This one-shot was written for the contest hosted by FilthyRoseward & Co. To read all the fabulous entries, visit http: / / w w w . fanfiction. net/u/2529769/

It's always good having an "in" with the big guy upstairs.

You know, if there even is a big guy. If so, that's downright beauty, 'cause He and I? Thick as thieves. He sure as hell knows all my secrets. Of course, as the kid of missionary parents, I've got to put on the act that I'm down with Him. Not that I have to do much in the way of acting; word of mouth works wonders in a small town and girls somehow seemed to dig that shit. Maybe they thought that me having missionary parents meant that I was safe and sound, that nothing bad could happen with me.

Couldn't have been further from the truth but I'd be a damn fool to tell them that.

Nah, I got my rocks off and then? Every year or so we'd move, so I never really had to deal with too much fall out. Yet another perk of the having missionary parents gig. Even better, it gave me clout. Undeserved clout, but clout nonetheless. Because shit, these girls? They heard that my parents were missionaries and they figured that I had to be a good kid, despite the leather, the grease, the motorcycle. A Godly motherfucker who spent more time on his knees in prayer rather than up girls skirts.

That, my friends, would be undeniably false.

But hell, it helped the cause of getting laid and really that's what any seventeen year old guy is looking to do. And anyone telling you differently is fucking lying. I had them screaming for God and everything else under the sun, so I figured that He didn't mind too much that I used my parent's positions in life to my advantage. And hell, it sort of made me a missionary in my own right, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.

We all gotta do what speaks to us, man. And sex? It speaks to me. He'd probably respect that. Besides, come on, we all know that people who claim to be Godly can be anything but. Like the deacon in Tennessee who kept slipping the cash from the tithe collection baskets into his pockets, instead of counting it in the offering. Or two years ago when the pastor's wife was bored with what being a pastor's wife entailed. That one decided to that she could get her rocks off with fifteen year old me, pressing her body against mine and taking my hand and trying to rub it against her. And man, while I like sex, even I knew that shit was wrong, so I politely declined.

Cause hell, even I'm not that much of bastard. I make it a point to stay away from the taken. Last thing I need is a jealous husband or boyfriend coming after me. No thank you.

The only girl I really respected (besides my ma) was my Bonnie. She was loyal and true, with her sleek curves and her dark features. Purred like a dream and felt good between my legs. Almost better than sex.

What? I said almost.

So once again, it was the first day at a new school. It was March, the middle of the semester. Some might have flipped their lid at the thought of starting a new school mid-year, but it was old hat to me. I pulled into the parking lot of Forks High School on my 1957 Triumph Bonneville (my Bonnie). Hot as hell and birds never could resist a sweet bike. When I got my license, Pops and I went to the lot together; he tried to talk me into a "sensible car" but I saw her and was done for. Only time that ever happened. I could tell that Ma wasn't overly thrilled when we came home with the bike, but they were so busy saving the world and showing others the righteous path that I didn't hear about it much.

As I turned off the ignition, I gave the plain brick building the ol' up and down. Couldn't help but daydream what she'd look like. You know, the one that I'd make mine, at least for a night. Every school I'd been to, there had been at least a few; why would this joint be any different? I wasn't too picky, but prospecting tail was my favorite past time and I wondered if she'd be a redhead, or maybe have jet-black hair like Betty Paige. Pops would love that. So long as she wasn't a brunette. I'd had my fill of those for a while and though they were good for a little fun, I didn't plan on getting too involved with a brunette. The last girl, Bella, had dark hair and these large sad brown eyes. She reminded me of a lamb waiting to be sacrificed, and lay her upon the altar of my bed I did indeed. Then, I left her bawling on her front porch in Phoenix. I promised to call. I hadn't.

Had to admit, as much as the love 'em and leave 'em bit was working for getting tail, it was getting kind of old. That Wanderer song? It could have been written about me. Some got the hint and moved right along but most of the time, I was the one doing the moving and they just watched as I went.

I felt their eyes upon me as I swung my leg over my girl, dismounting, shoving my keys in the pocket of my leather jacket. I'd been to the school with Ma the previous week, registering and getting the lay of the land. I'd seen the birds then, felt their eyes and knew that the whispers would precede my arrival. They always did.

Hearing the bell, I made my way to the homeroom. Shit, even the teachers were checking me out. Checking me out, you know. Always used it to my advantage however I tried to not rely solely on it. After all, I knew I had my looks going for me, but sometimes that took the fun out of things. I'd rather have to own it a bit. Sing for my supper, you know?

The day dragged, like all days in high school. Didn't matter which town, which state you were in. It was always the same bullshit. The guys were trying to figure out where I was going to fit in and if I was going to be a threat to them and their game. Birds were sidling up, pressing their tits against my arm while they introduced themselves and offered to show me around. I'd just smile quietly while my insides smirked, knowing in the end, I'd be showing them around. If they were pretty, I'd feign being confused, and they picked me up like a poor wounded animal, talking to me in sweet tones and gently patting my arm.

I finally found myself in study hall at the end of the day, the secs in the front office still working on filling my schedule. I was niccing for a cig but knew that since it was my first day, even though study hall was a fucking joke. That's what my parents told me and I tried to do right by them, keep my nose clean. Especially on the first day, I always attempted to fly straight.

Old Man Berty (as the kids called him and it made sense since the guy looked like he dated back to dinosaur days) had told me to swing back to his classroom at the end of the day for the textbook. So I headed to the language wing, pushing my way through a wall of students that were just trying to make their way out of the building. By the time I made my way to his room, the dust had settled, papers and scuff marks littered the linoleum hallways. I could hear sneaks squeaking in the far-off gym, basketball or some other jock shit that I really had no interest in. Give me a girl and Bonnie and that was all I really needed. And apparently, this English book that I'd just fought the battle of Jericho for.

I stopped in the doorway, seeing that Mr. Berty was deep in conversation with this bird. Well, not conversation, exactly. She was talking, her voice liquid smooth, honeyed and sexed. I know that voice. Not her voice but the tone, the quality; it mimicked my own when I was working someone. I stood, leaning against the door frame and listened to some cock and bull story that she was obviously making up on the fly about why she'd missed class that day. I wasn't even paying attention to the words, only the way she used them, the way she angled her body toward him, making the most of her assets. Hell, I couldn't even see the facial expressions she was using but I knew they were good. They had to be.

Catching sight of me, Berty only nodded his head, as to not interrupt the fine little show she was putting on. She stopped speaking but she didn't turn to see who was behind her. She merely waited, knowing that once Old Man Berty was done with me, he'd be her willing audience once more. Hell, I might've been too, if only to look at those legs that seemed to go on for days. If the back is this good, I can only imagine the front. No doubt a bombshell.

Now you might wonder, why imagine when I could simply just walk around and see?

Because that was just what she'd be expecting. I knew her game because shoot, I'd made up the rules.

Instead, while Berty made his way to the back of the room to get my text that he had tracked down, I drew close to the back of her neck. "Nice story there, Blondie. Be sure to include the hospital you were visiting when he gets back. That's the clincher, he'll definitely buy into it then."

Berty stood by the door, holding the book up for me in his right hand so I pulled away, even though I thought it might be fun to run the tip of my nose around the shell of her ear. She stayed frozen in her spot, the leg that she'd been bouncing across her knee stopped, mid-swing. And damn it, I wish I could see her face at that point because I knew the reaction must have been rich. But instead, I sauntered out, plucking that textbook from Berty and nodding goodbye. She'd be watching me; the temptation was too great to not to. As much as I wanted to turn around to see if she was looking, I just tucked the book under my arm and got the hell out of Dodge.


After that chance encounter, I told myself that she was just another bird, one of many in the long line of girls in this school. Of course, I was fucking kidding myself because I didn't think about those girls with their tits mashed up against me half as much as I thought about this one, and I hadn't even seen her face. All I could hear in my head was her voice, dripping with honey, and all I could see were those damn legs, long and silky smooth under a straight skirt.

Funnily enough, that's what drew me to her next. Two days passed and I had wandered out to the corner that everyone made their way to for a smoke. 'Course, it was during fourth period so I was carrying a bathroom pass as well since that's where I was technically supposed to be. But I'd gotten over that "where I was supposed to be" crap real fast.

Rounding the corner, I found them.

More specifically, her.


I watched, half-fascinated and half-disgusted as his hand traveled up her thigh, pushing her skirt out of its way. Her hand found his again and she batted it away, firmly placing it near her knee instead. This went on two, three times, and it seemed like she anticipated his every move, knew where he was going before he went there. She leaned her head back against the wall and his teeth visibly bit her neck. My eyes watched her, watched her reaction, thinking that maybe she'd be aching for more, yet instead found her rolling her eyes, annoyed rather than turned on. What the fuck kind of school did I land in?

"Hey buddy, I don't think your girl's having a good time."

The creep pulled away from the blonde's neck and for the first time, I could see her fully. Angel face, made up of pouty lips, piercing eyes like I'd never seen before and an angry glare... at me, not him. Her face was straight from heaven but that body? Only the devil himself could have a hand in that because she was straight up sinful.

The asshole spat on the ground before turning his attention back to her. "Kid, you having a good time?"

The roll of the eyes returned and she turned her glare toward him. "Jesus Christ, Royce. How many times have I told you not to call me kid. You don't do those sort of things to a kid, do you?" He lit a cigarette, starting to answer her but she held up her hand, cutting him off. "Just scram. We'll talk later."

Royce shrugged, walking off while taking a long drag from his cigarette. His eyes flicked to me and he gave me the evil eye, motioning that I better keep my hands off his girl. I held my hands up in mock surrender, knowing I wouldn't touch her. Although from what I could tell, she wasn't exactly his. Hell, she didn't seem like she'd be the type to belong to anyone. Which, of course, intrigued me more than I cared to admit.

Blondie had pulled out her compact, applying bright red to her lips, all the while looking bored. Goading her, I pointed to my cheek, telling her she could lay one on me.

Her rage paid back tenfold and I inwardly grinned while keeping my face neutral. "You're joking, right? You interrupt us and now I'm supposed to... what? Thank you for it? You just got here yesterday and already you think you have a say in this. Listen champ, I don't need your help."

"Retract the claws, kitten. Didn't look like you were enjoying it that much." I knew she was anything but a kitten, more like a tigress, but that the comment would get under her skin.

Instead of answering, she crossed her arms across her chest and hitched her chin high. Defiantly. Proudly. "I can fight my own battles."

"I don't doubt that you can, but that isn't supposed to be a battle. Look, all I'm saying is that when a guy does that shit to you, you should be moaning in anticipation and never knowing what he's going to do next. It shouldn't be thought out and calculated, it should be raw and hot. You should be lost in the moment, not rolling your eyes toward the sky in search of something that you think God can answer. There is no higher power where this is concerned, baby. Your partner should be the one taking you there." She pressed her lips together, looking annoyed, and shut her eyes slowly, leaning against the brick behind her. I was done with the conversation so I shoved my hands in my pockets while I walked away, leaving her with something to think about.


Leaving Blondie with something to think about was all well and good in theory, but in reality? I was the one who couldn't get her out of my mind. Sure, I pushed that I don't give a fuck attitude nice and good, especially when I saw her. Girls still dripped off my arms like the cheap baubles they were, each of them more forward than the next. I took them out to the back of the school, where the woods met the sports fields, and I'd touch 'em, let them touch me. But the thrill? The one I'd sagely extolled to Blondie about getting off? Man, it just wasn't there. Maybe that shit was contagious, I don't know. I couldn't help but wonder if this was where she was in her life and with that thought, I wanted to fucking bash my own face in, marring my own perfection. Next thing you knew, I'd be wearing pink and gossiping with my best friends forever, writing URAQT messages in their autograph books. I was turning into such a fucking sap.

Instead (and I'm ashamed to admit this), I wanted her. Wanted her attention; wanted her to look at me. And all in the same breath, I didn't want her to look and see me watching her because she, of all people, might've been able to see past the front I put up. So, I had to be crafty, slyly watching out of the corner of my eye, or pretending to sleep during the few classes we had together while looking through my lashes at her. Went to the drive-in with Jessica, Lauren, or Angela (or all three) and looked for her car there. I was quiet and aloof, more so in Forks than I'd been other places. Not playing the games I usually did and just biding my time. For some reason or another, it only drew people to me more. I'd never understand it.

I heard it through the grapevine that she planned to be at the school sponsored sock hop, although with who was always an unknown and I knew full well I couldn't ask her. This Jake kid had taken to following her like a pup, carrying her books and mooning over her. I would see Emmett talking to her, that one was an All-American jock right there. Basketball resting on his hip, he'd lean against her locker, waiting for her to roll up.

Interestingly enough, she didn't move in a pack like the other girls in this school. No, she was stand-alone and stand out. She didn't need validation from anyone and I could respect that. I saw her working classmates, teachers, the fucking lunch aides for Christ's sake. But even as I watched her move and take and not give a whole hell of a lot, all I could see in my mind was that afternoon. Her eyes to the heavens, searching for more. And I'll be damned if I didn't think I was the one who could give it to her.

And even though I hated the effect that she had on me, I had to believe that I could make her feel, that I could make her fly. And that together, we'd soar.


I decided to go stag to the dance. Better to let her see me with several girls all wanting my attention. Birds dig that. They get off on jealousy. It's really because they only want what they can't have, see? Why they love to be treated like shit, I don't think I'll ever know. Ya don't hear me complaining. Most of them deserved to be treated like the fakes they were. They couldn't fool me. Everyone, myself included, was out to get something. They put on their airs of innocence but I knew their game. I had my own and it was on a higher plane than theirs. And shit, with my game at least I knew not to give them anything without getting what I wanted first.

But all that really didn't matter because I'd really only come to this bullshit dance to see her. If they'd let me use them to get to her, I would.

The gym was pretty crowded when I got there. The lights were turned down low and tacky yellow and white crepe paper criss-crossed the high ceiling. All the freshman boys were lined up against the wall smelling of Aqua Velva and fear. I had no doubt that not one of those guys would get laid before college or marriage. Poor bastards. Just as I expected, Lauren sidled up to me, her damn nails digging into my arm like she was a bird claiming her prey. Slyly, I removed her hand so she could knock that shit off without me having to actually say the words.

"Edward, where's your date?"

I'll say one thing, she was direct. "Don't have one, kitten. I wanted to see who'd come up and purr in my ear. Looks like you're the first."

"Lucky me." Her small eyes glinted shamelessly as she threaded her arm through mine. She was pulling out all the stops for me. Her perfume was thick and her fuzzy green sweater was tight, putting her girls front and center for me behind the sweater's deep neck. My eyes couldn't help but take a peek down there, see what she was always covering up on Sundays with her high collars, clutching her bible while Angela's daddy preached on. Yeah, I was always there too, with my parents. One of those things that I did for them, even if I wasn't always picking up what was being dished out. But make no mistake, I was the same guy, both here and there. Same clothes, same attitude, couple less curses.

The gym had the standard pullout bleachers, and kids were sitting around looking bored or uncomfortable. I sat down next to Lauren and scanned the gym, looking for Blondie. Lauren jabbered on about some bullshit I wasn't even pretending to listen to, all while her possessive hand and those fucking nails squeezed and dug into my knee. I cocked a brow at her hand, then my eyes traveled to her face and she licked her lips, trying to look sexy, I guess. Then, she was right there, leaning in and kissing me, her hands quickly finding my hair.

I had two thoughts in that moment. First, this girl is trash, and second, I suppose I'd rather kiss her than listen to her yammer all damn night. I took her hand and led her out of the gym to a dark, private hallway. She still wouldn't shut up. I could be leading her out to the woods to her death and she'd just follow me like a sheep. She kept asking me questions that I didn't reply to and she still didn't get the hint. Shaking my head, I eased her against the lockers, the locks clanked against the metal doors as I kissed her, hard and fast and fierce. My hand went to her chin, holding her still and my other hovered over her tit, my thumb rubbing over her nipple. And finally, Praise the Lord, hallelujah, I'd shut her up.

Her slobbery mouth was on mine and her naive, eager hands were worse than mine ever were; clawing and clutching at me like a three year old with a puppy. I played along, sorta. I was bored, and the smallest effort on my part sent her into hysteria. She was so damn loud, too. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love to make a girl scream, but she was down right embarrassing. I indulged her for a few more minutes. Plus, my hand groping her tits wasn't bitching. Her timid touches weren't doing anything for me, however. She was still grabbing at me, but not in the right place. I was tempted to grab her hand and put it on my dick, cause she was really missing the mark completely.

Blondie's red lips flashed behind my closed lids and suddenly I pulled away from Lauren, disgusted with the pale pink lipstick that was now smeared all over her mouth and mine too, I imagined.

"We oughta get back."

"Why?" She asked, her eyes big and trusting and lustful. I started to back away from her.

"Don't you want to dance?" I knew she'd want to me show off, lord over Jessica and Angela and I needed a way out.

"I suppose," she allowed.

"I'll see you in there." I jerked my chin toward the gym before leaving for the nearest john. I felt queasy.

In the bathroom, I grabbed some paper towels and scrubbed that pink sticky shit off my face so hard I left a red mark. It wasn't good enough. Her sickly sweet perfume clung to me. I could still feel her hands on me and I shuddered. What the fuck was wrong with me? She was just a girl, like all girls. Getting her kicks like I was getting mine. That was the way it was and that was always fine by me, until now. I attempted to shrug it off and headed back toward the gym. I was hoping Lauren had left, and I was hoping even more, that Blondie had arrived.

The gym was more crowded than before and the band was playing "In the Still of the Night." I looked through the crowd and didn't see Blondie, or Lauren. I contemplated taking off, ready to skip the whole deal. Lauren snuck up behind me, her arm wrapping around my waist and her talon nails dragging across the material of my shirt. She probably thought that shit is sexy and it might have been, if someone else was doing it.

"Dance with me now, Edward?"

I tried to repress a shudder; I didn't want to be complete asshole to her. "One dance, then I need a cig." I'd give Blondie five more minutes to show, then I'd ditch the scene.

Lauren led me to the dance floor and I took the lead. She started jabbering away yet again, and I wanted to abandon her in the middle of the dance floor. I didn't, of course; I just looked over her head, looking for Blondie. Lauren's hands went to my face and she tilted my head, forcing me to look at her. She pulled me closer and started kissing me again. The same sloppy, clumsy, disgusting kiss as before. Her innocence turned me off and my eyes wandered as I wondered how much longer the goddamn song would last.

That's when I saw her. Blondie. Staring right at me with a bitchy smirk on her face. An all-knowing, bitchy smirk. Lauren's lips were still on me, pressed against my jaw so I was free to quirk an eyebrow at Blondie, silently asking why the attitude? She merely pursed her lips and looked Lauren up and down with condescension.

I let go of Lauren. "I'll be back," I lied and headed out the back of the gym for a smoke.

Outside, the rain had stopped for the moment, but the sky was still grey and obscured the stars. I lit my smoke and relished the flavor that killed the taste of Lauren in my mouth as I took the first few drags. I used to think that getting a piece of ass was worth putting up with quite a lot. I'd seen it all: stupidity, cruelty, cattiness. The more I thought about all the girls I'd known in all the towns I'd lived in, the more I realized they were pretty much all the same girl. Each was a blank, lifeless, conquest to be made, and made them I did.

Suddenly the door to the gym swung open and I had to jump to the side to keep from being hit by it. My feet landed in a puddle and while I was wearing boots, I was still pissed about nearly getting hit by the damn door. Glaring, I looked up to see Blondie flying by, walking as fast as her red high heels could carry her down the path to the lot.

"Hey, Blondie," I called out to her, flicking my cig away and following her. She glanced briefly over her shoulder as she hugged herself, but didn't stop walking. I quickly caught up to her, wondering what her deal was. Her face was hard to see in the dark, but a smudge of mascara was dripping down her face. She was crying. Her trembling hands clutched the neck of her dress and her hair was a mess. She wasn't the same girl I saw in the gym fifteen minutes ago, full of sin. She looked like she'd been sinned against.

She stopped short and shot me an annoyed glance. "You got a smoke, champ?" she asked. I pulled out my pack and shook one out for her, even lighting it before handing it to her.

She took a long drag and threw her head up to the starless sky as she slowly exhaled. Her eyes were red and look like a raccoon's from her messed up makeup.

"You okay?" I asked, feeling weird about it, but she had obviously been crying. I wondered why, what had happened, and if anyone needed to pay for upsetting her. Then I wondered why I was even wondering and even cared. That wasn't like me.

"I will be," she gritted out as she searched her purse, finding a little handkerchief.

"Well, what happened? You look all shook up," I pressed.

She wiped at her face and sent me a scathing look and I could see that she was reverting back to the tigress I'd met a few weeks prior. "I said I'd be fine. Sometimes Royce just gets...pushy. That's all. I can look out for myself, champ."

"The name's Edward."

"I know your name, for Christ's sake," she said. "Every girl in town knows your name." I suppressed a chuckle. Damn straight they do.

"But I don't know yours," I replied smoothly, taking another drag of my cig while watching the cherry burn.

Her eyes narrowed, as if she didn't believe me. And she shouldn't have since it was bold-faced lie. Even still, she played along for the moment. "It's Rosalie. You know, Rosalie Hale?"

"Nice to meet you, Rosalie," I said shooting her my best smile, the one I reserved for those Sunday church services. She frowned and started walking away. I caught up with her again, and walked backwards so that I could face her while I talked. "Don't get bent. Look, I'm trying to be nice here."

She raised a brow at my attempt at being nice and I had to chuckle. People like us, we didn't do nice and her expression basically said as much. "What is your story anyway? Every time I see you, there is some floozy hanging on your arm. Seems to me, you use them all."

"Seems to me that's not much different than you and Royce. I'm sure Royce...gets you things." Her mouth snapped shut at that, surprised that I had called her out. Not much she could say, really. It started to rain again, lightly, but thunder rolled in the distance.

"Want to sit in my car?" she asked. I nodded and followed her to her red '57 Thunderbird hard top, which, by itself, was enough to give me a hard on. She got in and slid over to unlock the passenger door. The black vinyl seats were slick and smelled like a new car, even though this beauty was a few years old. She got the heat going and switched the radio on.

"Nice car you got, Rosalie," I said as I patted the dashboard that glistened even in the dark.

"Thanks," she said proudly, her fingers stroked the steering wheel. She rested her cheek against the red wheel. "She never lets me down."

She looked so sad and vulnerable, but at the same time indomitable. She unnerved me because instead of wanting to work her, to needle away and get under her skin, I wanted to confess my secrets to her. Tell her good things about my life. Tell her that I wasn't a complete and total fuck up. Tell her to stop looking at me like I was the dirt beneath her shoe because we were more alike than we were different.

"I know you're a phony," she whispered, her eyes staring blankly past me out the window.

"Excuse me?"

"It didn't look like you were 'lost in the moment' with Lauren," she said, throwing my words from that day back at me. My memory flashed back to half an hour prior, when I was in the bathroom trying to wash Lauren's Barbie pink lipstick off my mouth. My face reddened, not with embarrassment, but disgust.

"You're full of shit, Edward. People like us, we use sex to get what we want. That's all it is to us, a tool, an asset."

She was right, of course. I enjoyed sex, don't me wrong. I got my rocks off. But it was just an act to be performed and afterward I was still alone. I had understood sex was my weapon all along, even enjoyed the fact. But lately it just wasn't getting me off like it used to.

"Maybe it doesn't have to be that way," I ventured. Maybe things can change. Maybe, we can change.

She looked at me, her ice blue eyes intent, considering me.

Finally she nodded once before reaching over and turning the radio dial, only to find Otis crooning. These arms of mine, they are lonely and feeling blue. "Show me?" she asked quietly, as if she was daring me to prove her wrong, insisting that I try to make her feel something, anything. She leaned into me, her hands fluttering over my shoulders as her lips pressed against mine. Her red lips were on my mouth, her tongue moved soft and slow against mine; she smelled like peaches and tasted like them, too.

I pulled her as close to me as I could on the bench seat of the car and my hands repeated a routine they'd done countless times in dozens of cars as they moved over her. I traced her jaw with my fingertips, pulled her chin toward me closer; I kissed her harder, deeper. Pushing against me, she had one hand in my hair, the other on my knee, inching higher and higher and my fingers trailed down her neck, over to her shoulder, around her back, pulling her to me. We both whimpered, and the kiss deepened. This? This was different than anything I'd felt, or thought I'd felt, with any of those others. I wasn't quite sure how it was different, but I wanted more.

Our hands became frenzied. She grasped my t-shirt and knotted it in her hand while my hand glided through her hair, down her back and clutched at her hip, my fingers digging, kneading. The windows were steaming up and our breaths were ragged as my mouth moved from hers down her neck, nibbling gently. She tilted her head and I bit a little harder and her hand pulled my hair.

"Mmmmm," she purred in my ear, and then, suddenly, her hands went to my shoulders, gripping my leather jacket as she swung her leg over me. No doubt, she could feel how hard I was for her. That's when it dawned on me. My dick wasn't hard for her because I wanted something from her, it was because I wanted her. I couldn't help but grunt as she ground into me, and my hands pulled her hips down harder while my head fell back on the seat.

"Edward." She whispered my name and it fucking cut into me because instead of murmuring God's name, like they usually do, she said mine. Every girl in town might have known my name but she knew me. They were nothing and she was everything. It jolted me and as much as I would have liked to continue, I remembered that she was still with the asshole, and I had rules. Standards. Not to mention, I didn't care for fighting; I liked my face too much.

"Rosalie," I whispered in the damp, musky darkness. "As much as I want to keep proving you wrong, what about that asshole you're steady with?"

"What about him?" she asked and nibbled along my earlobe. My cock twitched in my jeans.

"I don't run with taken girls," I said as I kissed along her chin. My hand moved up the back of her neck and my fingers tangled in her hair. "So ditch Royce, and maybe we can keep testing our theory."

Easing her off my lap was one of the hardest things I've ever done. We were both panting, and I tried to hide how much she turned me on, because you never let the enemy see you weakened, but truth was, I failed. She wasn't the enemy, but my weakness I felt for her was and I needed to get away before I broke my rule; she was too fucking delectable. She looked disappointed, and more beautiful to me than before.

I leaned in and kissed her once more. "I'll be waiting," I murmured, and got out of the car.


Monday. Third week at Forks High and for the first time in a long time, I was damn excited to get to school. What the future had in store, I didn't know but I knew that I was feeling so much more than I'd felt before. And it fucking felt good. I made sure to hide my expectations when I rumbled into the parking lot on Bonnie. What I couldn't hide was the stupid smile when I saw Rosalie's Thunderbird parked a few rows away. I got off Bonnie and made my way inside to my locker. My eyes searched for her, and as people moved to make way for me to pass, I saw her. She was a vision in a tight red sweater and even tighter black skirt, leaning up against my locker with her books in her arms. Our eyes met and our stare was filled with things I didn't even have a name for.

I came up to her, I mean right up to her, and smiled. "I'm glad I didn't have to wait long."

"I'm worth the wait."

"I'll bet," I agreed. I wanted to kiss her but I knew everyone was watching. I got my books out of my locker then wrapped my arm around Rosalie's waist. Holding her books with one hand, she mimicked me with the other, her fingers hooking in my belt loops. We walked to class, and her walking beside me felt as natural as breathing. In fact, it felt better. "Come on, Blondie. We've got work to do."

Yeah, so maybe He's looking out for me. Or maybe I'm looking out for me and she's looking out for she. Whatever it is, I'm not going to question it.

And man, do we soar.

Thank you to FilthyRoseward & Co. for hosting the contest! Vive La Roseward!

All our love to TheHeartOfLife who was our beta extraordinaire and cheerleader, not to mention our darling wifey. Thank you, Snood.

Thank you to all of you who love and support us and more RoseWard in the fandom! We heart you all!