Just A Kiss Chapter 12

Sweet.  Fancy.  Moses.  Did he just say…?

“Um…what?”

“Well, I mean…it’s still a little cool outside, but today’s supposed to be nice, so you don’t have to wear it if…” he stammers, trying to take the sweatshirt out of my hands.

“No, no…not that part,” I say, snatching it back from him and holding it to my chest like it’s my new security blanket.  “The other thing.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah…that.”

He takes a step back and looks down, shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. 

“I just thought that if you’re my girlfriend, then maybe you’d like to wear this to the games.  You know…school spirit…support your man…that kind of thing.”

Oh, God.  So this is what an aneurysm feels like…all woozy and sparkly around the edges.  Wait…no…just breathe, Bella.  Don’t faint in front of the pretty.

“I’m yours?”

He looks up, hope written all over his face.  “If you wanna be.”

“And you’re my…man?”

He chuckles.  Apparently I’m a few steps behind in this conversation.

He smirks.  “I’d like to be.” 

Gah!  Who could refuse that?  Good thing this is a no-brainer because I’ve apparently lost my damn mind this morning.  He wants me to be his girlfriend?  Already?  Hell yes!

I’m nodding like a bobble head doll before I can even squeak out the word, “Yes.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes…absolutely!”

I’m a giddy, giggling fool as I attack him, causing us to fall backwards onto his bed, me landing on top of him.  I can’t stop kissing him, everywhere, over and over; eyes, nose, cheeks, lips, neck…just where ever I can reach.

Poor thing can’t decide if he should try to keep up with me or just lay there and take it like a man.  I personally don’t give a good God damn because I’m here, in his apartment, on his bed and he’s letting my lips roam freely and I’m his and he’s mine and I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

Before I know it, he’s rolling me over, hovering above me and taking the reins.  Silly quick kisses easily turn into serious slow ones, his lips and tongue torturing mine until I’m at his mercy once again.

“So that’s a definite yes, then,” he says, green eyes looking down on me all gorgeous and god-like.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He traces my face; hairline, earlobe, jaw, chin, lips, and he grins.  “Good.  Now…how about some breakfast?”

He pulls me up by the hand and leads me into the kitchen, directing me to take a seat at one of the bar stools.

“You don’t have to fix me breakfast, you know.  We could just go to The Caf.”

“Oh, I’m not cooking anything.  Pop-Tarts or cereal,” he asks, opening up cabinets and showing me my choices.

“What?” I shriek acting offended.  “No post-cuddle pancakes?  I think I’d like to take back my ‘yes’.”

He quirks his eyebrow at me, not amused.

“Lucky Charms,” I pout.

“Excellent choice.”

As I dig into my bowl, I watch what must be his ritual.  He uses his spoon, which is really more like a shovel, to dunk the cereal into the milk all around the edges of the bowl, turning it counter clockwise, before dunking the cereal in the middle.  Then he begins to eat all of the marshmallows first.

I’m not sure if I’m appalled or smitten.

He feels me watching him, because really…I’m always watching him, and he mumbles, “What?” around his mouthful of charms.

“Nothing.  I’m just wondering when you’re going to do something that I don’t find cute in some way.  It’s a little aggravating to tell you the truth.”

He shrugs his shoulders, shoveling in a mouthful of actual cereal, now that the marshmallows are all gone.  When he’s done, he proceeds to tip his bowl up and drink the grayish colored milk that’s left behind.

Oh, this boy…this man…to think…he’s all mine.

…

Alice, Rosalie and I arrive at the ball field about thirty minutes before game time, hoping to score good seats along the third base line where the home team dug out is located.

Once we secure our snacks and ascend the stairs to the stands, I glance over into left field where our team is warming up and stop dead in my tracks, gasping.

“Rose,” I splutter, trying for the life of me to remember how to breathe.

“Bella?” she says, turning around to see what’s wrong.  “What the hell?”

Oh, God.  One word.  At this moment, it’s the only one I can think or even say.

“P…pinstripes…they’re wearing fucking pinstripes!”

She looks over to where my eyes are glued and, oddly, she seems unfazed. 

“Oh, dear Lord.  Would you just come on already?  The skanks are already here and it looks like they’re encroaching on my seats.”

She gives me a swift shove, nearly causing me to spill my Diet Coke down the front of my new hoodie and, well…if that had happened I’d have had to cut her. 

What is it with me wanting to cut people these days?  I swear Edward’s making me violent.

As we take our seats-two rows directly in front of Captain Redheaded Wench Skank and her surly bitches-I gaze back out across the field to watch the boys warm up.

This sport…no…correction…those pants should be illegal!

Edward’s back is to me and the first thing I notice is how relaxed he looks, how easily his weight shifts from one leg to the other as he catches and then lobs the ball back to his throwing partner.

Emmett is nowhere to be found, but I can only assume that he’s in the bullpen warming up with the starting pitcher.

I hear the mutters and snide remarks from behind me and just know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m either about to have to hang my head in shame and dig spit balls of my hair or wrestle Rose to the ground to avoid a skank-shanking.

Alice hands me a Reese’s peanut butter cup without taking her eyes off of the field. 

“Just ignore ‘em.”

“Easy for you to say.  They aren’t talking about you,” I mumble around my entire piece of candy.

“Cheer up…look,” she says, pointing out to the field.

Lined up along the outfield fence are several groups of little boys, all wearing baseball jerseys or our school colors and holding out gloves, baseballs and programs for the players to sign.

Oh, for the love…seriously?  Like I needed to die a little more?

And all these buff college guys are just making their little days by obliging in every way and then ruffling their hair and taking pictures with them. 

Ovaries…you just got flooded by a monswoon.  Le sigh.

The announcer welcomes everyone to the game, introduces the teams and then we all stand for the singing of the National Anthem.

Even though I’m singing the words and my hand is firmly placed over my heart, I’m not feeling very patriotic because all I can manage to do is stare at the black pinstripes that are mocking me by hugging number seventeen’s sculpted ass.  Hmm…such worthwhile treachery.

The crowd roars in appreciation and as the teams start towards their separate dug outs, I see Edward looking up into the stands.

I’m so love sick I’m just standing there with my hands clasped together under my chin, watching him watching me, when he gives me his best smirky lip bite and then tips the brim of his cap before disappearing down the steps into the dugout.

I think I love him.