An Almost/Maybe Edward/Bella Fic I Am/Was Writing . . .

In honor of AltheaJams, who is now 32 years young and inspired me to start writing an Edward fic. I don't know if I'll ever finish or ever publish, but I thought a brief intro to my world of Edward/Bella would suffice as a birthday gift. I hope you enjoy it, Althea!

Dirty, unedited, and definitely unfinished . . .

Too Stupid a Way: Chapter 1
June 1998

“Stupid, pile of poo, good for nothing . . . crapbucket!” I scream out my frustration as I kick the wheels of my dying, rusted, beater of a truck.. I had just dropped off Alice from our after graduation road trip. My engine light was on then, but “Oh, no. I’ll be fine. I’m only a few miles from my Aunt’s,” I had said. Little did I know that traffic was a mess and my truck would be idling for eternity with no rest, and I’m too stupid to give it a break.

So, here I sit, my overheated dead as a doornail truck and me, on the curb of the I-17 watching traffic – well not pass us by because it’s stuck, but I’m stuck too. Anger makes me ramble internally.

I hop back into the cab of my truck and give my dad a call. Of course he’s not home and I try AAA. I’m sure I’ll get a lecture about how expensive it is. But, not like he can help anyone seeing as how he lives in another state, but whatever.

I fiddle with my iPod and clean out my planner, rummage through my glove box. I’m so bored. I’ve never done well with boredom. In fact, if you ask my mother what my favorite thing to day when I was younger she’d answer, obnoxiously so, “I’m bored. I’m so bored. There’s nothing to do.” This even rivals my excessive use of the phrase, “I’m so hot! Why is it so hot?” She stopped answering that one years ago. We live in Phoenix, so it’s really a given. But, I can’t seem to help my need to complain. It’s innate. There’s no stopping it really.

I begin to type out some shopping lists on my notes app. I’ll need quite a few things before I move to Seattle to live with my dad for college. As I finish up my phone rings. It’s AAA informing me that I’m tenth on a list of too many to count of cars that need to be rescued on the I-17.

I slam my phone shut and scream. People are looking at me now. How rude. Mind your own business people. In my rage, I climb out of my truck and hop into the bed and scream again – really put on a show.

A baby in a car seat starts crying, and the mother of said child is giving me dirty looks. Woops. Enough of that display.

“. . . scaring . . . babies . . .” I hear faintly and wonder who the stink is trying to talk to me. Is it God? Is he sending me a message? I can send him a message. I offer a silent prayer. Dear God, it’s me, Bella. My truck sucks. Please fix it, and I’ll stop scaring babies.

Nothing. No response. No miracle truck resuscitation. Oh well. It was worth a shot.

I give up and sit on the top of my cab. I search over the road counting red cars, counting cigarettes butts, counting AZ license plates, and then I’m bored. I scour the side of the road where I am and notice a old stupid looking car not too far ahead of me. On the trunk sits a guy, close t o my age, maybe a bit older, strumming a guitar. When I strain my hearing and close my eyes I can faintly hear the chords. It’s beautiful.

I open my eyes and find him staring at me. Where did he come from? Has he been here all along?

I climb off of my truck and take a few steps towards him. He cocks his head to the side in question and continues to play his guitar. What is he doing? And why isn’t he mad? He should be mad like me. His car broke down too. That just plain sucks for anyone. Why doesn’t he look angry? I want to know why.

I twist my hands in my shirt gauging the safety of speaking with him. It doesn’t seem to be too scary seeing as we’re surrounded by all of these cars filled with people. Surely someone will come out and help me if he tries to throw me in his trunk to rape me later. Not that he can even get away. Oh, this is stupid. Just go talk to him.

I smooth out my shirt and march over to him. He’s looking at me curiously as I walk his way. He keeps eye contact with me even though the closer I get the less I want to keep eye contact with him. He’s stunning. Like really pretty. Hollywood pretty. Except he looks kinda like a mess. Like hot hunky guy meets slovenly college student.

His hair is disheveled, his shirt has holes around the collar and his flip flops are held together with duct tape. I can’t help myself and start to laugh.

“What?” he says in an amused tone as I walk closer to him.

“I like you shoes,” I offer with a sincere smile.

“Thanks. I like your shirt. Is it true?”

I look over my chest reading the familiar words upside down, ‘FBI Most Wanted.’ And I laugh again.

“Yeah, you better watch out. I’ll throw you in my truck and mess you up. You’ll never be the same.”

“That sounds promising,” he says with a smirk.

Oh bees-a-buzzing that’s hot. Like hotter than Phoenix in July hot. I catch myself staring and laugh it off as I avert my gaze.

“So, what do you want?” he says, ruining my fantasy because that was rude.

“I’m bored,” I say, digging my toe in the hard clay.

“Not as fun as you thought it would be?”

“What’s not as fun?”

“Scaring babies and getting dirty looks from thirty-something year old soccer moms.”

“That was you,” I say, quietly.

“Who’d you think it was?”

“God,” I say, averting my gaze when he smirks again.

“I hear that a lot.”

I bet you do. More like, ‘Oh God’, but whatever.

“I was bored too,” he says, once he realizes I’m not going to take his flirting bait.
“Hence . . .” He strums his guitar, proving his means by which to rid himself of said boredom.

I ask him if he’s in a band and discover he is - a cover band. Well that’s lame. Who makes a living being in a cover band? Loser. Guess I understand the duct tape.

When I scoff at his band, Steam it’s called, he begins to play for me.

He’s kind of rocking out and looks really rocker-y cool. Then, I hear the lyrics of When I Come Around by Green Day and I roll my eyes. Green Day, really? He plays ska? Next thing I know he’ll be wearing a cropped shirt and singing No Doubt’s I’m Just a Girl. No thanks.

He notices my irritation and stops. “What?”

“Don’t you know something less top forty?”

“Hm,” he murmurs and begins strumming again, this time a soft lullaby, it seems. “You’ll like this one. They all do.”

What is that supposed to mean? But before I can answer my own question I find myself leaning towards him listening to his melodic voice singing about crashing into me. Talk about arousing. Holy moly!

I look over him and watch his lips moving, wrapping themselves around the beautiful words he’s singing to me, and I’m goo. My eyes wander to his and I’m mesmerized- captured by the sincerity of them, by the color of them. They’re the most beautiful bright shade of green I’ve ever seen.

He nods his head to the side, and I take his offering, sitting next to him on the trunk of his car.

I’m watching his hands work at the guitar in quick, relentless rhythms that move me in a way I’ve never been moved before, and I’m a cultured girl. My mother made sure of it, bringing me to see the Phoenix Symphony, ballet performances at the Herbeger Theater, and plays at Grady Gammage. I know beauty, I’ve seen beauty, but this – this raw, open window into his soul is incapacitating.

He peeks over at me and sings directly to me for a moment.

“If I've gone overboard then I'm begging you to forgive me. In my haste when I'm holding you so girl close to me. Oh and you come crash into me, baby . . .” I’m stunned by his words, his voice and listen to the fuzz of my brain before his melodic voice pulls me out again. “And show your world to me. In a boy’s dream . . . in a boy’s dream.”

The sounds of the guitar fade away and I am left feeling . . . I don’t even know.

He’s staring at me and making me feel holey as though there’s a big gaping hole inmy heart yearning to be filled. It’s never been filled before so why should I fill it now? I won’t. He’s just some musician I met by the side of the road. This is just, it’s . . . he pulls me from my thoughts as he leans into me across the trunk, across his guitar, across my body. He’s directly in front of me and I can’t breathe.

“You’re very pretty,” he says and leans in more.

I pull back with a, “Whoa, I don’t think so.”

“Damn, I thought that would work. It always does.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope,” he says, laughing at me. He gets up and puts his guitar in his front seat. When he returns he’s lighting up a cigarette and I cringe. Ew, he smokes.

He holds another out for me and I wave it away. “No thanks, I only smoke Slim Jims.”

“Don’t you mean Virginia Slims?”

“Whatever. I don’t smoke. It’s a hideous habit.”

“It’ll kill me too.”

“Yep, too bad, cause you’ve got some talent. Coulda been big someday but now you’ll die of emphysema.”

“It’s a shame.”

“Not as shameful as knowing I would have kissed you, but never now that I know you smoke.”

“Seriously?” he asks and throws down his lit cigarette and stomps on it.

“Cold turkey for a kiss? That’s . . . how big of you.”

“I hear that a lot too.”

Again with the smirking. Please, no more smirking.

“You know, for someone so cute and talented and mm, whatever else, you sure know how to turn a girl away. I was interested, even with your duct tapped shoe.”

“Hey, you said you liked it.”

“I lied.”

“You did not It made you laugh, so it brought you joy. That’s all I want, to bring you joy.”

“You’re coming on a little strong don’t you think? We are on the side of the road, you know?”

“Why is it working? I have a backseat, you know.”

“Why are your disgusting lines kind of charming?”

“Because you want me.”

“Okay, bye, nice meeting you, uh . . .”

“Edward.” He reaches his hand out and we shake. He has nice hands. I look them over and before I realize it he’s stroking my knuckles and I can felt he rough calluses on his fingers from playing guitar. It’s nice – in a new kind of way.

“Nice meeting you too . . . “

“Sarah,” I say, and shake my head.

“Sarah,” he says with a tilt of his head. “That’s not what I was expecting.

“Well, that’s what it is.”

“Mm,” he replies.

“Can I have my hand back now?”

“Mm, no.” He tugs on my hand and pulls me down the road towards my truck. What is he doing?

He opens my door for me and lets me get in. His kisses my hand, then shuts my door. I’m sort of stunned by the moment until he enters the passenger side. He looks at me and smiles. I burst into laughter.

“You’re relentless,” I say through laughter.

“You like it.”

I nod and giggle and then fall into an uncomfortable silence. What am I doing?

“So, Sarah, tell me all about yourself. I’m interested,” he says, looking around the cab and poking around in my purse. For some reason this does not bother me. He just seems like he belongs here, with me, in my broken down truck, riffling through my things.

“I just graduated, and I’m heading off to Seattle for college in two days.”

“Wow, you’re leaving me so soon. It’s probably for the best. I’d keep you here.”

“Confident are we?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t even know we were a we. You move fast, Sarah, I like it. You got a ring for me too?”

“Sure,” I say and pull my purse from his lap. I rip into a side pocket and pull out a braided ring I got from a candy dispenser at a bowling alley in Flagstaff. I put it on his ring finger and kiss it. “Will you wait for me, Edward?”

I bat my eyelashes and pout.

“That shirt’s right.”

“Huh?” I look at my shirt again and smile.

“You’re very cute. I liked watching you stomp around your truck saying things like ‘crapbucket’. Such language. I’m not sure if I can live with someone who could use such a word.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I know, just like you’ll get used to my smoking habit.”

“And you’ll get used to my never kissing you. It’ll be a marriage made in heaven.”

“Oh, hell no. I’m so getting kisses from my woman.”

“Will you have a mistress then?”

“I’m not a cheater,” he says, smiling brightly, his eyes wide, looking oh so innocent.

“No, you’re a heart breaker. All brooding musician with great hands and hair and voice – you draw them in and leave them hanging.”

“I would never do such a thing, Sarah.” He looks so sincere and I love how he says my name, only he’s not saying my name, but it sounds like my name the way he says it like he knows me.

“Okay, fine, you’re no cheater, but I’m not kissing you if you smoke.”

“Not even once?”

“No. It’s de- skust- ing.”

“I feel so rejected.”

“Aw, poor baby, but there’s a first time for everything,” I say as I run my hand through his locks. He slumps his head forward, towards me, encouraging my petting. “You’re like a lonely, lost dog, starving for affection.”

“You know me so well. Will you be my owner?” he says, though it’s muffled since his chin is to his chest.

“I would love to,” I say and add a, “Good boy,” in a high pitch as I move both hands over his head. His hair is very soft, and I don’t worry about messing it up ‘cause it looks like it hasn’t been combed in days.

He leans his head back and smiles a toothy grin at me, and I completely go limp and blush. Ugh! I thought I was done blushing. I’m older and wiser, and I don’t want to blush anymore.

“This is very beautiful,” he says, lowering my hands by my wrists. He brings his own hand up to my face and strokes my cheek. “Are you sure, you don’t want to . . .”

“Hm,” is all I can manage. I can a barely keep my eyes open and my heart from pounding out of my chest as Edward’s touching me. He’s just so . . . yeah.

He scoots closer to me and leans in. I can’t breathe. I really can’t breathe and not in a because my breath is hitched in my throat kind of way, but rather in a his breath reeks of smoke kind of way. It’s disgusting and completely ruins the almost-kiss. Sigh.

“Edward, I can’t. It’s not . . .”

“You want to. I can tell.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

“Well, what is it?”

“First of all you’re a stranger.”

“Who cares?”

“And second,” I continue, without paying him any attention at all, “you really smell like smoke, and it makes me want to puke.”

“And if I didn’t smell like smoke?”

“Totally,” I say, in nearly a sigh.

Edward grabs my purse back and starts scrounging around in its contents.

“What are you doing?”

“Gum.” Well, that explains it. “A-ha!” he shouts in victory and holds out my original bubble gum. He looks positively gleeful, then his face morphs into such sadness as he turns it over, showcasing that there are no more sticks of gum for him.

He looks up at me and I shrug.

“No way. I’ve gotta have something.”

“It’s just a kiss, Edward. Who cares?”

“You’ll care when you leave here and realize you’ve missed out on the best kiss, like, ever.”

“Oh well, then by all means figure this out.”

“I have your word?”

“My word for what?”

“If I find something to mask the smoke, you’ll kiss me?”

“Yes,” I say, shyly.

He bolts from my truck and sprints to his tiny car. He’s moving things around and the car is rocking. It looks quite comical from where I sit. Things are flying around in the interior when a truck pulls in front of me, blocking my view. The view of the tow truck reminds me that I’m stranded and tells me that someone from AAA was begging this company to help them out.

I get out and speak with the man who begins hooking my truck up to his. I’m signing some paperwork when I hear a loud, “Ah, damn!” from ahead. So dramatic.

I finish up and look around the tow truck to see Edward’s backside –cute backside- is hanging outside his tiny car. I walk towards him, wanting to at least say goodbye. He was good company.

“Edward,” I call. He comes into full view as he exits the car. Wow. Edward is shirtless, and glaring at me. So sexy. Oh man.

“Give me a minute,” he shouts, holding up one finger.

I throw my hands up, giving up. What else can I do? But I can’t stay here forever while he searches for gum. It’s just a kiss.

“Miss Swan, I’m ready now,” says the tow truck guy.

“Okay, just a minute,” I call back. I turn back around and Edward is skidding to a halt in front of me, dust flying in the air due to his abrupt slide. I point at his chest in confusion and he smiles shyly.

“I figured it smelled like smoke too.”

“Mmhm,” I say. He surprises me, wrapping his arms around me. He gives me that smirk when I look up at him in wonderment. He’s gorgeous, and he smells kind of fruity?

“Skittles. Four skittles in the back seat. Is that okay?”

“Okay, but–“

I can’t finish my words. I can’t finish my breath. I can’t finish my thought because Edward is kissing me. And he is no liar. Hands down the best kiss ever. It’s slow, sweet, yet his lips are firm against mine. And then they’re really firm, passionate firm. He’s working my mouth in ways it’s never moved before, and I thought I had been kissed well in high school. Truly, I had not. Because I wouldn’t even call that kissing compared to this, and Edward hasn’t even – oh, there it is.

“Mmph,” I whimper as his tongue engages mine, stroking it smoothly and commanding it at the same time.

My body is warming up and I feel fuzzy. My hands move of their own accord and seem to like his bare chest and back.

He squeezes me in his arms and my body bows towards him. He’s holding me so tight, and I’m loving being captured like this, like a possession, like I’m his – Edward’s.

A horn honks, and I break away, leaving Edward mid-pucker. It’s so cute when I notice his pouty lips and I giggle. “I have to go,” I say. His lips form a tight line.

“Will you come back?” I nod, and he continues. “Of course you’ll come back. We’re engaged.” He smiles at me and hugs me, like we’re best friends. I chuckle in his ear.

“I can’t marry you, Edward. What would I tell the children? We met in too stupid a way to get married. It’s a terrible story.”

“We’ve got ages to make one up.” He shrugs and I smile, then jump because a horn beeps again.

“Do you wear glasses?” I ask and he gives me a very confused look while shaking his head.

“Pity. I was willing to have glasses trump lack of a solid career.”

“I’ll find some.”

“You do that.”

“Will I see you again?”

I shrug and say, “Maybe. Find me on the road again, sometime. And stop smoking between now and then.”

“I will,” he says and looks quite serious about it. “Those skittles were terrible.” We both laugh profusely, and he hugs me again.

“Bye, Edward.”

“Bye, Sarah.”

I lean in and give him one more kiss. I run my hands up his bare back, around his shoulders, and through his hair. He hums into my mouth before I pull away reluctantly. “My name’s Bella,” I whisper in his ear and give him a gentle kiss on his neck.

I pull myself free from the gorgeous man and run full tilt to the tow truck.

“I love you, Bella!” Edward shouts, and I laugh as I get into the truck and close the door. I roll down the window and smile at him as the driver pulls out into the slow moving traffic. “Wait for me,” he shouts and places his hands over his heart in jest.

I blow him a kiss which he catches and places on his cheek. I watch him as we drive away in slow motion. I watch him pull his shirt on. I watch him get into his car. I watch him pull into the traffic too.

What the hell? He wasn’t stranded? That crapbucket!