Figure Eight Teaser

Seeing Edward with that little boy, Jared, made my ovaries explode. He was so sweet to him and there was so much love radiating from my boyfriend. I could tell that he cared about what happened to Jared and yeah, that made me want him. Like I wanted to rip all of his clothes from his body and mount him on the fucking ice.

Yes, make babies with the hot, British, sexy man. You’d make absolutely beautiful children. Come on, chickadee.

Stop it. It’s cold and I don’t want my first time to make love to my boyfriend to be on the ice. That would suck.

Oh, minor details.

After our fun date, Edward and I worked incredibly hard for the next week for our exhibition in Chicago. Edward asked if he could block some time to work with Jared. Edward spoke with Jared’s mother and they tentatively set up a time of Tuesday mornings. We arranged our workout schedule accordingly so Edward could make a difference in some child’s life.

He’s going to be a great daddy…to our babies. Have sex. Have sex. Have sex. *Waves pom poms and does a cheerleading dance.*

Not ready for babies, wenches. Just, no.

“Bella? Stop squirming,” Alice chided. “I don’t want to poke you with a pin and have you bleed all over this beautiful dress.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Just antsy.”

“Why? Daydreaming about your boy?” Alice winked.

“Shut it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “This dress is quite risqué, Alice.”

“It’s for your Avatar routine,” Alice said. “And it’s not risqué. If I wanted to make it risqué, I’d have you wear a bustier and a skirt. Stop squirming and let me finish pinning you.” I sighed and let Alice finish her work. The dress was different. It was a deep turquoise with a swath of rhinestones along the mid section with bedazzled straps in the back. Edward was wearing the same color shirt with sequined buttons and a similar rhinestone pattern along his chest. His pants were black and tight, hugging his strong legs. I shifted, biting my lip.

“Fuck! Alice!” I barked.

“You moved, moron,” she said as she frantically tried to hold the fabric away from my now bleeding skin. “Stop having erotic sex daydreams about your fuckhot boyfriend.”

“Ugh, fine,” I grumbled.

You know that ain’t happening, girlie. Daydream away. About his hotness with his face buried between your legs.

I need a cold shower. Like now.