car. She said she lived in an apartment the next block over and that she walked to work. I tried to walk extra slow, the conversation was flowing easily and I didn't want it to stop.

"Well, this is me," she gestured to the building we were in front of. I tried not to look disappointed and then I realized, we're at her doorstep. Do I kiss her? Where? What if I try and she doesn't want me to? She had a good time though, right? "I had a really nice time tonight." She looked up at me with those rich, dark eyes. Oh, just go for it.

"I did too," I said quietly, stepping closer. I took a deep breath and leaned down very slowly, just in case she didn't want me to kiss her, it gave her ample time to get out of dodge. My lips brushed hers slightly then; it was heaven. I stayed still for a second, trying to absorb the sensation, when she started kissing me back. It was tender and more perfect than anything I'd ever imagined. She pulled back and I smiled lopsided at her; I probably looked like a lovesick puppy. She played with the collar of my jacket. "Can I see you tomorrow?" I'd thrown playing it safe out the window, apparently.

"Yes," she looked up at me, her face very close to mine. I kissed her again, less gently this time. She held the collar of my jacket with both hands while I wrapped my arms around her. After not enough time had passed we parted; she looked happy, maybe a little dizzy. The feeling was mutual. "I'll see you tomorrow then, goodnight." She stood on tiptoe and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

"Goodnight," was all I could manage. She jogged up the steps and unlocked the front door, turning once to look at me, smiling brightly.

I smiled and waited for her to make it all the way inside.

It was indeed, a very good night.