This one-shot has been edited from it's original version.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of it's characters.
It's a rad day in Los Angeles, California. The sun is out in full force, but it remains a cool seventy-eight degrees.
It's the best weather we've had in the years that I've been participating in The Skateboard Park competition of The X Games.
I'm in the third round of the fifteen minute heats, and I'm salivating to get back on the course that I've been practicing on for the last two weeks.
In the last five visits, I've won four gold medals and one silver. I've actually been on the tour for six years, but my rookie season lacked the substance and intensity of the seasoned pros contending. The competition was fat that year, and with the likes of Emmett McCarty, Garrett Thompson and Seth Clearwater in the line-up, the rest of us hadn't had a chance in hell at making it to the podium.
I watch my family trekking up the metal stands to watch the event, so happy to have them here. They don't make it to every competition, but they always make a road trip out to the Games.
Mom, dad and Rosalie have always been supportive of my boarding career, especially dad. I remember the first skateboard he bought me for my sixth birthday. It was just a plastic, dollar-store board, but I was obsessed with it. It took me only one week to perform an ollie and another week to manage a manual. After that, dad and I have never looked back. Our home in Santa Cruz has approximately five acres of backyard, so by the time my seventh birthday rolled around they had tore up a section of it, and erected a sweet half pipe for me to dally on while I honed my skills.
I should be a spoiled brat, but there's not a day that goes by that I'm not thankful for what I have.
I have a loving family, and I do something I adore for a living, which also happens to afford me a world of unlimited possibilities.
Yeah, at twenty-two years-old, life is pretty fucking sweet.
But from what I understand, it hadn't always been that way.
My biological dad began serving a lifetime sentence in prison when I was just a baby. Shortly after he was incarcerated, my mom fled with Rosalie and I, to Southern California to become an actress. She had the looks, but apparently not the talent. After her savings had all been spent, she had to earn money however she could. She held down three part-time jobs, but fell into the wrong hands, and was lured into the world of prostitution. It didn't take long for her to get hooked on crack, and any other drug she could get her hands on. Rosalie was just eight years-old when she had to dial 9-1-1, and tell the operator that our mother wasn't breathing.
Fortunately, we were extremely lucky after that. Rosalie and I were in and out of the system within two years. Renee and Charlie were only our second set of foster parents, and they adopted us as soon as they were allowed. After the adoption process, Rosalie and I hadn't hesitated to begin calling them "mom" and "dad".
Dad had bought everything I needed to nurture my talent, until I made it to my first X Games. Even though I hadn't made it to the medal stand that year, I was quickly realized as having the looks and talent to be a potential superstar, and was swarmed by a multitude of sponsors. After accepting an offer, they had not only paid for anything I required, they also added a cement playground, to my half pipe in the yard, and tried to reimburse dad for his original expenses on the structure. Of course, dad had no problem taking their money, but wouldn't accept it as his own. I know it's somewhere in a trust, with my name on it.
I don't need the cash. I don't buy expensive clothes, and I drive a beat up, ninety-eight Corolla. I'll buy a new-er car right after this one takes a dump on me. It definitely isn't a dick magnet, but I have other attributes that have guys chasing my tail.
I have seriously thought about using the money to attend college next year. I love American History, and I've toyed with the idea of becoming a teacher when I get too old for the sport. This dream can't last forever…right?
I glance down the length of the platform and spot Riley, who's at least thirty-five now, and he still seems to be going strong. He holds his board, just as anxious as I am to get this contest underway.
He's pretty much my only competition this year.
Well, besides Peter, who snagged first place in the heat just before mine.
When I came on the scene, Peter and I became instant buddies. He's only a year older than me, and it didn't take long for us to find many things in common. Sadly, we live across the country from each other, so communication is pretty limited. The five or so competitions that we find ourselves in together per year are always our time to reconnect. We usually hang out, and spend a lot of time fucking.
There are definitely other gay and bi guys on the circuit, but Peter is attractive, and we more than meet each other's needs. It's nice to know someone who knows all your in's and out's, and Peter definitely knows me inside and out.
This is our last competition of the year, so after the final tomorrow it will be my last rendezvous with him until next spring, and I have some plans on tying that fucker to my bed with our gold and silver, and riding him until the sun comes up.
I'm stoked Peter had been put in a different group than me, and that we wouldn't meet until the final. Only the first two top scores of each of the three heats make it into the medal round, and I didn't want anyone to stand in the way of us both getting an opportunity to top the podium.
I glance at my watch and realize the contest won't start for another forty minutes. I note that the temperature seems to be rising, as I lick the beads of sweat that's accumulated over my top lip.
Well, fuck this. I survey the area, looking for the closest shade. I walk past several groups of people, grateful that the TV cameras and reporters give us a wide berth before competing. I park myself under an elm tree, not far from the starting platform, and let my mind wander to the mundane.
With the competition so scarce today, I can just chill, not needing to focus too hard on any of my routines. Even with my weakest set, it's already given that I'll make it into the final, so I'm just looking at this as another practice round.
Out of the five in my heat, the only one I can classify as a solid ripper is good old, dependable Riley. He rarely bails from his board, which definitely gives him points, but his performances are lackluster.
I guess it's true that you can't teach an old dog new tricks.
It's unfortunate that this year will hold no surprises. There were a couple of kids in Peter's group earlier today that had displayed some real potential, but they're still too raw. They buckled under the pressure of the veterans and slammed most of their sets. The rest are just germs who have a lot of money, and paid generously for their chance to flop on national television.
I'm yanked out of my musings when I see a pair of red chucks in my view. I look up, squinting, but the boy moves in front of the sun, creating a halo of luminescence around him.
I stare without shame or consequence. My eyes are still adjusting to this piece of perfection in front of me. As they roam over this disturbingly flawless creature, my cock stirs greedily. This boy is fucking sick!
His skin is a creamy, delicious paleness that lends to the magnification of his angular jaw and sculpted cheekbones. He has gorgeous deep sea green eyes, shrouded by dark thick lashes, luscious deep ruby lips, and fucking twisted bronze hair, that despite its longish length, manages to stand up, and out, in every direction.
And as if this exquisite beauty can't get any fucking sexier, he has two gold barbell spikes in each of his eyebrows, a small hoop and five studs in one of his ears, and another stud in the cleft of his chin.
His Tony Hawk t-shirt matches the chucks, and he's wearing some nice fitting black pants in between, but what I find more intriguing than what he has on, is the tattoos covering most of the skin of his forearms.
I finally realize that I'm slack-jawed. I snap my mouth shut, and resist the urge to wipe the back of my hand over my mouth to collect any drool that may have escaped while this guy rendered me a useless noob.
He bends down, so that we're level with one another, and his eyes stray over me, practically setting me on fire, with the blaze in his green orbs.
Holy hell, could I be so fucking lucky?
His eyes travel over my entire body. I have one leg bent, so that my arm can rest across my knee, the other leg is stretched out in between us, and my rack is leaning against the tree next to me.
"Hey," I say, lamely.
His eyes jump to mine guiltily, and I smile in response.
The smile that gets me laid…frequently.
"I don't mean to bother you. I snuck past the gate to get your autograph." His voice is gritty and downright sexy. His eyes plead, as he holds out an edition of Transworld magazine from last year, when they did a full layout on me.
Cue sultry voice.
"I don't mind, darlin'," I say, seductively.
His eyes widen, and search the perimeter nervously, before falling back to me. He swipes his tongue across his top lip quickly, causing me to almost moan aloud.
I reach for the magazine in his hand, making sure my fingers brush over his innocently. "What's your name?"
"Edward." It comes out on a croak. He clears his throat, and tries again. "My name is Edward Cullen."
"Nice name, Cullen. Anywhere in particular you want me to sign?" Normally, I would just sign it wherever, but I'm trying to keep him in front of me for as long as possible.
"Umm…just under the picture I guess."
I lean into him, so that our faces are so close that I can feel his quick breaths on my cheek. "How about right here?" I say breathlessly, mesmerized by his pure masculine beauty.
It takes a full minute for him to look down at the spot where my pen lingers, and when he does, it's a mere flicker of his eyes. "Okay," he whispers.
I press the pen into to the glossy page, without so much as a glimpse at what I'm doing, my focus solely on the person in front of me. His head is bent now, staring at my scribbling hand. His mouth is open, and I have an indescribable urge to feel the heat of it on mine, taste the flavor…
My lips pucker involuntarily, and my head dips…
My eyes flutter…
What the fuck am I doing?
Sanity returns in the nick of time, and I pull away just before he raises his head.
I back off instantly, but I'm still loath to let him go. "So, do you skate, Edward?" I really like the way his name rolls off of my tongue, and I briefly imagine saying it in the throes of passion.
"No, I've tried it, but my balance blows," he admits, with a crooked smirk.
I chuckle, as I watch a tantalizing blush spread across his beautifully chiseled cheekbones.
I haven't surrendered the magazine yet, so I stare down at it, not knowing what else to say. My grip gets tighter, and I squeeze the pages until they wrinkle, knowing its captivity is the only thing keeping the boy here. I recognize this tenuous hold on him will vanish if I can't come up with something else to say quickly.
I'm usually pretty bold with my conquests, so why is my throat closing up when my most successful pick up lines are right on the tip of my tongue?
For some reason, I know this guy is different, and I immediately recognize that I don't want to screw this up.
He stares at me fixedly. He opens his mouth, but shuts it quickly, causing an audible snap to be heard. I raise my brows in question.
"You're eyes…they match your hat perfectly." He looks down, and lets out a puff of breath, his eyes wide, and I can tell by he's surprised by his own bluntness.
"My sister made this for me last Christmas. I've been wearing it in my last few comps because it's brought me luck."
"As if you need luck," he snorts, his eyes alight with humor.
"Have you seen me in many contests?"
"Yeah, I've been watching you for years."
"Do you like what you see?" I flirt.
"Yeah," he responds, quietly.
"Do you have any more tat's besides the ones on your arms?" I ask, curiously.
"Umm…yeah, actually…" he starts to pull up his shirt, and I catch a glimpse of his tight abdomen just before he pulls the hem back down roughly, and I look back up at his face. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his index finger and thumb are pinching the base of his nose.
Without opening his eyes, and with a deep apology in his voice he says, "You probably didn't really mean for me to actually…ugh…" He trails off hopelessly, and I think it's the cutest thing ever.
"What are you doing after the final tomorrow? Y'wanna hang out?" I inquire, boldly.
"I can't. We're leaving right after medals are handed out."
"Oh," I say, morosely.
He looks around anxiously; probably afraid of getting caught behind the gate that divides the fans from the competitors. His eyes turn back, and they look sad. "How about tonight?" He asks, eyes downcast, like he is waiting for me to reject him.
I can't believe that anyone would ever turn him down.
I really don't want to let this boy go, but his suggestion goes against my personal rules.
I usually spend the night before any competition by myself, or with family. I don't drink, and I make sure I go to bed early.
But there's the chance that I'll never see him again, and that fear takes precedence over any stupid rule.
"Would you like to come by my RV tonight?"
His eyes scan the area again, and seem to fall on something before they jump back to mine, indecision clearly evident in his eyes, and I can do nothing, but sit paralyzed, waiting for his answer.
"Call me Jazz, please. All my friends call me Jazz."
"You're probably too busy tonight. It's okay if you can't. Really." It's almost like he wants me to rescind the invite. His eyes swirl with so many emotions it makes me dizzy.
He gnaws on his bottom lip, and it takes all of my restraint not to reach over, fist that crazy hot hair, and suck that plump lip in between my teeth.
But this isn't the time or place, so instead I try to let him know verbally. "You were wrong before, Edward. I do want to see the rest of your ink." I grab an unused napkin out of my pocket, write the lot number where my RV resides, and the time that he should come by. He grasps the napkin, but I keep a firm grip on it. "I'd really like to see you tonight." His eyes meet mine in a moment of brief hesitation, before he smiles and a gives a brief nod of his head.
I watch him until he disappears behind the gate, and is swallowed by the mass of spectators.
"You ready Golden Boy?" Riley sneers, bumping me, while walking past.
Skateboarding101…and utter child's play.
I roll my eyes and covertly give him the finger, hiding it in my chest, so that he's the only one to witness it. I have a sponsor to answer to, and with being a role model and all, I have to tone down the negative shit.
But contrary to what people believe, I hate the label that was given to me in the beginning of my career. Golden Boy. It only took one headline for the name to spread like wildfire, and to my dismay, could not be extinguished. It is too fucking easy. I have all the trappings. I come from a well-to-do family. I have the classic golden looks, with my blond, sun bleached hair, blue eyes and a tan George Hamilton would kill for.
If you didn't know anything about me, you'd assume I'm a surfer. Truth be told, I've never been on a surfboard, and I don't really care to. I'm not real fond of the ocean, so I spend my hours in the summer attaining my Golden Boy image on the pipes, wisely steering clear from any large bodies of water, filled with slimy seaweed, dangerous currents, and killer sharks. I don't need, or want the "salt life".
The announcer comes over the speaker, reciting the rules, and introducing the officials. Knowing our names are coming next I arrange the blue, knit skully, that Rosalie had made for me, just over my brow. My blond curls still hang out at the bottom, but will be contained during the run. I slide on the arm sleeve I had crafted on my left arm, and adjust it so my sponsor's name is clearly displayed.
My name draws deafening cheers from the fans, as usual, and I bow my head humbly, never taking one clap or one shout-out for granted. I adore my fans, even the skateboard Betty's. I'm not bi, so obviously, they never get what they ultimately want, but I always treat them with respect that I would for any other fan. Even the most persistent groupies receive a dimpled smile, laced with patient tolerance.
Earlier, I had drawn the first spot, out of the five, so I go first. When the buzzer rings I line up, and shoot right out of the gate deciding to up the level of performances right off the bat.
In my first forty-five second run, I perform a flawless three-sixty flip on the left bank, a couple of nifty transfers, making a show out of grabbing my board emphatically, some solid grinds and ending with a five-forty flip off the front lip, right in front of the platform for the other competitors to witness at close range.
Put your money where your mouth is.
That's fucking intimidation.
I receive baleful looks from the others, as I make my way back up to the end of the line. They weren't expecting me to open with such a tight routine, but I want my lead to be wide after the first complete round, so I can sail through the next fourteen minutes without too much exertion. I'll save the rest for tomorrow, choosing not to lay all my cards out on the table today.
My score comes up as Jacob Black is in the middle of his routine.
Forty-eight out of fifty points.
The crowd goes wild.
Getting that close to a perfect score is next to impossible, so I relax knowing I've quickly and fluently accomplished what I had set out to do.
I watch Riley perform some fluid, but less than poignant, transfers and look away, bored. I pretend, even to myself, that I'm not looking for anything or anyone in particular, but my eyes drift through the metal stands, and don't stop until I see a tuft of unkempt bronze locks in the second row.
He's standing up like everyone else, but he isn't looking at the course.
I know he's watching me, and likewise, he knows that I'm watching him. I want to give him some type of signal, to let him know that I really meant what I said, but just like before, nothing seems adequate. So, all I can do is stare, and hope that it will convey, even a fraction, of what I'm feeling for this boy that I just met.
He isn't my average pick-up. Sure, I want to get in his pants, but I want to learn everything about him too.
In between my performances, I barely watch the skating progress. I continue staring at Edward after each of my sets. I can barely manage to tear my eyes off of him when it's my turn to perform.
With my lead as large as it is, even the fans don't expect to see much more out of me today, basically just the perfunctory requirements, but I tease them a little, giving them something to look forward to tomorrow, and they show their appreciation by cheering loudly.
In the end, I won the heat easily, with Riley sliding into second.
That night, there's dinner with the family.
Dad pulls out the grill, and chars steaks, while mom makes the side dishes in their motor home. Rosalie, Peter and I hang out in lawn chairs, sipping on Gatorade, chatting about the heats today.
Mom and Dad join us with the food, and jovial conversation ensues, but my heart isn't in it, and I often find myself spacing out, thinking about a bronze-haired enigma.
After dinner Peter pulls me aside. "So, I saw you with that fan today. He's pretty hot. Am I going to have to make other arrangements tomorrow night?" He asks, with a wink. There isn't a trace of jealously in his voice, and that's what I love so much about our relationship.
I decide to be completely honest with him. "Actually, he's coming by tonight."
"Tonight? What about your rules?" Peter often teases me about my rules, but more often than not, the reason is simply because he is horny as hell, and doesn't want to be booted out of my trailer before he's had his fill.
"I'm making an exception," I say, simply, even though it doesn't seem simple in the slightest.
"Wow," he says, deep in thought. "He must look even better close up."
I rake my hands through my hair roughly. "I don't know Peter…there is something more to it, and I can't wait to find out if it's real or just a product of my demented mind, but I actually like him…really like him. Doesn't that seem fucked up? I mean, I just met him."
He sighs. "There was a girl I met a really long time ago, I fell in love with her instantly, and it was most definitely real."
I'm not surprised that it's a girl that he'd fallen for. Peter hooks-up with guys, but any lasting relationships he's had in the past have always been with girls.
"She had a boyfriend at the time, and it didn't look like I would be getting a chance at her anytime soon, so I went on with life."
I am afraid, but I need to know. "Are you still in love with her?"
He looks down at the ground, watching his foot make dust out of the gravel, and shrugs.
That's more than enough of an answer for me, and I find it terrifying, because not only does it appear that he's still in love, but by his reaction, I also conclude that he still aches from it.
Peter slides his arms around my waist. "So does this mean we'll have time for a liaison tomorrow night?" He underlines and bolds his words by grinding his hips against mine.
"Yeah, I suppose." But I'm not so thrilled anymore, with the plans that I had previously made for us.
He leans down, intending to give me a kiss.
"Whoa boy," I say backing off, and wrenching his arms from around me. My parents are aware that I'm gay, but I never flaunt it in front of them, and even though they are nowhere around, we are standing right in front of their camp, and I don't want to risk getting caught in the act.
I know that one day I'll bring home a boyfriend for my parents to meet, and I have no doubt that they will accept him with no questions asked, but it still doesn't mean I anticipated making out in front of them…ever.
Automatically, my thoughts on the subject move to Edward. I think mom and dad would really like Edward, regardless of his copious body art. Following me around the circuit, my parents have met people from all walks of life, and just like they've always taught me to do, they welcome each person that walks in their path, and embraces their differences.
Now I know I'm going batty. I've barely had a conversation with the guy, and I already want to bring him home to meet the parents. I'll be lucky to keep him in my trailer for more than five minutes without making him run for the hills.
Edward had looked like he was ready to bolt as soon as our eyes had first made contact, and throughout the brief chat I was cognizant that I had to tread lightly with him, and that one false move, or if I said one wrong thing, it would scare him off.
Edward is a mystery, a walking contradiction. He looks like someone I'd find on a pin-up in one of my Thrasher mags, but he doesn't seem to realize it at all. He's absolutely breathtaking, and I find the contrast between his massive good looks, and his reserved and coy demeanor, amazing.
I'm positively itching to get back to my RV, and find out what this guy is really all about.
After I kiss my mom on the cheek, and they all wish me luck tomorrow, I take off.
Peter stays behind, after Mom convinces him to be their fourth player in a game of Pinochle.
"Don't keep him up too late." I warn my family. "He has a silver medal to win tomorrow."
He snorts. "We'll see, Golden Boy." He mocks, and because my sponsor is not around, nor any impressionable kids, I respond by giving him the double finger.
Before Edward arrives, I clean up my mess, slip into my favorite Lucky Brand jeans and my threadbare Grateful Dead t-shirt.
I tread the carpet, pacing like a caged animal. He's fifteen minutes late, and I'm concerned that he's decided not to come. After another ten minutes I'm ready to give up, but there's a soft knock on the door, and I jump at the sound. I pull it open to find a slightly frazzled Edward.
"I-I'm sorry I'm late. I couldn't find my way around here." His chin falls, attaching to his chest, so I wedge my finger underneath his chin and pull it up. His eyes are red-rimmed and cautious, but he smiles softly.
Why does he always look so sad, even when he smiles? The thought is endearing and upsetting at the same time.
"Come in, please. Don't worry about it. I was just watching the heats being replayed on ESPN." I lie easily, only wanting to alleviate his guilt for being late.
I get us a beer, and we take a seat on the small leather couch. Normally, I don't drink the night before a heavy competition, but it feels like we both need to take the edge off. I worry about how easy it's been to break all the rules that I've lived the past eight years developing just for Edward.
Our knees touch, but he doesn't seem to mind. He still hasn't given me the signal on whether he is gay or not. My instinct says he is, or at least that he goes both ways. I reason that he did stare me down earlier, but he is a fan, so it could have just meant that was overly excited to meet me.
"That five-forty you did next to the platform was kick ass. I swear you had the other guys shitting bricks after that. Did you hear the crowd? Everyone was sick over it." His eyes lighten up, and he seems to be more relaxed.
"Really?" I ask shyly, heat spreading across my cheeks.
"Yeah," he says, looking confounded.
"What?" I say, smiling.
"You seem genuinely shocked is all. It just surprises me."
I shrug, embarrassed to be talking about myself. I don't want to talk about me. I want to talk about him.
We chat a little more about the aspects of the competition, and I mention Riley's pathetic attempt at intimidating me.
"Riley is a complete ass. He needs to do everyone a favor and retire."
Edward looks down at his hands, an inscrutable expression on his face.
Jesus, I must sound like a complete asshole.
"I'm sorry. I'm really not some hater. He just rubs me the wrong way sometimes."
"That's understandable." He mumbles, peering up at me through his lashes.
"How old are you?" I ask.
"Twenty." He's legal. Score.
"So, are you going to school? Do you have a job?" I question.
"Umm…I'm going to school full-time. I go to Argosy University in Bakersfield, they're renowned for the veterinary program. I'm in my second year." He says proudly.
I almost jump out of my seat. He lives in Bakersfield? A mere four hours away? I barely keep myself composed.
"So, you're going to be a veterinarian?" My eyes rove over his forearms and notice that, amongst other things, he has a tiger, and a black horse tattoo.
"Yep. I love animals. Do you, Jasp…Jazz?" He asks the question nonchalantly, but I know it's important to him.
Thankfully, I fucking adore animals. I've never been able to have one because Rosalie is highly allergic, but I had plenty of outdoor animals to feed, and play with growing up.
"Yes. I do," I say emphatically, but I add before he asks, "But I don't have any pets because my sister's allergic." He nods his head in understanding.
"Do you live on a campus or with your parents?"
"I live with one of my uncles."
"Oh." I quickly do the math, and realize he must not have started college right after high school. "Did you start school late?"
"Yeah…" He trails off, and I can tell he wants to add more, as the internal debate is clear in his eyes. I should tell him that he doesn't have to tell me, but I'm greedy for any information, and what he seems to be omitting appears to be awfully important.
So, instead of taking the polite route, I beseech him, "tell me."
"Umm…my parents died a little over three years ago, in a car accident…right before I was supposed to start college."
Three years ago? To him, that must still feel like it happened yesterday. Jesus fuck.
His eyes well up with tears, and his bottom lip shakes slightly. He's attempting to shake it off, as he picks at lint on his jeans, and all I want to do is absorb some of his pain. My own eyes fill up with moisture, and I throw caution to the wind, pulling him into a tight, but comforting embrace.
My life started out as a recipe for disaster, but things have turned out so well for me, when others haven't been so fortunate. It still surprises me that I have tears in my eyes for him, but what is even more shocking is that how much I need him to feel better.
"Edward, how horrible. Oh my God." My voice shakes, and he pulls away, staring at me intently.
"Why do you care?" He whispers.
The only thing that comes to my mind is the truth. "I really like you Edward."
He sits back in his seat, and squeezes his eyes tightly shut, while the last remaining tears drizzle down his cheeks.
I let him gather himself, before I continue the discussion.
"So, that's why you live with your uncle," I say softly, breaking the silence.
"Yeah, he's been paying for my college and expenses since they died. The will that my parents had drawn up didn't relinquish the proceeds from the estate to me until I turn twenty-one."
"So what're you going to do when you get it?"
"Well, it isn't going to be much. My mom was a full-time mom, and dad worked at a saw mill. I'm just hoping that whatever I get is going to be enough to pay my uncle back. If I do have some left over, I'm going to try and find a place to start my practice." He pulls up one of his legs, and faces me on the couch. His tear-streaked face becomes animated, as he undoubtedly talks about something he loves. "I want to find a small house out in the country, one with an outbuilding on the property, so I can turn it into my office. It'll be much easier to offer emergency care that way."
"That's a wonderful plan, Edward."
His idea for the future has me implanting my own life and goals within his dream. I envision a quaint house, with a porch that wrapped around the entire residence, a large outbuilding that had a sign in front of it that says "Cullen Veterinary"…or whatever. A gate would be attached to his office for farm animals on the mend, and then off to the side would be my playground. I would help Edward in his office, and teach him how to skate.
Guilt presses at my conscious for intruding in on his dream, making it into my own without his knowledge.
I glance up to find his green eyes boring into me.
"We've only been talking about me." He states.
"I know. Can we keep that up?" I ask, playfully.
He stares, and I can't figure him out.
"What?" I smile, curious as to what has him looking at me so intently.
"I-I just thought that maybe you would be pretentious…kind of a dick, y'know? But you're not." His face is full of wonderment over his own revelation.
I just laugh at his assumption. "I can be cocky out on the cement, but without my board I'm just a regular guy. I have insecurities just like every other boy our age."
He smiles, and averts his eyes.
"You like tats, I see."
His grin is wide, and genuine, as he glances down at his own art. "Yeah. My cousin is an artist. So, he does all my ink and piercings."
"He's really good." I admit.
I peek out the window behind us, and see the sky turning pink. It's getting late, and I understand that if I want things to progress to the next level, I need to figure out if he is gay, ASAP. "Can I see your other tattoos?"
His Adam's apple bobs and he stands up, slowly removing his shirt. I leap up, way too eager, to study his naked torso. He only has a few more tattoos on his chest, and nothing that overtly says 'I'm gay'. The only questionable thing I've seen so far is a masquerade mask, but that could have many meanings.
His cousin does have sick talent. "Does your cousin live with you?"
"No. I live with my dad's brother. My cousin is from my mom's side of the family."
I circle around to his back, and run a finger slowly over the bald eagle that has a wing span from shoulder to shoulder. I feel the shiver that courses down his spine from my touch, and I bite my lip to stop myself from whispering how much I want him.
He's affected by me…but how much?
I can't find what I'm looking for, and I'm wondering if I should just blurt out the question, but when I return to face him I see some additional ink under his arm. I clasp his wrist lightly, and turn it out, so that the inside of his arm is displayed…and there it is. The sign I've been looking for.
The shape looks like it was cut right out of an American flag. The star is colored red, white and blue with stars and stripes filling it. The symbol covers the entire inside of his bicep. My fingertip glides over the smooth skin. The star has become universally known as a sign of homosexuality, but it's certainly not foolproof. You don't need a gay license in order to get a star tattooed on your body, but it's a promising indication that we could possibly share the same orientation.
"Are you seeing anyone?" For some reason my sanity depends on his answer.
"Huh?" He seems hypnotized by the movement of my fingers on his skin.
"Do you have a girlfriend…or boyfriend?"
His eyes snap to mine. "No." He shakes his head minutely.
Would you like one?
My hand curls around his neck gently, and my thumb caresses his incredible jaw line. "Edward…I want you to stay with me."
He looks alarmed, and backs away. "I-I should go. I don't think I can do this."
"Please don't go."
"I shouldn't be here."
His eyes pinch shut, and I know he's trying to fight this for some reason. Maybe I'm all wrong, maybe he isn't gay, or maybe he's gay, but doesn't want me.
I'm not ready to give in without a fighting chance, so while his eyes are shut I take the opportunity to press my lips to his. He doesn't respond, but he doesn't push me away, so I take it as a positive sign.
My lips move over his gently, coaxing him into participating. He remains tense, and his hands clench at his sides, making the muscles of his biceps tighten under my soft grip. "Edward…" I whisper against his lips. "Don't you want me?"
With a growl his lips smash into mine brutally, and move over my mouth with a quiet fierceness I have never experienced before. His tongue fills my mouth, and overwhelms my senses. As the kiss deepens, small whimpers emanates in the back of his throat, making me fucking lose it.
All throughout this assault, his hands remained firmly at his side, but I have no such intentions.
His skin burns my palms, as my needy hands run up his taut abdomen, over his nipples, playing with the hoop in one of them, before traveling up to massage his shoulders, and then back down. I repeat this pattern, and my actions get more desperate after each pass.
Finally his hands move, but he taunts me by playing with the bottom of my tee. "Do you want me to take this off?"
I break away from his kiss, and answer with an angry growl. I think I hear him chuckle just before I bite down hard on his neck. He reacts with a corresponding growl of his own.
He whips the shirt over my head, and then just as quickly, bends at the knees, grasps the back of my thighs, and picks me up.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and cinch my legs around his waist, as he clasps onto my ass. We stagger to the back where the queen-sized bed awaits. He unceremoniously dumps me on the bed, unbuckles, unbuttons and unzips me. I prop myself up, and watch him through half-lidded eyes as he tugs on my jeans. He only takes a moment to scan the sight in front of him before he leans over and massages my wood through my burgundy briefs. My hips move without guile, pressing into his palm.
"Please," I choke out.
*In order to comply with FFN's policy against graphic sex the lemon has been removed. If you wish to view the chapter in full detail check out my blog listed on my profile. Sorry for the inconvenience – It's not my rule.*
As we come back down from our high, Edward manages to stumble to the bathroom and find a towel. He wipes us both off, and I take the towel from him, doing the best I can with the wet sheets.
I throw the towel aside, and depleted, I fall back on the bed. Edward doesn't hesitate to follow me, curling up into my side. I gather him in my arms, and we lay silent, not needing words of comfort or praise, when there is so much more being said through simple touches.
So, we lay sated…for the time being, lost in our own thoughts.
It's been a struggle to get him to this point, but the effort has been so worth it. For some reason, I have a feeling that winning Edward would be much more rewarding than any gold medal, or anything else I could win in my lifetime, for that matter.
I don't even have an urge to send him away tonight…nor ever. There is no doubt that I want him to be mine.
I look down at my finger tracing one of the tattoos on his arm. "Why so many? I mean, don't get me wrong…I love them."
He shrugs against my chest. "I find pleasure in the pain. I like the quick sting from the piercing gun. I like to feel the needle scrape and drag across my skin, marking me…making something beautiful."
"You already are something beautiful."
He climbs over top of me, his hair in beautiful disarray, and a soft expression lights up his features. My hands skate up and down the sides of his torso, as we gaze at each other.
He has to realize what this all means…right?
Obviously he does. I can see it in his eyes.
His hand comes up and brushes the hair away from my face as his green eyes pool with desire. I feel him growing against my belly, and I circle my hips, causing friction.
"Jazz…" His eyes squeeze shut, and when he opens them they are hot…but wary. "I need you again." He begs, apologetically.
Both my hands worm there way up to his shoulders, and slide across to his neck, cupping it gently on both sides. "Of course, darlin'," I say, quietly, hopefully reassuring him that the feelings are completely mutual.
We make love again, and this time it is slow, sweet, and gentle, wrought with light kisses, loving caresses, and tender thrusts.
We eventually fall asleep, but not for long. Edward wakes me up two more times during the night, taking me to passions peak, and then guiding me back each time.
I wake up with a start. My alarm hasn't gone off, but I don't remember setting it. I let out a sigh of relief when I realize I haven't woken up too much later than I would have anyway. I smile lazily, as I think about last night, and how insatiable Edward is.
I glance around the room, and don't see him. I pad to the front of the trailer, and find a note on the table.
I'm sorry Jasper. Please don't hate me. I'll never forget last night.
I read it three more times.
This is a joke.
It has to be a joke.
I arrive an hour before the competition. My eyes immediately survey the grandstands, in search of Edward. The seats aren't assigned to non-family members, so it will be impossible to find him within a crowd of thousands.
My family waves boisterously and I give them a fake smile and wave back.
As we wait, Peter attempts to talk me out of my funk, but I'm barely here.
He has to come back.
We go through introductions, they call out my name, and the crowd roars.
He just bolted.
I drew third yesterday, so I stand in line. Adrenaline and motivation…are absent.
He couldn't even say goodbye?
It's my turn. I'm thirty seconds through the set and I bail from my board coming down the vert ramp. The fans gasp.
He hadn't even given me a chance.
The second set, and I barely maneuver my way through the course, giving it a Riley-like appearance. The fans cheer, continuing to support me.
I stumble through the next two sets, bailing at the end of each of the runs. The audience is astounded. Peter tries to get my attention, but I ignore him.
Right before the final set, I finally focus on what I'm here for. I rock my last routine, receiving the highest total for any one set…but it isn't enough.
Riley takes gold, Peter takes silver, and after the worst performance of my career, I end up taking third. Fucking bronze. The irony of winning the bronze medal is not lost on me. It will be a constant reminder of what happened when I lost my head over some guy…a fucking fan for Christ sakes.
I walk off the platform, and almost run right into my sponsor. "What the fuck happened out there?"
In no mood for conversation, I push past him.
"Will you tell them that I'll do the interviews after the ceremony?" I mutter.
His voice softens instantly, "Yeah…go on. I'll take care of them. Just go calm down." He knows that no one will be as hard on me, as I am going to be on myself. Especially, since I'm aware of the extenuating circumstances around my collapse.
I need to be alone, and think, but Rosalie rushes to me, and pulls me into a tight embrace. "It's okay, Jazzy. It's okay." She knows I don't accept failure, and even though I came in third place I consider it a demoralizing loss. I feel like my composure is melting in her warm, familiar hug, so I try to focus on something else, and look beyond her shoulder to see my mom and dad looking very distraught.
Dad rubs Rosalie on the shoulder, and she let's go of me. Dad doesn't hesitate to crush me into his chest, and I feel like I'm six years-old again. A scared child, looking for the comfort that only a father can give. "I'm so sorry dad."
His arms squeeze tighter. "What do you mean? We all have bad days Jazz. This is your first loss all year, and yeah, it's too bad that it had to be today, but you're still walking home with a medal." He pulls away, and shakes me gently until I look up at him. My throat closes when I see moisture in his eyes. "I am so proud of you son."
My mom finally wedges her way in, and gives me a hug. "I love you baby." She holds me for a long time, and eventually we break apart.
"Thanks guys. I just need to cool down. I'll catch you in a bit." They're hesitant, but they withdraw.
I desperately search for some solitude and tranquility before I have to stand on the podium, and smile graciously while accepting a third place "win".
After the medal ceremony, I walk aimlessly through the almost empty camp, basically berating myself at every turn. Every kick of an empty beer can wields silent reprimands at my carelessness; every upturned trash can causes unspoken words of censor to ripple through me.
This was my comp to lose, and I lost it.
And over what?
I feel like a dillweed, harboring the feelings that I had. How could he have looked at me like he did, touched me like he did, made love to me like he did…without feeling anything at all?
How could he have just left?
I can't blame him though. Edward didn't do anything wrong. He didn't promise me anything, or tell me he wanted more. This is all on me. I knew what had to be done today. I should have kept my dick in my pants, and kept my head in the game, and because of my sheer stupidity I failed my family, my sponsor, my fans, and myself.
But Edward had no consequences. He took what he wanted and then he left me.
I pick up and hurl another beer can, hitting a tree.
I walk by some tour buses that are in the process of packing up, when I spot an unruly mass of bronze. No fucking way!
It's Edward, but he's with someone.
They're walking together, picking up items, and packing them in the storage recess, of what I know to be, Riley's motor home. Edward veers in another direction to pick up something from the ground. He bends down to retrieve it, and when he stands back up he freezes, standing stark still, as he spots me.
I approach them, walking on trembling legs. His face contorts into a grimace as he waits for the inevitable confrontation. As I stalk him, Riley turns around with an evil smirk on his face, and my brain is processing the meaning of all this. As it all becomes clear, my gut twists into a tight fist, making bile rise up in my throat.
"What's this Edward?" I ask, waving my pointed finger between the both of them.
"Oh…have you had a chance to meet my nephew?" Riley speaks up, with a sly smile, as he plays with the medal hanging around his neck. He tries unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh, but then pulls something out of his back pocket, and throws it at me while hooting loudly with laughter. "Oh, you might need these." He chortles annoyingly.
I don't have to look down at my hand to see what I'd caught. In my hand is the pair of burgundy underwear that I had on last night.
The pair of underwear that Edward had fairly ripped from my body.
He took my briefs and gave them to Riley?
I stare at Edward in utter shock. It's hard enough to believe that what happened between us meant nothing to him, but now to find out that what we did last night was actually some deranged plot to get me to lose the comp for his aging uncle is just devastating.
"C'mon Eddie. Let's go."
Edward lags behind, and when Riley is a few feet in front of him Edward looks back. When he sees that I haven't left my spot, he turns.
I try not to notice how defeated he looks…how exhausted he looks…how his body sags with regret.
I try not to notice how his eyes fill with all those fucking emotions that I am too tired to try and figure out anymore.
And most of all, I try not to think about my pipe dreams of wanting to be with him, becoming closer, meeting my parents, sharing a fucking life together…because it's just all too fucking much.
It is one thing for me to believe that he left me without feeling anything, but solely another to contemplate the maliciousness it would have required to do such a thing. What kind of guy is this?
"Only my friends are allowed to call me that," I say through gritted teeth.
He nods furiously, agreeing with me. "Jasper…I didn't…"
"It doesn't fucking matter." I cut him off again. I don't need, or want, to hear his reasoning for what he's done. He's an adult. Riley couldn't have forced him to do anything he didn't want to.
He looks down at the ground for a long moment, and when he lifts his head I see the tears threatening to fall.
"I'm so sorry," he says so quietly that I don't know if I actually hear the words, or merely watch them spill from the lips that had kissed every inch…
"Just go," I say tersely.
He pivots, and I think I hear him sob, but it's hard to say since I can barely hear anything over the sound of my heart ripping into two. I press a tight fist into my chest attempting to quell the agony that I feel just below the surface.
As I watch Riley's bus fade into the distance, and the dust to settle around my feet, I fight ineffectively to stop the silent flow of tears that course down my face.
So, I stay here for a long time, and I think about everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours, letting all the feelings wash over me. I think about the way Edward spoke to me and the things he said, they way he smiled, his beauty and shyness. I think about the way he filled me and made me feel complete, his intense need as he waited for me to find my fulfillment before he submitted to his own. And lastly, I think about the sting of betrayal, and the aching pain that accompanies it.
And it hurts so fucking much…so I cry.
I give myself this time…right here, because once I get up from this spot I will force myself to move on with my life, and forget that Edward Cullen ever existed.
It's amazing, how easy, and fast, someone can wiggle their way into your heart. It hasn't been easy purging Edward from every tiny crevice of my body and soul, but over the last six months that is exactly what I've done.
So, now, I no longer have to fear the upcoming 2011 skateboarding season; in fact, I'm looking very forward to it.
AN: Hope you enjoyed. Please review!