Beautiful Disaster

Sadly, the universe hasn’t gotten the memo that we would appreciate it if everything around us were to stop so we could celebrate our reunion in all sorts of ways; the time I actually end up spending with Bella and Jazz is very limited. I secretly lament that fact but try to be a good sport about it every time I slink off to the hospital. I am ecstatic when, only days before Christmas, I head home from my shift at work, and get a text message on the way that is as cryptic as it is promising.

Mr. Cullen, the college library would like to remind you of your 6:30 appoint ment at Ms. Swan’s office. Please be on time and bring your overdue book s with you.

When I finally arrive home, I find the living room deserted. Taped to my intended microwave lunch-slash-dinner is a small, folded paper, covered in Bella’s hasty scrawl.

Enjoy the pasta! I don’t think I have to remind you to get yourself ready.

Clothes are on the bed. I’m out with Jazz to get some last minute stuff.

Love, B.

That explains why I’m on my own with just under an hour until the designated starting time of our planned scene, and I feel a little cheated of the chance to share my excitement with the only two people who might really get it on every level. Trying not to dwell on that, though, I eat the spaghetti before I take a long shower, going through the usual prep work with diligence and a significant hard-on already.

Because I dawdle a bit I miss Bella’s return, finding Jazz blocking the door when I want to go downstairs to greet her, still dripping from the shower and wearing only a towel.

"Sorry, dude, but the missus needs time to get ready herself. Until she gives us a sign, we’re supposed to stay in here."

I huff, but then turn around to head back into the bathroom, only to stop halfway there.

"I haven’t even had a chance to talk about the scene with her yet."

He smirks and leans against the door, as if to stress that he won’t let me through if he can help it.

"Trust me when I say that she doesn’t need help. You should have seen her today. She’s been bossy since breakfast, and I don’t think she’d appreciate you trying to wrestle her out of her role, as it were."

I don’t know why his words rub me the wrong way, but do my best to hide my wave of resentment towards Jazz as I return to the bathroom. It takes me another five minutes of rubbing myself down furiously and brushing my teeth to make sense of my own feelings – I’m jealous. Jealous of all the time he gets to spend with her, to be more precise, and the chance to give her the one thing I can’t always provide – attention.

And I’ve spent the last three weeks worrying that Bella might possibly be feeling neglected because now she’s no longer the only one in the world that I care about. The fact that my jealousy is completely unrelated to anything sexual only makes me feel all the more ridiculous.

Trying hard to get a grip on myself, I dress and leave the bathroom to Jazz.

By the time he’s done I’m once again mostly excited, although I can’t shake off my apprehension at heading completely blind into this, even more so as he seems too smug not to be in on some of the plan.

Surprisingly enough, when my phone beeps with a new text message, spelling out only a simple "I’m ready," I don’t really care anymore.

"Let’s do this, shall we?"

Jazz grins at my obvious excitement, then holds me back at the door.

"Okay, just so you know, Bella wants us to behave like real brats. You know, the whole spoiled rich kid, easy on the eye womanizer kind of guy neither of us was in college, simply because my parents lacked the money and you had too much decency. Or to use her exact words, ‘Give me a reason to spank you."

I snort, the memory of her lolita schoolgirl act from earlier this year still fresh in my mind.

"Shouldn’t be that hard to pull off, I guess."

"That’s the spirit!" he laughs, then steps away to let me exit the room. The door to the playroom is closed. With a nod at Jazz, I wrench it open to stagger inside while I make up some bullshit story about a supposed conquest of mine from last night. What I really do is drink in the image presented to us.

The playroom is oddly transformed, although technically the only additions to it are the desk and a chair from downstairs; all the other usual equipment is stored away, leaving the focus on the figure currently residing in the chair.

Red lips, hair up in a severe bun, glasses, dressed conservatively in a crisp, white blouse and a dark gray pencil skirt; I’ve seldom seen Bella look so hot.

At first she doesn’t react to our entry as she pretends to scribble notes on some printed forms. When Jazz lets out a cheesy yet incredibly funny catcall whistle, her head jerks up, annoyance in her gaze as she compresses her lips into a thin line. Even though she already has our attention, she still clears her throat, then addresses us.

"Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to lower your voices. This is a hall of learning and needs to be quiet; please take your ruckus elsewhere."

Jazz and I exchange glances, before he pulls out a badly abused note.

"I’d love to, but this letter states that I have to be here, so I’m sorry to disappoint you. But if you give me your number, I’d be happy to make it up to you later, baby."

Bella straightens in her chair, pretending to be insulted, but for a moment she breaks role, a smile showing through the severe look she’s aiming for.

"Yeah, we’re here because we have to meet with the library admin, some old hag named Ms. Swan? But after we’re done charming her knickers off, I’d love to get into yours, if you know what I mean."

Her gaze flickers from Jazz to me, her brows raised in a silent ‘Seriously?’, but she does a good job of looking unimpressed.

"You’re looking for Ms. Swan? So you must be Mr. Cullen and Mr.

Whitlock?"

"In the flesh, every glorious inch of it."

While Bella manages not to react, Jazz starts to laugh at the worst line that I’ve probably uttered in my whole life, but her disapproving stare makes him shut up surprisingly fast.

"Well, then I am sure you will be happy to have found her."

I make a show of exchanging glances with Jazz, then beam my most charming smile at Bella.

"You’re Ms. Swan? I should have guessed. With your beauty, you outshine all of the ugly ducklings populating these halls."

She doesn’t even smile, which must be hard considering the bullshit I’m making up, but her utter lack of reaction is even more powerful than any biting comment she could have offered. Instead she pointedly looks at our empty hands, then back up to our faces.

"Didn’t you forget something?"

"Condoms are in the car, darling, if you need any," Jazz unhelpfully supplies, before we grin at each other again as if we really think that is a great pickup line.

"I meant your books," she clarifies.

"Baby, what I can do to you they don’t teach in any books," I drawl, then actually wink at her. She’s obviously not impressed.

"Gentlemen, please correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem to be taking this matter very seriously."

"It’s a bunch of stupid books," Jazz shrugs. "So what, my dad gives a couple hundred thousand to the university each year. I think they can buy new ones from that."

She purses her lips again, then looks down at her forms before she’s back to glaring at us.

"This isn’t about the money, and your name won’t help you in this case, Mr.

Whitlock. If you don’t pay the fines and return the books, I will be forced to file an official complaint with the Dean for deliberate destruction of university property, a copy of which will also be added to your permanent student records. If I remember correctly, you both have been warned that any further offenses will lead to your immediate expulsion, as agreed to by your parents."