I don't own them.

I just wanted to entertain Marvar for her birthday.

Need You Tonight

1988

Tuesday

BPOV

Yeah.

I don't belong here.

I look down at my clothes. My cut-off jean shorts and stupid keds. I hate the little blue rectangles on the back of my shoes right now. I hate them…and yet I loved them eight hours ago as I was walking to my poli-sci class after lunch. They're white. Too white. And while nobody wants dirty keds…this place seems dirty. Dirty and dark and smoky…and my shoes are too fucking white.

I never should have agreed to meet Angela here.

I should leave.

I should leave.

I should leave.

I chant this to myself as I walk up to the bar in the middle of the room. The air is stale as I breathe in deeply and I wonder why they don't have better ventilation. I just turned twenty-one two weeks ago. There is still something unsettling about entering a bar. Even now. Even though I am legally allowed to do so.

Especially this bar.

This bar is different than the ones I have gone to in the past. There are no bright lights no vivid colors. Just a bar.

Dirty.

Dark.

And smoky.

Why the fuck did she want to come here?

Oh, right. Because I said it looked cool. Me. Bella Swan. College junior and recent consumer of alcoholic beverages. We walked past the other night and I said it looked like a cool place. But to be fair, that was only because I heard U2 playing and there is something about Bono's voice that makes me wet. Stupid Irish singer with the haunting voice.

But I am here now and Angela is…not.

Where is she?

I stand at the bar. The bartender approaches and he is big. Like, intimidating big.

"What are you having?" he asks with a dimpled smile.

I briefly wonder how much extra tip money he earns from those dimples.

Probably a lot.

"Umm…well," I hesitate.

I haven't been drinking very long and I don't really know what I like. I only know that I don't like beer.

"You gonna take all night?" he asks. "And I'm gonna need to see some ID."

I reach in my purse and pull out my driver's license. I am indignant. I have every right to be here. Even if I don't belong. I slide it over to him and he smiles again. I don't know why, but the dimples make me feel more comfortable and I find myself smiling shyly back at him.

"A freshman," he says.

"No, I'm not," I tell him quickly. "I'm a junior and I am old enough to be here."

I'm explaining myself to this hulking man and the dimples that were comforting only moments before are beginning to irritate me. I feel the need to prove myself. I'm twenty-one. I know how to order a drink.

"I'll have a rum and coke."

I haven't had rum yet and I'm hoping I don't hate it.

"A rum and coke it is," he says, still smiling. "And I just meant that you were new to drinking…not that you were an actual freshman. Lighten up, little girl. This is a bar. You're supposed to have fun."

He slides me the drink along with my ID and I leave him a five dollar bill on the counter for his trouble. That's a good tip, right? I wonder if I should sit at the bar, but I decide on a table in the corner. I can hide there. Try to blend in with the small crowd of people that I haven't even looked at yet. I take a sip from the straw and I realize that I hate rum. It tastes like medicine and even the coke – what little there is in the drink – doesn't mask the flavor. I hope my face doesn't reflect my distaste as I force myself to swallow and dimples just smiles, shaking his head and walks to the other end of the bar.

I walk to a small wooden table in the corner and I sit down. If Angela isn't here by the time I finish this drink, I'm leaving. The table wobbles as I place my drink on the slightly sticky surface. I try not to cringe at the thought of it being dirty.

Dirty.

Dark.

And smoky.

My eyes scan the room as I lean in to take another drink from the little red straw without picking up the glass. It's relatively quiet in here with the exception of the music coming from the juke-box. Tracy Chapman. Fast Car. I don't know why, but I really like this song. It's sad and real and different from everything else that I hear on the radio. That's when it strikes me. This bar is Tracy Chapman. And I…I am Debbie Gibson. Well, at least I look like Debbie Gibson…without the blonde hair and the stupid hats.

Yeah.

I don't belong here.

But somewhere…a part of me wants to.

Some people are paired up, some in groups and some alone. I lean over, taking another drink when my eyes meet his.

Vivid and green and gorgeous.

There is something about the way that he is looking at me that makes me feel like I am five years old sucking chocolate milk through a straw – and not the rum that is currently sliding down my throat. I want to focus on his eyes, but mine are drawn to the way his full, dark lips wrap around a cigarette as he takes a drag. As he exhales, I can see him through the haze of smoke. He is green eyes and copper hair and pink, full lips that should seem feminine but they don't. His skin is white…so white that it's almost translucent.

And he is beautiful.

And I am staring.

Like an idiot.

I quickly avert my eyes and look down into my glass that – in the soft, hazy light of the bar – looks dirty, too. I feel my skin flush and I wonder if he's still looking. Probably not. Why would he? Other than the fact that I must look as out of place as I feel. I pick up the glass, gulping down the rest of my drink and trying not to wince at the taste and the burn. I need to leave. I place the glass back on the table that wobbles more under the movement and that's when I feel him. Yes…I literally feel him.

I look up and he standing there before me. All cocky and yes…still fucking beautiful. I watch him as he leans up against the wooden post next to my table, bringing the bottle of beer up to his mouth to take a drink. The ceiling is low and it makes him seem so tall. He seems older…more experienced. He's wearing dark jeans. Levis maybe. And a black and red Ramone's t-shirt with black Converse high-tops. His shoes are dirty and it only reminds me that mine are too clean…too white.

The sound of Terence Trent D'Arby is filling the small space of the bar and his voice is sexy…this song is sexy. Just like him. And I feel myself grow hot from my blush because now I'm thinking that he is sexy. I want to look away, but I find that I can't. I don't want to take my eyes away from him. I watch as he places his beer on my table and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. I am riveted as he shakes one loose from the slightly crushed box. And I am captivated as he brings it to his mouth and lights it.

"Did you want to say something, baby?" he asks and the sound of his voice that is smooth like butter causes my stomach to flip and my legs to clench.

Wait.

"Did you just call me baby?"

He takes another drag as he leans over, ashing in the tray on my table. I think he's going to move, but he doesn't. He exhales and the smell of the smoke – his smoke – fills my nose. I open my mouth, trying to breathe, but it's difficult. Difficult – because he is so close. Difficult – because my lungs are not used to this. The flavor on the bed of my tongue is thick and sweet as the smoke mixes with the rum. And though my heart is pounding from his proximity, I feel each and every beat as if they were happening in slow motion.

"I did, baby," he murmurs and I can feel his breath against my skin. "Baby," he says it again. "That is what you were going for, right?"

The sound of his voice calling me that is killing me in all the right ways that seem so wrong, but his words are confusing.

"Why are you calling me that?" I ask and my voice seems shaky and nervous. "And what do you mean by what I was going for?"

He licks his lips and takes another drag and I silently curse the tingling between my legs and the sudden need I have to squeeze them together. The seam in the denim of my shorts would surely hit the spot that is aching.

"Baby," he says it again, smirking. And I don't know why, but I feel as if he is mocking me. "You're trying to look like her. No?"

"Like who?" I ask, sounding petulant like a child.

"You know, baby," he whispers this time, leaning in closer. "That girl from the dancing movie. In your little white top and your tight jean shorts." He looks down at my legs and I see his eyes take me in. "And your little white tennis shoes."

I knew they were too white.

And then it hits me. He thinks I'm dressed like Baby from Dirty Dancing. He thinks that and I'm furious! And I am furious because he is right. I am dressed like her. Just like so many other girls are dressed like her. I am contrived and a follower…just like a lamb. And he is different and beautiful with his fucking Ramone's t-shirt and his smoke and his beer…and his breath that is still sweet in spite of those things.

He leans in closer.

"And look at you," he says, his eyes shifting from my eyes to my mouth and then back up again. "Sitting in the corner." He brings his finger up and strokes my cheek and I can't breathe…can't think…can't imagine anything in the world that feels better than this small touch of his skin against my skin. "I thought baby wasn't supposed to sit in the corner."

And now I want to die.

I want to die because I thought that he was flirting with me. Fuck, I'm so stupid. Why would he flirt with me? Why is he still touching me and why do I still like it even though he is blatantly mocking me?

Well, fuck him and his beautiful eyes and his soft, fucking touch!

And fuck these goose-bumps.

"Why do you care how I'm dressed or if I sit in the corner?" I snap. "And for the record, the only way you would know who I'm dressed like and that I shouldn't be sitting in the corner, is if you saw that 'dancing movie' too."

He removes his finger and my cheek misses his touch.

Fuck my cheek, too.

"You're right," he says and his voice is still smooth and hot. "But just because I saw it, doesn't mean I liked it."

"You liked it enough to remember her name and what she was wearing."

He chuckles softly and pushes my hair behind my ear.

I shiver.

Yeah.

My ear can go fuck itself.

"Maybe I just like girls in sexy, little jean shorts and white tennis shoes," he whispers. "Or maybe…maybe I was just looking for an excuse to call you baby."

I blush even more at his words and I simultaneously love and hate the way he is making me feel. But I cannot and will not allow this man to get the best of me. Especially since he is fucking with me.

"Yeah? Well, maybe…" I whisper. "Maybe you weren't. But just so you know…if you hadn't made fun of me, I might have actually given you a reason to call me that."

He looks stunned that I said that and I'm happy, but he moves back a little and I'm not.

"Don't be like that," he says and he almost sounds apologetic.

His green eyes are softer now, but still smoldering. No one has ever looked at me quite the way that he looking at me now. No one has ever made me feel quite the way he's made me feel in our brief exchange. It's confusing. It's exciting. It's all too much and I don't know what to do. Angela is still not here, so I decide to leave. I don't like how uncomfortable I am…even though I might like the way I feel when he looks at me like that. Like the way he's looking at me now.

I stand to leave, picking up my purse. The chair sounds loud and it pushes against the floor.

"You're leaving?" he asks.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Stay," he says softly. "Let me buy you a drink."

"Umm…no, that's okay."

I'm looking at my hands, but my eyes lift to meet his.

"I didn't even get your name."

"I didn't get yours either," I challenge.

"It's Edward."

He runs his fingers through his hair and I want to do that. That thought makes me even more uncomfortable and I know I need to get the hell out of here.

"Nice to meet you, Edward," I say. "My name's not Baby, but it does start with a B."

And with those words, I walk past him and I don't look back.

Even though I really fucking want to.

Wednesday

BPOV

I will not go back.

I will not go back.

I will not go back.

Fuck.

I really want to go back.

Thursday

EPOV

Why hasn't she come back?

Why hasn't she come back?

Why hasn't she come back?

Fuck.

She's not coming back.

Friday

EPOV

"You can stop looking at the door every time someone comes in," Emmett says. "She's not gonna come back."

He's obnoxious.

And he's right.

Damn, why did I have to fuck with her?

Not baby…but B.

"I'm not looking at the door every time someone comes in," I tell him. "And how do you know she won't come back?"

"First of all, you are looking at the door every time it opens." He looks behind me. "Alice, did Edward look at you when you came in?"

"Yes."

Fuckers.

"Secondly, she won't come back because she was already green and uncomfortable and you just made it worse by hitting on her."

"I didn't hit on her," I say, gritting my teeth.

"Oh really?" he asks knowingly. "So, that wasn't you posturing over there? Leaning on the post and coming on to that girl like you were Rob Lowe and this was the Democratic Convention?"

"Shut the fuck up," I growl.

I take another drink of my beer before taking a long drag from my cigarette. As I put it out in the ash tray, I hear Alice giggling at the table behind me. I'm pissed and I'm so fucking stupid because they are right. I was coming on to her, but I thought she liked it. I could tell by the way she blushed at my words. The way her big brown eyes widened when I touched her face. She was definitely into me. Why did I have to push her so hard? Did I really tell her that I was looking for a reason to call her baby?

Hell, I'm surprised she didn't leave sooner.

"You see, my friend," Emmet says as he finishes wiping down the counter. "That's your problem."

"Oh, you know what my fucking problem is now?"

"Yeah," he says. "That girl is not like all the other girls that fall all over themselves and your quiet, mysterious bullshit."

"Quiet and mysterious, Emmett?" I ask as he leans over the counter.

"Yeah. Fucking quiet and mysterious, douche," he says. "And it works for you…usually. Christ, Lauren was ready to get on her fucking knees in my broom closet last week because you flirted with her. But that girl…that girl was a fucking fish out of water. She just turned twenty-one two weeks ago, Edward! Hell, she didn't even know how to order a drink! I thought she was going to choke on that rum and coke."

He was right. I'd never seen her before and she did…

Wait just a fucking minute.

"How do you know how old she is?"

"Because I carded her, asshole."

"What was her name?"

He stares at me before breaking out into a huge grin.

Dick.

"She didn't even tell you her name?" he asks, laughing. "That's fucking awesome! Score one for the freshman."

"You said she was twenty-one. She's not a fucking freshman."

He's laughing now, hysterically. He's all leaning back and guffawing like the motherfucking prick that he is.

"Goddamn," he says, grabbing his sides. "You two might be more compatible than I thought."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demand. "And what's her name, Emmett?"

"Edward, I don't know her name. I only saw her birth date. I don't make a habit of checking out the name of every chick that I card."

I look at him and I can't tell if he's lying because of his grin, but I decide to drop it. If he knew, he would tell me. I light another cigarette and palm my beer bottle. It's warm now and that only serves to further piss me off.

"Want another one?"

"No," I say, feeling the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling. "I think I'm just gonna take off."

"Don't be all pissy, Edward," he tells me. "Besides, you did this to yourself."

And there's nothing I can say because he's right. I fucked with her. Granted, I thought she liked it, but still. I should have known better.

"You're right."

"So, are we still on for tomorrow night? Tyler's covering the bar."

"Yeah, we're still on."

"Edward?" Alice says as I stand up. "Could you get me some wine coolers?"

Fuck.

"This party's sort of a BYOB situation, Alice."

"Here," she says, handing me some money. "I have to work tomorrow and won't have time to pick anything up. They have the ones I like on the corner of Jordan and Greenwich."

"Fine," I agree. "I'll get them."

I look at the door one more time like she might walk through it again and I could have a second chance with her. But there is nothing. No movement and no girl who was so fucking cute and soft and sweet and shy. But even more than that…she was a fucking smart-ass that put me in my place and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been semi-erect since she did.

Not baby…but B.

Fuck.

I'm such a pussy.

I push the door open to leave and I hear Emmett's booming voice.

"I don't know what her name is, Edward," he calls. "But I'm sure it's beautiful."

Bite me.

I pull into the gas station and I'm still pissed off. And the thing that sucks is that I have no one to be pissed off at except myself. Well, myself and Alice for having to pick up fucking wine coolers. I push open the glass door and I head over to the cooler section as soon as I turn the corner…me heart stops.

Not baby…but B is standing there looking at the wine cooler section.

Fucking Alice.

BPOV

Dammit.

They're out of the strawberry ones.

I trace my finger along the boxes of the wine cooler selection and I try to decide which ones I'm going to buy. I don't really like peach, but it looks like that's what I'll be stuck with.

"Wine coolers really suck."

I hear the voice behind me…in my ear. And I feel him, his body, his heat…him. My body tingles and I curse it. His voice is the same as I remember. Smooth and warm and hot. He reaches over my shoulder and his hand grazes my hair and my body shivers. He picks up the same box that I was just looking at and I turn around to face him. I can feel the heat of his body as it stands in striking contrast to the cold air of the cooler against my back.

"Oh, yeah?" I ask, looking at the box in his hand before meeting his green eyes again. "Do you like things that suck?"

His mouth opens up and he looks shocked, but then he smirks and I realize what I just said. I feel all the blood in my body rush to my face.

Really?

"Fuck," he whispers as he runs his empty hand through his hair. He looks down at me again and his eyes smiling, but intense. Just like him. "Are you trying to kill me, Not Baby…but B?"

"No…" I say, confused and embarrassed. "Wait…what?"

"What?" he asks. "That's what I call you."

I find myself smiling in spite of myself.

"You call me something?"

"Well, yeah," he says and his eyes are deeper, darker. "I don't know your name and that was all that you told me."

"Who are you talking to when you call me that?"

"No one," he responds quickly and if I'm not mistaken, he seems as embarrassed as me. "Emmett."

"Who's Emmett?"

"He's my friend and the umm…" he pauses. "Well, he's the bartender from the other night."

"Oh, Dimples," I say, finally understanding something. "You talked to him about me? What did you say?"

He looks down at me and he looks nervous, torn. It's so much different than the man I met two nights before. I notice what he's wearing for the first time. It's different, but the same. He's wearing a Sex Pistols shirt, another pair of jeans and the same black shoes. He's so hot and I'm thankful for the cooler that's still open.

"Can we start over?" he asks, his voice deeper than before.

"Can you tell me what you said about me?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes."

I stand there waiting for him to say something and yet he doesn't. He's just staring and the corners of his mouth a turning up and I don't know if I love or hate it. If he's smiling because he's happy to be here with me, then I love it. If he's smiling because he's trying not to laugh at me then I hate it. It all balances on what he says next.

"I just asked him if he knew your name and he said he didn't. He also told me to stop looking at the door, wishing you would walk in."

Definitely love it.

"You wanted me to come back?" I ask; my voice barely above a whisper.

"Why didn't you?"

I bite down on my lip and I look back up at him. I can't decide if I think this is real. It feels real, but I have been known to have some pretty vivid dreams. Mostly, they include Tom Cruise, but this guy – Edward – is so much hotter than him.

"Because I was embarrassed, Edward." I am honest and I hope that he understands what I am saying.

"Tell me your name," he says. He adds, "Please," and it makes me feel so much better.

"Bella."

I see something flicker in his eyes. Recognition? Realization? I can't be sure.

"Bella," he repeats my name back to me. "Beautiful."

"Are you guys gonna just stand there with the cooler open all day?" the cashier interrupts us. "All the beer is gonna get warm."

I quickly step to the side, allowing the door to close.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asks me.

"I wasn't really going to do anything," I tell him honestly and hope that he doesn't think I'm a loser. "I was just getting something to drink."

"Wine coolers suck," he tells me again.

I don't say anything, but I look down to the box that he's still carrying in his hand. I lift my eyes back up and shoot him a knowing look.

"These aren't for me," he says. "These are for my friend Alice."

"Like your girlfriend, Alice?"

Please, say no.

Please, say no.

"No, no," he tells me and his eyes are wide and for some reason, believable. "Alice is my friend – just a friend – and she asked me to pick these up for a party I'm having tomorrow."

"Oh," I respond lamely. "Okay."

"Would you like to come back to my place…maybe…I don't know," he stammers. "Maybe let me make you a drink that's not a shitty wine cooler or a rum and coke."

"How did you…?" I ask and then it dawns on me. "He told you what I was drinking?"

This information makes me happy. Like just the fact that I know he was talking about me means that he was thinking about me…maybe even the way that I have been thinking about him.

"Yeah," he says. "Please, come over and let's try this again."

Okay.

"Umm...I'm not sure."

And I'm an idiot. The hottest man have ever met is asking me to come home with him and I don't know what I should do. I know what I want to do, but what I want to do and what I should do are so often not the same thing.

"What aren't you sure about?" he asks and his eyes are so deep and soft. I really could get lost in them…want to get lost in them. "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

"Yeah?"

Clearly, I am entertaining this idea.

"Scout's honor."

"You were a boy scout?"

"No," he concedes. "But at least I didn't lie about it. And I'm not lying about being a gentleman, Bella. I swear. I won't do anything that you don't want me to do."

That's the problem.

There isn't much I wouldn't want you to do.

"You can follow me in your car."

"Umm…I don't have a car," I tell him. "I walked here from my apartment."

"You could ride with me?"

I don't know what happened or what on earth possessed me, but I heard myself whisper, "Okay."

EPOV

Holy motherfucking shit.

Bella is in my house and she's all cute and nervous and sitting on my couch. It's making me nervous and I haven't been nervous around a girl since before Reagan was in the White House. What is it about this girl? At least we're not in my car anymore. I swear. I thought that her scent was going to kill me. I don't know if it was her perfume or her shampoo…or maybe the both of them together. But fuck me if I don't want to lick her neck and possibly bury my face in her long brown hair.

I grab a beer from the fridge after I mix her drink. I head back into the living room and she's looking at me with her wide, chocolate eyes and she's fucking blushing again. I reach her the drink and when she takes it, our fingers touch. And I am more aroused from that small touch than I ever have been from another girl.

"What is this?" she asks sweetly.

"Malibu and pineapple," I tell her, my voice lower than I expect it to be. "Try it. You'll like it better than what you had the other night."

"Okay."

Her voice is warm and sweet and I try not to stare as her pink tongue slips out and touches her glass…my glass. I do a really shitty job because I can't fucking stop staring and all I can think about is the fact that I want my lips to be that glass and great…now I am getting hard. This is only intensified as I hear her voice.

"Mmmm…that's so good."

Now she's licking her lips and I want to taste the rum on her lips…in her mouth…on her tongue.

I shift to avoid embarrassing myself…and her.

"I told you that you'd like it."

"I do," she says as she brings the drink to her mouth again and we repeat the fucking process. This heaven and hell – where all I want to do is stare at her lips and tongue and wonder what they would feel like around my… "It tastes like candy at the beach."

I pause at her words because in all the times that I have made this drink for other girls, not one of them has ever said anything like that. And as I think about her words, I realize that they are absolutely true. It's does taste exactly like that.

"What?" she asks. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh…umm...well…" I stammer. Goddamn, this girl has turned me into an idiot. "It's just that I liked your description."

I watch her blush and she's even more beautiful when she does.

"So, Bella," I start. "What are you getting your degree in?"

"Education," she responds quickly. "I want to be an English teacher."

"What grade?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm thinking middle school. Maybe high school." She takes another drink and looks back at me. "What about you, Edward? What do you do?"

"I'm a musician."

"Are you in a band?"

"No. I'm not in a band," I tell her and for some reason, she looks embarrassed. I don't know why what I said would be embarrassing, but I decide to continue. "I'm in graduate school…getting my masters in music theory."

"Oh, I just…I just noticed the band t-shirts," she tells me and her voice wraps around me like a warm blanket and I feel like a pussy because now I'm thinking about that fucking fabric softener bear. "What do you play?"

"The piano…and the guitar."

"Wow."

"Do you play anything?"

"Umm…yeah," she says, giggling. "Cassette tapes."

"What kind of music do you like?"

"All kinds of stuff." She looks at my shirt. "Maybe even the Sex Pistols."

Fuck. She's flirting with me.

"Oh yeah?" I ask her. "What's your favorite Sex Pistols song?"

"I don't know," she says, blushing again. "I was just trying to impress you. I think I'm more pop than you are, but I hope you don't hold that against me."

She seems honest and vulnerable in this moment and it makes my whole body tingle. This girl is trying to impress me when really, I have been impressed since the moment that I saw her.

"As far as impressing me in concerned…you don't have to try so hard." I reach up and stroke her cheek and I feel her warmth under my hand. He skin is so soft and I can feel her silky hair as it grazes my knuckles. "What's your favorite band?"

"Well, I really love U2," she says and then she reaches up and places her hand on top of mine.

"They're a great band," I tell her. "Some people might say that they are the voice of our generation."

"What would you say?" she asks and I twist my hand in hers and bring them both down to my lap.

I am holding her hand and just this – this one small action – feels like the hottest thing I've ever done.

"I'd say that Bono is a genius," I tell her. "And anyone that recognizes it…must be a genius too."

I am leaning into her space and this time is not like last time. She wants me here. I can feel her breath…I want to taste it. I push in a little closer and her hand tightens around mine. Closer, still…and she wants this too. I shift my eyes to her lips and she's licking them. I look back up to her eyes and they are nervous…welcoming.

"Bella," I murmur, inches away from her face. "I want to kiss you."

"Then kiss me."

My lips are on hers and it's soft and wet and warm. I groan involuntarily, but she seems to like it. I bring my free hand up to her cheek and I stroke her satin skin lightly. I suck on her bottom lip and I silently beg her to open her mouth to me. I will not push her. I feel her heart beating against my chest and the rapid pace of it matches my own. This kiss is fucking perfection and suddenly, I am a teenager again and this is like the first time.

I whisper her name and I move to her top lip and this is the moment. She opens her mouth and I breathe her in. I am tentative at first as I slide my tongue inside. She tastes like coconut and pineapple and it's just like she said. Bella tastes like candy at the beach. And it's the sweetest fucking candy I've ever known.

I hear her whimper my name and it takes everything I have not to pull her against me, but nothing prepares me for the moment I feel her tongue press against mine. I know how to kiss, but this is different. This is soft and sweet and wet and new…and I never want to stop. I could kiss this girl – this perfect, fucking girl – all night long.

But I pull back.

I don't want to scare her.

I kiss her softly once more as I look into her chocolate eyes that are open like mine.

"Would you care to come outside?" I ask because I really need a fucking cigarette and the proximity to her is making my dick ache. More.

"Sure," she whispers as she brings two fingers to her lips.

I squeeze her hand gently and I help her up, leading her outside.

Once we are on my back porch, I light a cigarette and turn around to face her. Her eyes are on me, but then I see them shift behind.

"You have a hot tub?"

"Yeah," I tell her, smiling and before I can tell my mouth not to speak, I ask her, "Did you want to get in?"

-x-

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BPOV

"Did you want to get in?"

Oh. My. God.

I just had the best fucking kiss of my life and now the most beautiful man in the world is asking me to get in his hot tub. I'm pretty sure that warning bells should be going off, but all I can hear is the ringing that is still in my ears from his lips on my lips…his tongue in my mouth. And I know he's a smoker, but his mouth tasted so good and I have to say – him smoking a cigarette is about the hottest thing I've ever seen.

I'm not even lying.

"Umm…I don't have anything to wear in a hot tub."

Awesome, Bella. Sexiest response ever. He's either going to think that you're an idiot or that you watch a lot of bad porn.

"That's okay," he says lowly. "Fuck, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I just…I meant…well, I just meant that I could give you something to wear."

What the fuck?

"I'm not really into wearing another girl's bathing suit," I tell him quickly and I try to push back the disgusting thought of that. "I think I'll pass."

He takes another drag of his cigarette and he slowly approaches me. He reaches out and touches my cheek and all of a sudden, it's five minutes ago and I want his lips on mine again. What is wrong with me?

"I didn't mean that, Bella," he says softly, nervously. "I just meant that you could wear something of mine. But we don't have to do anything that you don't want to do."

I look up at him and I reach my own hand out and grasp the bottom of his t-shirt. It's soft and I can smell his detergent mixing with the smoke. He uses Tide and I only know that because that's what my clothes smell like too.

"Like what?" I ask him.

"What do you mean?"

"What could you give me to wear?"

He smiles down at me and yeah, he's fucking gorgeous and I'm in so much trouble.

"Well," he says softly. "How about some boxers and a t-shirt?"

And since I am going to hell….

"Okay," I whisper.

"Okay," he whispers back.

I am changing in his bathroom and it's surprisingly clean. Like really clean. Maybe even cleaner than mine. There probably aren't long strands of hair in his drain. I'm not looking. Even though I kind of want to. His boxers are kind of big on me, but they're okay if I roll the waist. The t-shirt he gave me is a black Cheap Trick t-shirt. I pull it on and it's so soft…and fuck, it smells like him. Like him and Tide. This is officially my new favorite scent.

I walk out onto his porch and he is already in the hot tub and I have to stop myself from staring. He's wet and hot and I can literally see the steam rising from his body. This is either the worst idea I've ever had or the absolute, fucking best.

Best. I'm going with best.

He is doing something with the boom-box and when I close the door, he realizes I'm here and turns to look at me. And now…he's staring. And I feel like something is wrong.

"What is it?" I ask. "Is…is everything alright?"

"Fuck, Bella."

And with his words, my whole body warms and tingles.

"You look…well, you look," he pauses as if he's trying to figure out what to say. "Come here."

I walk over to the edge of the tub where he is and he reaches for my hand. His hand is hot and wet from the water and my skin tingles all the way up to my shoulder from his touch.

"My shirt has never looked so good."

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EPOV

I don't know if I have the words to explain just how I feel when I turn around and see her standing there in my Cheap Trick shirt. And of course, my underwear. In fact, I am speechless.

Except that I'm not.

No, I try to say something to convey how beautiful she looks. And how I couldn't find her more attractive if she were standing there in the tiniest bikini in the world. But I trip and fall over my words and now she's embarrassed. And I don't want her embarrassed. I want her here…with me…in this steaming hot water that is currently acting as a cover for the massive erection that I am sporting.

"Come here," I tell her and I hope she doesn't feel like it's a command.

She slowly walks over and I can't take my eyes off of her. When she is next to me, I reach her my hand and I finally tell her in a somewhat articulate manner what I think.

"My shirt has never looked so good."

And I'm a fucking moron. Because that was about my shirt – my favorite fucking shirt, mind you – but still a shirt. And not this beautiful girl standing before me. She steps up and I never let go of her hand. My eyes also never leave the curve of her breast that I can see is bare underneath the soft, worn cotton. And as she slides down into the water, I say thank you silently.

Thank you to Emmett for owning a bar that she walked into.

Thank you to Alice for fucking sending me to buy crappy wine coolers.

She takes a seat next to me and even though I'm happy that she's close, a part of me wants her closer. I do realize that the only way she can be closer is if she were to crawl into my lap. And I'm okay with that. I turn and hit play on the boom box and music fills the space around us. I reach Bella a fresh drink that I made for her while she was changing and I officially give all of my attention to the girl beside me.

"INXS?"

"Yeah," I tell her. "You like them?"

"I do," she says, taking a drink. "This song is sexy."

"Yeah," I tell her. "It is."

"Mmm…" she hums and the sound goes straight to my cock. "This water feels so good."

She closes her eyes and leans back and I allow myself a moment to just stare at her, awed and unashamed. She is delicate and beautiful and there is something about this girl that makes me nervous and happy and aroused all at the same time. The fact that she is here – that she trusts me enough to be here with me like this – is something I won't take for granted.

I won't make her uncomfortable.

I take a drink of my beer and I lean back, too.

"How does a graduate student have a house with a hot tub?" she asks and it's a valid question.

"My parents bought the house because they figured it was a good investment since I have been here for six years," I explain. "The hot tub came with the house, so that was just a bonus."

She turns in her seat, facing me. Her face in turning pink from the hot water and I really want to kiss her again.

"Do you use it a lot?" she asks nervously.

She's asking a question, but I know the meaning behind her question so I try to answer it the best way possible.

"Not a lot," I tell her, bringing my hand from the water and stroking her cheek first and then the line of her elegant neck. "And never with anyone else."

I say it because it's the truth.

I say it because I want her to know that she is special.

And I know I just met her and I don't know anything about her, but something is telling me that special doesn't even begin to cover what this girl is.

"Never?" she asks, inching closer to me.

"Not once."

Even closer.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you kiss me again?"

I don't answer her this time. I cup her face with both my hands and I pull her to me…and she comes willingly, eagerly. She tastes just as good as she did before, but this time is so much more. The heat has intensified everything. Her hands are on my face and in my hair. Her kiss is soft, but her touch more insistent. Before I know what's happening, she is crawling into my lap, her legs on the sides of my thighs. Everything about this feels so fucking good – and more than that – it feels so fucking right.

She feels right.

My hands slide around her waist and she feels so good in my arms. Her tongue is sliding against mine and I can't help but whisper her name as she pulls back for breath. I feel her breasts through the thin, wet fabric of the t-shirt and even though it's hot, her nipples are erect.

Like me.

I am pushing into her as she grinds against me and as much as I want to bury myself inside her, the feeling of this…of her pressing against me…this is the sweetest fucking torture.

"Baby, you feel so good," I say because I can't help myself.

I press myself up to meet her and she gasps and my heavy eyes shoot open to make sure she's alright. I'm so fucking grateful I do because when I see her face, her flushed cheeks, her full lips that are red from my kisses…she looks gorgeous and absolutely blissful.

And I am a man.

I am the man that makes her feel like this.

And yeah, that was a good gasp.

I watch my hand slide up her rib-cage and her hooded eyes fall and watch as I touch the underside of her breast that is so much fuller in my hand than I expected it to be. She bites her bottom lip and my cock twitches as I lean forward to kiss her again, dragging my tongue across her bottom lip.

"Does that feel good?" I ask her and my husky voice indicates my desire – just in case the cock pressing into her doesn't convey it enough. "Do you like that?"

"God," she moans and it's so fucking sexy.. "God, yes."

I brush my thumb across her nipple and I swear to god it must be attached to her pussy because the moment that I do it, she grinds herself even harder against me. I bring my lips back to hers and I kiss her again…deeply. We are all licking and suction and touching and grinding…and nothing – not anything – has ever felt as good as her. But it's too good because when I pull back, I hear her panting.

Her breathing is heavy and her perfect, pink face is now red. And I don't know how long we've been in this water, but I know as I look at her that it's been too long.

"Bella," I whisper. "Bella, baby…we need to get out."

"Wh- what?" she asks. "Why?"

"We've been in the water too long," I tell her, stroking her flushed cheek. "Come. Sit with me on the ledge while we cool down."

"Okay," she agrees.

I help her out of the water and I can't help but look at her and the way the fabric of my shirt clings to every arc and curve of her gorgeous body. She settles beside me and I wrap my arm around her.

"I didn't bring you here for this," I tell her. "I want you to know that."

She looks up at me and smiles and the sight of her smile warms me more than the water ever could.

"I didn't come here for this either, but I'm glad I came," she said. "Well, almost came."

She starts to giggle and I finally understand what she just said.

"Fuck, you're cute."

She leans her head against my shoulder and into my neck.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"You have a hole in your ear," she says and I feel her finger touching my lobe. "You used to have an earring?"

"Yeah," I tell her. "Why?"

"Like George Michael?"

"Definitely not like George Michael," I tell her.

"George Michael is sexy." She grins.

I purposely ignore her statement and kiss her softly on her lips.

"What about Bono?"

"Much better," she says as she strokes the skin behind my ear. I shiver in response and wonder if the night air is too cool for her. "He could be the voice of our generation."

"He could be," I tell her, reaching behind us to grab a towel. "Are you cold?"

I wrap it around her shoulders and try to focus on how good she feels in my arms.

"I'm a little cold," she says. "I should probably change back into my clothes."

"Or I could give you something else to wear."

I look down at her, begging her to stay with my eyes.

"I think you might be out of t-shirts."

"I think I just might have another one."

I wait for her answer, completely unprepared for my time with her to end.

Please stay.

Please stay.

Please stay.

And just like at the gas station when I asked her to come home with me…

And just like on this porch when I asked her join me in the water…

I hear her softly tell me the only word I want to hear.

"Okay."

"How am I just now meeting you, baby?"

She looks up at me and her chocolate eyes are like an open book with a million words I've yet to read. And I want to read them…understand them…and commit them to my memory.

"Not baby," she whispers, pulling me from my thoughts. "Bella."

"Beautiful."

Saturday

BPOV

I wake up to the smell of Tide and Edward.

His bed is soft, but his arms are strong.

And yeah, I'm wearing his Rolling Stones t-shirt.

Apparently, that's a big fucking deal.

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A/N

Please, leave me some love and review.

So, this is for my soulmate, Marvar. I hope you loved it, sweets. But if you didn't, never tell me. I would probably cry. Thank you for being awesome in general. You are the hottest person I know! Happy birthday! I hope that every Malibu and pineapple that you drink tastes like candy at the beach. ilysfm.

Thanks to Ouiserb for her pre-reading work on this and letting me know if I was going in the right direction. And thank you to rainamd for pinch-hitting as my beta since Marvar obviously couldn't beta her own present. You both kick ass!