Welcome to PAD's graham cracker crust.

Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Chocolate Factory.

I just want to borrow some of her bits to fill up my empty shell.

Boys Will Be

I'm going to kill him.

"Edward Anthony Cullen, get your ass off that couch and into this kitchen right now!" I hear him get up, gracelessly step onto a bag of half-eaten potato chips, and scratch his balls, all before making way to the fridge.

"Now what did I do?"

"It's what you didn't do. Take a look under the cap of this can of whipped cream."

"Huh, it looks like a lab experiment from a bio class."

"Yeah, that's an understatement. What have I told you about never putting your mouth on the tip?"

"I don't really remember you ever saying that before, but I know for a fact that I wouldn't ever utter those words with female company present.

I wind up and swat him on his rear with a wet dish towel.

"Ouch! Okay, okay, I remember."

"Good, glad to know I'm jarring your memory."

"It's more like you're beating me into recollection. Besides, what's wrong with it? I've seen you do it."

"Edward, I rinse the top off with really hot water before I put the cap back on, and I also use a new—untouched by a human mouth—toothbrush to clean in between the prongs, too."


"Please, go to the convenience store and get me a new can because frankly, I'm afraid of this one."

"Oh come on, Bella, do you really need it? I'm already dressed to stay in for the night."

"Don't you dare smirk that crooked grin and bat your pretty lashes at me; it's not going to work this time!"

"Shit, I must be losing my touch; I didn't know you were onto me."

"Edward, who do you take me for? I'm not one of your 'dumb-as-a-stump-single-nighters' who believes everything you say and all that you do. I'm Bella Swan, your roommate who has known you her whole life and has put up with your bullshit for just as long."

"Well first off, I believe the correct term of the day is 'one night standee' and secondly, geesh, Bella, you're starting to sound like my mother."

"Well, Edward, I'm neither your maid, nor your mom for that matter, which means I'm definitely not cleaning up after you. I don't mind cooking or sharing dessert so long as you make an effort to reciprocate. So, if you want any of my triple chocolate cream pie, you had better get your butt over to Seven Eleven."

"Um, your pie, the one you're making that is, is that the one with the extra-large graham cracker crust?"


"With the cooked, extra dark chocolate pudding?"

"The very same."

"Will it have a whole bag of semisweet melted chocolate chips?"

"Most assuredly."

"And you'll put those shaved sixty percent dark chocolate curly things on top of the whipped cream."

"I will, if you get me a large, dark chocolate bar."

"What if I get you a carton of whipping cream as well as a can? Would you make the real, genuine whipped cream?"

"I suppose, that is if you hurry right back here and do not get girl interrupted."

"Ha ha, very funny, Bella. I would never let anything get between me and ... your pie."

"That sounds rather forward, somewhat ambiguous... and definitely not something I want you to expound upon, so on that note, I'll see you in about a half hour. Oh, and you may want to write it down so you won't forget."

I don't think I've ever seen Edward move that fast for me. He literally bolted from the kitchen into his bedroom. I heard a lot of cursing, some shuffling and a definite toe stubbing. I bet Edward even put his jeans on over his pajamas. He may even be wearing two different Chucks— not even stopping to tie the laces. I hope he doesn't trip and plant that pretty face onto the pavement. His room must really be a disaster. I'm kind of fearful about going in there. He didn't seem too fazed by the mold on top of the can. I wonder if he's got any of that growing in his room. Actually, strike that; I can do without the knowing.

He hurries out of his room, slams the door, and makes his way into the kitchen. He grabs his keys, opens the fridge then readies himself to drink from the container of OJ. He has an epiphany just before setting his lips on the spout. He sets down the carton and grabs a glass from the cupboard, careful to make eye contact with me while doing it. He gets his drink, gulps down the contents, puts back the juice, rinses his glass, and plants a cold, wet kiss on my cheek.

"Bye, Bella. See you in … twenty-eight minutes."

The front door abruptly closes while a picture frame falls to the floor as part of the aftermath. I remind myself to never get him really excited.


Do you think Edward makes it back in twenty-eight minutes?

Will Bella be stuck with a "cream-less" pie?

Would you like the recipe for my sinful concoction?

Review me your thoughts.

A special thank you goes to Chayasara for beta'ing my silly musings and not having me committed.

Another thank you goes to Monica Solis, a.k.a. CaliGirlMon, for making my adorable banner.

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