Romantic Fatigue

A/N: Stephanie Meyer owns everything, except this plot. Story title borrowed from my darling, Frank Turner.

Enjoy this little tale of Bella and her woes of online dating. Enjoy!

Summary: My name is Bella Swan. I'm thirty years old and convinced myself to sign up for Single 'n' Mingle. Why? [Short Story]

[Chapter 1: You are 97% Matched]

"Seriously," I state in disbelief to my computer screen.

I study the information provided by the current profile - male, fifty-five years old, divorced, two kids and lives in Los Angeles. The one picture uploaded shows a man with long, gray hair and receding hairline, squatting proudly in front of a dead Bambi with his 12-gauge rifle. Well, what I assume is a 12-gauge. I have no idea. I don't know anything about weapons.

As if his screen name, Deerhunter56, doesn't scream, 'run the other way', his likes include hunting, NASCAR, Civil War reenactments, beer and a good woman who likes to cook and clean. This man 'winked' at me and even sent an email that said, 'U'. What the fuck does that mean? According to my preferred preferences on Single 'n' Mingle, this is who they deem my perfect match. Thanks for that. And what's with this 'winking' business? I feel like men are leering at me and wagging eyebrows like perverts. Ugh.

I delete every trace of him and rub my tired eyes. Six months ago, I finally mustered up enough courage and said, 'what the hell', and signed up on this online dating site – Single 'n' Mingle. Which, now I'm thinking wasn't such a good idea. I mean, if you abbreviate the company name, it's 'S 'n' M'. Moving on. For four years, Alice, my best friend, would not shut up about the awesome experience she had on the same site. Needless to say, she has all the rights to gloat. Jasper, the love of her life – who in simple terms, is a normal, good looking, twenty-nine year old American boy – adores her.

Me? Yeah, not so lucky. Don't get me wrong, I've had my fair share of relationships. I am appropriately labeled by my friends as a 'serial monogamist'. My first relationship from high school lasted about four years, but we grew up and realized we had nothing common outside of class, football games, prom and making out in the backseat of his beat up Camaro.

During my last year of college, I convinced myself to join a sorority. It would be fun, my mom had said. But it didn't go over too well when I refused to dress in pink hot pants with Greek letters on my ass for a carwash fundraiser. As I left the last sorority meeting, I hadn't been watching where I was going and knocked some poor kid off of his skateboard. Poor Peter. We ended up dating for five years. Unfortunately, he suddenly decided he wanted to become the next Gordon Ramsey and applied to culinary school – in France. France! Really? I guess the commute between L.A. and Paris pretty much killed it. Not that I ever had a chance to find out. The minute he landed in City of Lights, Peter found his soul mate. She happened to work at some croissant shop. Okay, I'm sure it was probably some high end bakery that served crepes too. I just assume people in France only eat croissants, wear berets and break out into sixties style dancing. Thanks SNL for that visual. It sucks, though; I really wanted to visit Europe.

And here we are today, four years later, and nothing. I just turned thirty, work for an insurance company and don't have a love life – at all. I'm surrounded by potential, handsome, successful men at work. Unfortunately, they are either blissfully married or in serious relationships. On top of that, their significant others coincidentally are gorgeous. I'm not joking.

I honestly believe there is something in the water at this company – everyone is satisfied, happy and nice. Like, cult-nice. It's creepy. However, no one has friends or potential friends that they can set me up with because their friends are also either married or super weird. Shit, now I just sound desperate and I'm not. I promise.

'Dammit, Bella. Pull yourself together', I think to myself. Though, I've been on dates, they never went past the first couple. The spark, you know the one they tell you about in movies, the same one that causes swooning, makes you do crazy things and causes that little leg kick when you get kissed? Yeah, that one – it's been missing. The excitement and acceptance of my obnoxious humor was lost on my dates. Now, I'm staring at a computer screen, sifting through a catalog looking for the perfect man.

Like this one, thirty year old male, with the screen name SurfinHB, six feet, blue eyes, brown hair and lives in Santa Monica. He's handsome in a big, football player sort of way and even has dimples - yum. His bio just seals the deal. It starts out with some random reference to 'Shrek' about having layers, like an onion. I send him the standard 'wink' and close my laptop.

Six months of winking and sending the generic, 'hey how's it going' email has become part of my routine without results. My phone beeps and I promptly move on from my 'shopping'.

Hey. You're going to be at the office tomorrow right? – E

I roll my eyes at the question, like he doesn't know this. I swear, the man calls, emails or texts me pretty much every day. It's been the same pattern for the last four months. Alice and I joke that he's my BFF. But she has taken it a step further and says that he really likes me because no man would just call a woman at all hours to chitchat, vent and ask questions about work. I tell her to stop it because it put ideas in my head. He has a live-in girlfriend that he actually refers to as 'my girlfriend'. No name, no reference to her name or any indication of her name. They've been together for three years and I have yet to hear him say anything exciting about her. It's an awkward situation, actually.

Yeah, why? – B

I'm meeting with Esme tomorrow, do you know what time? – E

You're kidding right? I sent you an invite to your calendar AND talked to you today – B

I know! I just want to make sure. Ten? – E

Yes, Ten – B

Thx – E

'Oh my God,' I think. He's trying to kill me. He's bananas. I met Edward Masen early last year when he interviewed to become an insurance agent, which I still think is an unusual industry to willingly want a career in. For the last nine years, he successfully worked for another agent. My boss, Esme Cullen is the executive who recruited Edward to branch out and open his own office.

The first time I saw Edward, I almost dropped the handouts I had been copying for Esme. For all intents and purposes, I am an executive assistant, who basically does everything under the sun. The office was dead quiet that day as everyone was on out on appointments.

"Hello?" A masculine, velvet voice called out.

"Hey!" I replied from storage room. "I'll be right there."

I quickly exited the room and almost fell flat on my face as my heel snagged on the carpet.

"Are you okay?" He chuckled.

I righted myself and looked up. I was met with the greenest eyes and the most amused smile I'd ever seen. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit with a satin, almost gray-black tie and white collared shirt. His bronze hair had that on purpose disheveled look and the sideburns complemented his angular jaw. He was tall and lean, but not skinny and extremely handsome – not remotely close to whom you associate with selling insurance products.

"Um, yeah. Thanks," I managed to stutter out. "I'm Bella." I walked towards him and shook his hand. He even had a perfect handshake – firm with the right amount of pressure.

"I'm Edward," he said as he followed me to my desk. "I have an appointment with Esme today."

"Oh, yes!" I recalled. I sat at my desk and quickly scanned her schedule. "She should be here in a couple minutes. Do you want coffee or water?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks," he smiled a disarming grin. He's going to be a great agent, I thought. He probably could sell sand to people at the beach.

"Follow me," I got up and we walked to the adjoining kitchen.

I started gathering everything I would need for his drink. "So you're going to be an agent, eh?"

"Yeah, I hope so," he replied and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm ready now, so it's the perfect time and the opportunity is amazing."

"Well that's good," I told him as the coffee automatically poured into his cup.

I heard the calendar alert on my computer ding and suddenly remembered I had concert tickets to buy.

"Shit!" I exclaimed suddenly and immediately apologized for my crass cursing. "Sorry. Excuse me."

I hurried out of the kitchen and as quickly as I could in heels, ran back to my desk. I furiously typed in the web address to the ticket website and waited until the clock changed to ten a.m. I shut out the world and hurriedly bought two tickets. When the confirmation came through, I sighed in relief.

"Did you get them?" An amused voice asked.

I hadn't registered that Edward followed me.

I grinned back. "I did. I'm afraid if I waited, it would have sold out."

"Who are you going to see?"

"Oh! It's this band from England. They're doing this whole folk revival type music – banjos, guitars, keyboards – that sort of thing. They're amazing!"

"That's great! Who –" he began. The door to the office opened.

"Edward!" Esme interrupted. She looked impeccable in her stylish matching skirt and jacket. "Glad you could make it. Come on in." She led Edward to her office. "Morning, Bella!"

Since that day, our friendship thrives on banter. Teasing, texting and endless questions all rolled into one. I want to kill him most days when he asks me the same thing from the day before or when he tells me he's eating lunch at four in the afternoon, but has been starving all day.

When I woke up this morning, I remembered he was coming to the office. Jumping out of the bed, I quickly shower and blow dry my dark brown hair. I apply my makeup – purple and gold shimmery eye shadow and lots of mascara.

Standing in front of my closet, I come to the conclusion that I have nothing to wear. Alice would probably laugh and roll her eyes as my closet overflows with clothes. I just don't want to wear any of it. I finally settle on some fitted black slacks with a royal blue, satin button down with half-capped sleeves. I tuck in my shirt and add a thin, black belt. I add some silver jewelry and my black patent heels. With one last look in the mirror, I am off to work.

The clock now reads fifteen to ten. I, unnecessarily, check my makeup and lip gloss. Within those couple of minutes, the door to the suite opens and Edward confidently enters with his rolling computer case. I stand and walk around my desk.

"Morning, Bella," he greets me with a hug.

"Hey. How are you this fine morning?" I ask.

"Good," Edward answers and we walk into the kitchen where he brews his own coffee. As the cup fills, Edward turns to me. "You will never guess what happened this week. So, get this, my girlfriend got mad at me yesterday."

I arch an eyebrow at him and desperately want to say, 'no, really'. "Why, what'd you do?"

"Nothing, I swear," he laughs. "We had lunch yesterday –"

"That's nice," I lie.

"And we're sitting outside at this restaurant and there are these two little kids playing around. They were cute and I was laughing at their silliness," he continues. "She gives me the glare of death and says, 'I can't believe people let them out in public.' I wanted to laugh but she was already so annoyed that there were kids all over the place."

I almost snort because everything about his relationship is so absurd. "Uh, okay?"

"She despises kids," he says simply. "Can't stand 'em. She doesn't even want them."

"Do you?" I ask curiously.

"Oh yeah!" He replies enthusiastically. He runs his hand through his hair. "I can't wait!"

"And how long have you been together?" I inquire even though I know the answer.

"About three years," he answers. Edward grabs his coffee and takes a tentative sip. No cream or sugar added.

"Red Flag!" I practically yell at him and wave my hand front of his face. His eyes widen and he almost chokes on his drink. "Seriously. You know this, right? She's, what, thirty?" He nods. "She has a very demanding career saving the environment, doesn't want kids, your interests seem to be night and day to each other and you basically share the worst stories about your relationship. So you're together because…?"

"We've been together for three years," he states as if it's the most obvious answer.

"Oh!" I say sarcastically and palm my forehead. "Totally makes sense. What's your type? Do you have one?" I really want to know. Just for my own selfish benefit.

"Yeah, um," he suddenly becomes shy. "Usually beautiful but dumb. When I went out with Tanya, I went the other way. She's the complete opposite."

"And how's that working out for you?"

Edward just looks at me with a curious expression. He's about to say something when Esme enters the kitchen.

"Good morning!" She greets us cheerfully. "Edward, are you ready for your final review before you open?"

"Definitely," he says proudly.

The office phone rings and I excuse myself to answer. I can't believe him. It's hard to have sympathy for his girlfriend when she sounds like this horrible, boring person. But then again, he's with her and they live together. So I blame him too. Ugh, men.

"Bella," Esme addresses me. "Please hold my calls and we'll meet when I'm done with Edward."

"Sounds good," I answer. "Good luck!"

"Thanks," Edward grins. With that they disappear into Esme's corner office.

They meet for over an hour. I can hear their muffled voices and laughter through the walls. Edward finally emerges looking no worse for the wear and asks for his parking validation.

"Just keep doing what you're doing," Esme praises him, her brown eyes sparkling. Her caramel colored hair was swept off of her face in a very chic updo – the look of a put together executive.

"Thanks, Esme," he replies. "I just want to do what's right and be as successful as I can be."

"Exactly. Alright, well I'll see you later."

Esme leaves us while Edward lingers at my desk. But before he could say anything, his cell rings. He answers it and hastily waves goodbye.

"Bella!" Esme calls out. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," I answer back just as loud.

We probably have the weirdest boss/employee relationship. Esme and I are very informal with each other – we have lunch together constantly, yell out from our respective offices and have mastered the art of procrastinating. Though she's in her early fifties, Esme's a very hip lady who has a big heart and a passion for the latest gossip.

I bring in my pad and paper – a must to have on hand when you work for Esme Cullen.

"Edward's so good," she begins. "He's going to do very well."

"Sounds like it," I agree. I try not to picture his perfectly handsome face, the depths of those green eyes and his crazy, sexy hair, but fail. Despite his faults, he makes me laugh and I always look forward to his random questions.

"So," she glances at me with a mischievous smile. "You know how I like to have dinner with new agents and meet their spouses prior to them opening their office? You know, to include them in the process of becoming an agent and let them know that it's not about just the agent, but them as well?"

I nod.

"Well, I met Edward's girlfriend," she says lowering her voice. I love this side of Esme. She's blunt and calls it like she sees it. "He needs to break up with her."

"Esme!" I exclaim.

"Seriously, they don't match and they don't interact well with each other," she continues. "He should go out with someone like you. Someone who understands the amount of pressure being an agent is and fun. You'd bring out the best in him and that says a lot about a person's character. It's just a feeling."

I laugh. "That'd be something. Then I'd finally be able to go on all these reward trips!"

Esme nods her head knowingly. We turn back to business after that and I have a slew of appointments to schedule for her. When I leave the office, I remind myself to not wish badly on someone's relationship. It's just bad karma.

My phone pings with an email alert. I check it quickly and see that someone 'winked' at me. Rolling my eyes, I quickly click on it. Dammit! This time it's a forty-five year old male, DavidLeeSchwartz, and apparently in a Van Halen cover band. In almost every photo, he's dressed as David Lee Roth – shaggy hair, sailor hat and spandex. I just shake my head. I give up. As I delete that email, another one pops up from the same guy. This time he has added me as a 'favorite'.

Oh my God. Where are the normal men? Seriously. Isn't this the reason people pay to be on a dating site? I've read so many profiles that sound like mine and NOTHING! What gives? Am I using the wrong angles in my photos? Is it because I don't exercise five times a week and am looking for someone who shares the idea of 'staying fit and maintaining a healthy lifestyle'? That line kills me. I don't want to hang out at the gym for fun, especially with my other half.

After I leave work, my thoughts consume as I drive home. The more I think about it the angrier I get. The L.A. traffic doesn't help either.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I scream at the car that cut me off and lay into the horn. Who knew that road rage would help cool the dating rage in me?