Take What You Want

Chapter 22

Word Prompts: Paste

Catch Phrase: You can't please everyone

Playlist: Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO

Praise You by Fatboy Slim

I Got a Girl by Tripping Daisy

"How have I not smelled you stink it up before?" I ask, shutting the front door behind us.

"I'm tricksy. I know my limits, and I know when it's time to run. Literally."

"For example . . ." I say, getting into Esme's van as he does the same.

"Well, like cheese is not a big deal. It doesn't give me gas; it does other things. The next day other things." I raise my lip in disgust. This is so gross. "But ice cream and milk are the worst, so I just don't consume them around people unless I'll be heading out soon. And then boy is my family happy when I come home." Edward says jovially, swinging his arm in front of him in an oh golly, gee whiz fashion.

I chuckle at his animated response and leave it at that. I don't need to know anymore about his bodily functions, thank you very much.

We're on the road headed to the drugstore, and we're quiet for once. But the blasting music is not. As I try to change the radio station, Edward smacks my hand, barking. What a weirdo.

"Dude, I can't listen to this crap," I complain.

"It's not crap; it's fun. Besides, I like this one."

"It's a whole bunch of noise and digital drums."

"You danced to this song with me when we played on the Wii. You didn't mind it then. Then again, I was being awfully thrusty, and that sends the girls into a tizzy."

"The girls? You're the dorkiest person I know."

"You say the sweetest things, love lump."

"Fine, listen to your crap." I give up, looking out the dark window and yawning. It's way too late to be out. Good thing there're twenty-four hour drugstores when you've got farts and a period on the way.

I close my eyes, resting my head against the seat. Edward strokes my cheek, alerting me to our arrival.

In the parking lot I stretch up on my tip toes and raise my arms up, clasping my hands, leaning to one side then the other. Edward watches, chewing on his thumb, lost in thought, apparently.

"What?" I ask, walking past him toward the store.

"I like you all stretchy."

"Aren't you too tired for innuendo?"

"No such thing. And you stretching has been my screensaver for a while now. I like it!"

"That's awful. Poor Angela."

"She didn't know. She was respectful of my stuff."

"She was way too nice for you."

"Don't I know it. She brought me to this make-these-sandwiches-for-the-homeless things, and all I wanted to do was eat a sandwich."

"Edward, you didn't."

"I didn't," he says, shifting his eyes around and not looking at me.

"You're despicable."

"I was hungry," he grumbles. He opens the door, and in a polite tone says, "Ladies first."

For a moment I find that terribly sweet until I peek over my shoulder and Edward's checking out my butt. He grins unapologetically and leads the way to the Gas-X. There are no less than fifty million varieties. "Uh, which one should I get?" he asks.

"Like I know. You're the one with the problem."

"Hmm, thanks for the help."

"Oh, like you'll help me choose my product."

"Okay, yeah, yeah." He squats and picks up two packages, poring over the instructions on the back. He tucks his fist beneath his chin and whines, "I have no idea what any of this means."

I join him on the floor and take the boxes from him. "Which do you like better: grape or cherry?"

"Cherry. I love cherries," he says, smirking. Of course.

I shove the package into his belly and stomp away. Unfortunately, he's at my heels, whispering in my ear. "You'll be a good mom someday."

"Yes, I'll be fabulous because choosing meds for gas is so difficult."

"I mean it. You're all cute and motherly."

"Oh, geez. Oh, wait . . ." I stop where I am and turn in a circle, looking for what I need.

"So many options," he says surprised, surveying the pinked-out shelves. "Why so many?"

"I don't know."

"You should know; you're a girl."

"Spot on, babe, now are you seriously going to stand there and watch me choose a tampon?"

"I don't care. I'm confident in my masculinity." He adjusts himself, and I laugh despite my best efforts not to.

"Are you really going to get a business degree?" Well, that was unexpected.

"What? Who told you I wanted—"

"You did a paper on it. Worked with Alice. Emmett's a blabber mouth. And I may have read a copy of the paper."

That thief!

"You guys are like gossiping old ladies."

"Whatever, I just don't see you doing business. You're so good at writing I thought you'd wanna do something with that. I don't know. Maybe an English degree or something literature-ish."

"And do what with it? I'd be working in retail for the rest of my life. There's so much you can do with a business degree. A girl's gotta support herself, you know."

"Or she could marry well . . ."

Oh, no, he didn't!

My eyes snap to his, and he holds up his hands, taking two large steps backward. That's right; he better run.

But, wait. Did he just suggest what I think he suggested? It is too late to have this conversation.

I ignore him and finish making my selections. He's wandered off, and when I come upon him he's staring at two more boxes . . . this time they're condoms.

"What do you think: ribbed or glow in the dark?"


"Really?" His eyes are wide, excited when he turns them on me. "You're on the pill?"

"No, I'm not having sex with you."

Nonplussed, he picks up two more boxes. "Strawberry or pineapple?"

"Kissing in my mom's car or kissing in your mom's car?"

"One of us needs to get a car. But . . . hmm." He pouts, putting the condoms back. "That's not a never, right?" He chews on his lip, looking hopeful.

I decide to be clear with him. It just seems smart given our history. "It's not a never. It's a not right now and a not in the soon-to-be future."

"Okay," he says, snatching a box off the shelf and adding it to his Gas-X. "Better safe than whoops, we made a baby. Though, I wouldn't mind making babies with you."

I stop in the middle of the aisle, cotton swabs and rubbing alcohol surrounding us. This time I can't ignore him. "You want . . ."

"Maybe. Is that weird? I've thought about it."

"You have?" My voice is way too high.

"Yeah." He scratches his stomach with the edge of his box and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "My mom stayed home until we were in our teens. I want that for myself – for my own family. And you look all cute setting my table and cleaning my things. I kinda want you around for the long hall, I suppose."

"We're juniors in high school." I have no idea what my face is doing. I'm totally stunned.

"And we're also two really cool people that can actually put up with each other's stupidity and not kill each other. That's pretty golden in my book. And I like you. A lot. More than a lot."

"Well, okay," I say, whipping around and hauling ass to the cashier. What did we just commit to? A future together? Me making babies and staying home while Edward works? Oh my gosh, I'm the future Mrs. Cleaver. Only I'd never wear pearls, and Edward would never wear a suit to work. He's too much of a slob to do so.

While I pay for my purchases Edward wraps his arms around my waist, placing a kiss on my head. He nuzzles my neck, his warm breath giving me goose bumps. "I did propose," he whispers. "The first day I came to your house, remember? You turned me down. If you do it again I'll be heartbroken."

For some reason the idea of him on his knee, proposing, doesn't scare the crap out of me. It seems right. Much, much later in my life, right. And the thought of it is a little hot. A lot hot.

While he buys his stuff, I chew on my fingernails and try to wait patiently, but what I really want to do is grab his cute butt in the middle of the store. I grasp his hand when he's done, and he swings it between us as we walk toward the van. He's acting sweet, but I'm wound tight, ready to jump him. This isn't gonna work. Damn hormones. I think.

He hits the key fob, and I slide open the back door.

I grab his belt loops and tug him forward. "You sort of want me in every way, don't you?" I ask, feeling brave and desired.

"You have no idea," he says, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine in a slow-going kiss that builds and builds 'til I'm clinging to his shoulders and pressing myself against him. I want to get in this van. Like five minutes ago.

"No idea," he says again, his strong hands splayed on my lower back. I'm just itching for him to go lower, for him to touch me anywhere he hasn't before. I press up on my tip toes, causing his hands to slide down.

I arch into him and tilt my head back, giving him access to my neck. I love the feel of his mouth there. And the fact that he's trembling slightly. He flexes his hands, his fingers right at the top of my butt. "You can, you know," I say quietly.

With a bedraggled, heavy inhalation, Edward kisses me hard and slides his hands over my ass, kneading it.

Oh, yes . . .

Before I know it, I'm breathing too heavily, my heart's drumming profusely in my chest, and I'm moaning into Edward's mouth outside a strip mall. What is wrong with us? We have no control.

"Edward, we can't . . . I mean—mmph—"

He drags his teeth across my bottom lip, then kisses it softly – something I'm coming to understand is a thing between us. A thing that I love. Like him.

Dammit, I love him. There's no denying it now.

Edward sets his dark eyes on me and gives me another soft kiss. "You want to get in the back?" he asks, no shame whatsoever.

I nod, and he chuckles. "Of course you do. You're the one who opened the door." He turns me by my shoulders and with a slap to my butt adds, "Get in there, harlot."

He opens up his box and pops some Gas-X in his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. We shuffle onto the back bench, and Edward slides a condom beneath my bra strap before settling between my legs. "Happy one week anniversary," he says, smiling.

Who said romance is dead?

I pull the condom from my bra and lift my hips (and Edward in the process as he's on top of me) so I can put it in my back pocket. Edward moans purposefully loud like a porn star then laughs, saying, "So . . . backseat of my mom's car it is."

It's there that we spend the rest our night – lips locked and limbs tangled together.

When he brings me home, we can't seem to say goodbye. It's prom night all over again. Only this time I'm the one that should leave.

"I need to . . ."

"Mmm hmm," he says, his mouth smoothing kisses over the tops of my breasts.

"Uh huh," I say, tugging his hair and wishing we were still in the backseat of this dumb van.

He kisses up my throat and softly presses his lips to mine. He's comfy-warm from our make-out, and his lips are so soft against mine. They move slowly over my own, pulling this feeling of overwhelming desire from deep within me. I really want him. Like really.

But I'm in my driveway in his mother's van, and we're only seventeen. We've got to slow this down; we're not ready for this. But we are ready for something.

"Edward," I say against his lips, and he pulls back, though he's close enough that if he puckered up again, I could kiss him without moving. "I think I'm . . ."

"What, baby?" he asks as he smoothes his hands down my back, his eyes roving my face.

"I think . . . I am in love with you."

His eyes snap to meet mine, and panic surges through me. Is this going to scare him off? I hope not as he was essentially telling me he wants me to be his baby-making machine someday. But boys are dumb, and they make no sense. I never know what Edward will say or do, but I had to take the chance anyway.

"I," he starts but stops to kiss me again. A huge smile spreads across his face, his eyes alight with happiness. "I know."

"Nice, real nice." I push his chest away, but he snatches my wrists in a tight grip and won't let me move.

"I'm just playing with you. I love playing with you. I love doing everything with you. But, look, I . . . I'm not the best at . . . and it's been a week, and you already know how I feel. Just—it might take me a while to say the words, okay?"

I can't respond to that verbally. I glare, but I shouldn't. He's being honest and not pulling away. That's good.

"I don't mean to hurt your feelings. The words will come when they come. Okay, baby?"

"Okay," I say, kissing him one last time before saying goodnight and heading inside.


Edward and I don't see each other on Sunday, which is fine. I need some time to sort through my feelings and put some finishing touches on my stuff for Monday morning.

As I shake glitter over a shirt, Alice calls, and I tell her all about my crazy night. She informs me that I shouldn't worry about his non-declaration, and that it's good that he didn't just say it to say it. I agree and am left feeling a lot better about it all. Alice is such a good friend.

After dinner Edward calls the land line, being sure to schmooze my dad a bit before asking to talk to me. Once we're on the phone, though, I have him call my cell. I would not want my mom listening in on our conversation, which is totally something she would do. I think.

"Hi," I say, answering my cell straightway.

"Hey, I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"Should we be missing each other? We saw each other all week and Saturday. It's only been a day."

"A day can be a long time when you like someone so much."

"Yeah, I guess."

"I want to get to know you better," I blurt. I've been thinking about that all weekend – how we need to really get to know each other. "I really want this to work."

"Me too, bubbaloo. What do you want to know?" His voice is chipper, excited.

"Everything. Like you want to be an architect. Tell me about that."

"I want to build my own house someday. I have this cool idea of a pond with little fish right in the foyer and a bridge—"

"Um, say what? That's weird," I say truthfully.

"It's not weird; it's awesome."

"If I'm going to make your babies and all, we cannot live in a house where they can drown next to the front door."

"They won't drown," he protests.

"And you know this because . . ."

"Because they'll have the best mom around."

"Uh huh. And by the way, women can work and be moms at the same time. I'm not going to be some 1950's housewife. And I like the idea of building a dream home, but not so much with the planning of my kids' funerals due to drowning," I say sternly.

"But I thought you loved me," he says, mock sadness in his tone.

"Yes, I do, and I'm already telling you off. I'm sorry. Let's talk about your unrealistic dreams later, okay?"

"Okay. Good. And I would never expect that of you. The 1950's housewife thing. Though you in heels and some pearls would be hot."

"Oh goodness. Anyway . . ."

We go on for an hour rambling about our desires and aspirations. Despite his knack for lazing about, he really is ambitious. That bodes well for my future . . . if we stay together.

It's so crazy that we're even thinking about this; it just feels right. Even so, it doesn't mean I want to talk about it, so I change the subject.

"You're nails are getting long," I say.

"I just cut them last week," he complains.

I laugh, futilely covering my mouth as my giggle come through anyway.

"Edward, you are the laziest person I know. You have to cut them every week."

"What? That's crazy talk. No one cuts their nails every week."

"Um, yes, they do."

"Who?" he asks, irritated but silly at the same time.

"Uh, everyone who's not a woman," I say, pointing out the obvious.

"That's just stupid."

"Cut your damn nails already."

"All right. Geesh! You're so bossy. I like it!" He's moving around his house, opening and closing doors, fiddling with things. And then I hear it, the sound of his nails getting clipped.

"You're doing it now?"

"Well, I sure as hell am not going to be motivated when I get off the phone now, am I?"

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. Just go with it. Better yet, say," and then his voices changes into a higher pitch, "That's the best idea ever, Edward. And my what a big—"

"Okay, I get it. Thank you for cutting your nails. I appreciate it."

"Aw, I appreciate you."

"That is the girliest thing you've ever said."

He laughs then curses under his breath. "I don't know how people do this every week. It hurts."

"It doesn't hurt."

"It does so."

"You're such a big baby."

"And you're my baby." He says the words quietly, and I'm speechless. How does he do that to me? "Baby?"


"You still there?"

"Yeah, I just . . . um, nothing."

"I'm too swoony for you?" The distinct sounds of clipping float through the line and bring me back to my senses.

"Get over yourself," I say, trying to save face, because, yeah, he was swoony.


"It's such a good thing I love you."

"No kidding. I'd hate to see how you treated me if you didn't," Edward deadpans.

There's a moment of silence followed by a snort. He laughs at his own brilliant joke, a wheezing sound, and I'm so affected by him I join him. We cackle like fools, and I realize how much I love the ease at which we go from serious conversation to griping and then to sweet sentiments. It's just awesome.

"So I'd love to chat forever, but I've got some crap to do before bed," I say, and he grumbles on the line.

"All right, put your crap before your boyfriend. I see how it is."

"It's good to know from the get-go, right?"

"I guess." He sounds dejected.

"Night, Edward. I love you."

"Night, Bella." He hangs up before saying anything else, and I try not to let it bother me that he didn't reciprocate. It shouldn't. Our relationship is so young. I've got to give it time and be patient. I will.

At night before I go to bed, Edward sends me a series of texts that keep me up later than I planned – laughing.

You know I do, right?

My penis will say it.

My hands will say it.

My heart will say it.

But my mouth is a dumbass.

Will it help you to know how much more I like you than any other girl?

I left my stinky shoes in Angela's locker once to see what she'd do. I thought she'd at least ask me nicely not to leave them there. She didn't.

So I left them there over the weekend.


All Saturday and Sunday I fantasized about you hitting me for doing such a disgusting thing. You look so hot when you're mad. I may just get you riled up because of it.

Just maybe.

You get this little pout, and your cheeks get pink, and then I just want to kiss the hell out of you.

Dammit, now I need to take a shower.

A half hour passes, and I'm almost asleep when my phone chimes one last time.

Night, baby.

I can't wait to see him tomorrow.


I purposefully avoid Edward for his first two classes. I want him to be excited to see me, so I've had Emmett and Jasper re-routing him all morning so we don't bump into each other.

"Are you set?" Alice asks, her hand on the bathroom door ready to push it open.

"Yeah." I nod, though I feel a little nervous.

"You look so great."

We head out together, side by side, and she squeals as we walk toward the double doors of the main hall where Edward's locker is. His crazy hair stands out immediately. It looks as though he's been pulling at it. I hope it's because he's a wreck, missing me. I know I've missed him.

He stands at his locker unloading his backpack, and a surge of energy pushes through me. I'm ready for anything he throws my way.

My hips sway more than usual due to the pencil skirt I wear. It's all for effect . . . and for Edward. As I walk I unbutton my black cardigan, dropping it to the floor, revealing my tight tank top adorned with my feelings for Edward.

There's a loud wolf whistle, and a few guys stop and stare. One senior claps followed by another which gets Edward's attention. When our eyes meet, I don't stop. I keep walking as he takes me in from head to toe.

"Hi," I mouth, fiddling with my new glasses.

A huge, toothy, lopsided grin takes residence on Edward's face, and he opens his mouth as though he's about to say something, but nothing comes out.

Good. I want him silent.

I approach him confidently and grab his face, smacking my lips to his cheeks first, making sure my red lipstick marks him. I push him backward, leaving my hands against his chest, and he groans. His head hits the locker when I kiss him hard, not caring who watches or what they're seeing.

Many of them have probably already seen us in a lip-lock with the way pictures at a weekend party spread around here, anyway.

I run my hands down his torso, feeling his muscles bunch up beneath the fabric of his shirt. I pull from the bottom and slide it over his head.

"Hell, yes!" he shouts, and more onlookers start catcalling. I don't mind. I just hope no one snitches and we don't get in trouble for indecent exposure or something. And I'm really liking the whole Edward without a shirt thing. It works!

"Black," I order, and Alice hands me a black Sharpie like I'm a surgeon – a surgeon of love. She stands by, holding my cardigan, a huge smile on her face. She looks as spazzed as my mom did this morning while I was getting ready.

On Edward's bare chest I write the letter I, draw a large heart next to it, and below it – on his abdomen – write my name in capital letters followed by an exclamation point. It mirrors my tank top, only mine's much more girly and decorative and boasts Edward's name instead.

"Red," I say, and Alice trades me markers. I fill in the heart and take a step back, admiring my artwork. It looks pretty good, but not as good as the boy wearing it. He's radiant smiles and half-naked hotness and boy and all mine. He smells nice today too.

"What's all this?" he asks, tugging at the hem of my tank and staring at my boobs.

"Oh, you know, just some paste and glitter."

"I love it. You made it?"

"Yes, I made it. And I'm glad you like it because I made enough to wear one every day this week."

He drops his head, grinning at the floor. When he pops it back up a shy smile's in place. "I heart you too," he says quietly.

He does love me. I know it, and I want to celebrate it. Celebrate us.

"I love you. I love that you don't care what anyone thinks. I love that you love to make a spectacle of yourself. I love that you are so stinkin' adorable and funny that I can never stay mad at you. I love that you're such a forward thinker even though it's confusing because you're lazy too. And . . . I just wanted to show you just how much I . . ."

"I know. Consider me shown. Consider everyone shown." He laughs and kisses me swiftly – familiar, comfortable, loving. "Shall we go to French, ma petite amie?" he offers me his arm like a gentleman. I smile and lace mine with his. It's then he adds, "You look so freaking hot, by the way. Your glasses are giving me a hard on."

I really do love him – crass boy and all.

On our way to the language building, we run into Mike. My grip on Edward's arm tightens, but I'm ready for this. I expected it – whatever it may be.

"That's a bit much, don't you think?" Mike asks lightly, pointing to my shirt and Edward's bare chest.

"Nothing's a bit much when it comes to Edward." I turn to gaze at Edward, and he's all smiles. I'm all smiles on the inside.

"Yeah, I got an email this weekend to prove it," Mike says. His friendly expression makes me wonder what he's thinking. Is he upset, or does he not care at all? I guess it doesn't matter at this point, though, so I choose not to worry about it. I choose to be happy for me and move on. In fact, I have moved on. The half-naked man attached to my hip is proof.

I change the subject quickly just in case he is mad or upset, or whatever. I don't want this to get ugly. "Hey, you said you were going to be at Garrett's. What happened?"

"Yeah, man, we were hoping to see you there. T-H-E-R-E." Edward doesn't even look ashamed of making fun of Mike. Goodness.

Mike shakes his head at Edward, looking confused. "Um, I had a date with Lauren. It went a little . . . er, we decided not to go."

"I'm glad you're having a good time with Lauren."

"Y-O-U apostrophe R-E," Edward says, huge smug grin. He's relentless.

"Whatever. Well, have fun, I guess," he says in a resigned tone as though he couldn't care less.

"We will," I say.

He rubs his arm and smiles tightly. I wonder what's going on in his head? He's always so reserved. How did I ever put up with that? Mike leaves us, heading toward his next class.

Well, that was uneventful.

Edward looks me over but doesn't say anything.

We walk silently to French, and there's an awkward tension between us. It's making my stomach twist and turn, so I break it. "He was kind of rude, but . . . well, you can't please everyone," I say, and Edward shoves me against the wall outside our French class, kissing me soundly.

A male teacher barks, "Mister Cullen, we wear clothes at school! And the both of you, cut that out!"

We giggle as Edward hurriedly puts his shirt on. I help him unnecessarily and smooth the fabric over his chest and stomach. "Miss Swan, cut that out," Edward mocks the teacher and slaps my hands away. "But meet me in the library later."


Alice is sitting next to Jasper, and their eyes are on us as we walk into class hand-in-hand.

Edward sits first then pats my seat like I don't know where to sit. "Right here, sweet cheeks."

He's so ridiculous, but I don't care because I'm a lucky girl. One privileged, who gets every nickname there is . . . including baby. "Thanks," I say.

His grin is wide, and his auburn hair is wild from my incessant grabbing at it this morning. I want to grab it again. I want to kiss him again and never stop. But I can't. Not now anyway. So with soft-from-all-the-kissing lips and a warm body, I sit beside Edward.

I stare as he gets out his notebook, pencil, and his bag of cookies. He rips the bag in half once it's on top of his stuff. The chocolate stains his fresh paper immediately. He pulls off a piece, the melted sweetness draping over his fingers. He places it whole in his mouth, chewing with his eyes closed, looking like a man-child enjoying the simple things life has to offer and appreciating every second of it.

Geez, I love that about him.

He opens his eyes and swivels his head to me, thrusting his thumb out. "You want?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

I nod and lean toward him, opening my mouth. He slips his thumb inside, and I wrap my lips around it, sucking the chocolate from his finger.

His eyes narrow, and I kiss his thumb once I've let it go. I'm fairly certain by the look on his face if we weren't in the middle of French class I'd be beneath him with his tongue in my mouth. That sounds so nice right about now. How many hours do we have left of school?

"Do you want to come over today?" I ask, and he nods his acceptance with his mouth agape.

A throat clears, and Edward and I snap our heads to the front of the room where Ms. Benson stands in front of the chalkboard, hands on her hips.

"Mister Cullen, Miss Swan, do you have something to share with us?"

I shake my head, but Edward blurts, "I heart Bella."

Oh, yeah, he totally does love me.

The class erupts into guffaws, and she smiles, seemingly unable to stay straight-faced. "Based on Miss Swan's shirt, I'd say the feeling's mutual, Mister Cullen."

"It is," I say and pull out my things for class.

"Bonne," Ms. Benson says, turning to face the board, pointing at what's written there. "Repetez après moi . . ."

I write a few notes but am so distracted as Edward's still eating his cookies. He's also gaping at my legs.

"What?" I say quietly, trying to stay out of trouble.

"You have nice legs; I plan to stare at them all through class," he whispers.

I cross them, giving him a good view. "Someone once told me it's a free country, so you can do whatever you want."

I return my focus to my notebook, sorting through papers when I come across it . . . my list.

I fold it, then hand it to Edward covertly. He opens it up, and as soon as he starts reading his mouth pops open. He writes something on a scrap of paper and hands it to me.

It's a massive scribble followed by loads of exclamation points.

I cover my mouth, stifling my giggle. He slips me another note.

Your list is so much better than mine! We're ditching our next class, your glasses are staying on, and we're getting started on number four!

And we do – we ditch and get started on number four – only we don't stop there. We work in time for number twelve and twenty seven, leaving us both smiling goons the rest of the school day. It's a good thing summer's just around the corner because we've got a lot to do . . . together.

A/N: This story is dedicated to J. Without him dirtyflirtward would never have been so insane. Sometimes I miss him, but I'm glad I dodged that bullet. I'm sure Bella will have better luck with Dirtyflirtward than I ever did with J.

So much of this story was inspired by real life events. Care to guess what really happened? What he was really like? I'd love to see if you can guess correctly.

Hey! Last week Fig Newton was spotlighted on Twific Trivia. The question was: What nickname does Edward call Mike Newton? Yay, so fun! There were lots of hilarious guesses too.

Wime09 requested a butt grab, and she got one. Never underestimate the power of suggestion.

Every so often, I get a review that sticks with me and makes me giggle for days. Last week I had one such review. TheMasochisticLion wrote, "My wife told me the other night I Had to read this. I can see why now, This is HYSTERICAL!"

OMG! A boy likes Dirtyflirtward and his Bella. Squee! This made me feel all squiggly inside for two reasons: 1. a BOY is reading my story. Woot! And 2. he's a bit swoony himself. Who doesn't love a boy who reads? Let's all take a moment to be jealous of his lucky wife.

I started out this witfit trying to follow the rules: one prompt, one post a day. Well, that worked for 13 days, and then the plot took over, and the chapters got longer, and I couldn't keep up. Plus, I had to get myself some prereaders and start editing because I'm stupid like that. Regardless, I had so much fun! I'm so glad I tried it, and I think it was a whopping success for everyone involved. Don't you? Dirtyward says, "Nod your head, and say 'yes, dear.'"

And you do because you're trained well. ;)

In all seriousness, thanks to my music, pic and prereading peeps. You know who you are! Cejsmom, _ss77_, and modernsafari1 are all amazing and helped to shape this story. And you are amazing too! Thanks for reading, reviewing, tweeting, pimping, and sharing this story with your friends. I'm so giddy that you enjoyed it in all its stupidity.

Not sure what or when I'll post another story. You can always find me on my blog reviewing stories and on twitter making fun of my husband.

Bye, baby.