~*~ Author's Note ~*~

Alright, so for me to keep my sanity, I need at least two stories going at one time. Thought this concept would be interesting. This is my first AH fanfic…

General premise: I have severe OCD. Relationships are really fucking hard when you have it. Vampires supposedly have a form of OCD (incessant counting, etc.) so I thought it'd be ironic and funny if Edward had some OCD tendencies.

This is rated M. There will be some uuber sexing.

Reviews are fucking awesome.

And no… I don't own Twilight… or olives. Scratch that, I do have a few olives in the fridge.

~*~ One Lone Olive ~*~

BPOV:

"Bella… Bella! Jesus Christ, girl, wake up. If you haven't noticed, we're a little swamped here."

Rosalie pouted her perfect lips in a grimace, flipping a bottle effortlessly in her hand while winking at the frat boys surrounding the bar.

Shaking the silver canister, she poured frothy shots into six glasses and slid them over to the boys, who, popped collars and all, were practically drooling over her blonde tresses… or at least that's what I told myself in my mind.

Imagining them thinking about any other part of Rosalie was, well, slightly disturbing.

I sighed, sending an apologetic smile towards her, and picked up my tray. She ignored my attempt at an apology, deciding instead to bend over the bar, giving the boys a pretty good eye full of her… erm… assets.

"Why anyone had the balls to let me carry around a tray of breakable glassware, I'll never know." I muttered to myself, watching my hands shake as the full glasses slopped beer over the sides.

I shouldn't be complaining. I should be grateful. If it weren't for Alice, the extra income I was making would be non-existent, and trying to pay your own way through college while maintaining something of a decent GPA was proving to be hard enough as it was.

"Here you go," I mumbled to the crowded table, slipping the bill under one of the glasses.

I felt a hand tap slightly against my ass as I walked away. I turned my head back around and glared at the culprit. He merely winked, and flicked a shot glass down into his mug of beer. Fuck. They'd better leave a decent tip.

I pushed my way against the overbearing crowd, trying to make my way back to the bar, and to Rosalie… whether I wanted to or not. Rosalie had proven to be rather irritated by me in general. She had christened me "stumblefuck" on my first day of work after I tripped over my toes headlong into the numerous bottles of liquor on the far wall.

The name had stuck, whether I was in the room or not.

"Think happy thoughts, Bella, happy thoughts," I whispered to myself. It could be worse. At least I had a job. That was helping Renee out a lot.

My mother was slightly absentminded. She had sworn to me all throughout middle school and high school that she was saving up for my college education. The look on her face was so determined, like a little kid showing her mother a drawing in which she was truly proud of, but looked like a pile of crap.

I had to push myself to tell my mother that said pile of crap bore the likeness to a Degas masterpiece.

Somewhere in the midst of traveling around with her new husband Phil and the Home Shopping Network, the little nest egg had been lost to the predators of late-night shopping. It didn't surprise me.

Asking Charlie, my father, for any money towards my college education just seemed… awkward. I hadn't seen him in quite some time. Thinking back on it, I'm sure neither of us really knew why. Renee and Charlie's split had been patchy, but not terrible. It was just, I guess, easier to stick to one life and not try to tear myself into two.

"Yes, at least I have the job," I stated again to myself.

"For now. Seriously, Bella, look at the crowd. We're fucking swimming in drunk students and you keep walking around like a zombie. Ah well, I guess it's your tips lost, not mine. Here, take this to table 6, and try not to be your stumblefuck self. He's particular about his drinks."

I guess I'd made that last statement out loud.

"Sorry," I mumbled, trying to avoid eye-contact with the beauty.

Out of all of the people in my past, she had been the only one to strike fear into my heart. That was saying something, having managed to live through high school.

I glanced at the tray I was now carrying back through the bar. I furrowed my brow, taking in the drink.

"Weird, that can't be right," I thought to myself. The dry martini balancing on the slip-proof tray was full to the brim with olives. Three sticks with five olives on each were protruding like an octopus out of the top.

For a second I debated battling my way back to Rosalie, but one look in her direction made my heart freeze, and I resigned myself to accepting the repercussions of the botched drink. According to Rosalie, she never made a mistake.

And I wasn't going to argue with her on that one. I liked my head where it was, thank you very much.

"Here you go," I said, trembling slightly as I placed the full drink onto the coaster, attempting, and failing miserably, to inconspicuously wipe off the side that had become wet with my clumsiness.

My eyes would not take themselves off of the odd arrangement of olives, and I said, still staring at the glass,

"Is everything how you ordered it?"

A long, thin finger slid into my vision, slightly caressing one of the plastic sticks. The thumb gripped the bottom end, and the hand twirled the olives around and around, making the vodka fall back into the glass.

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be?" The voice hitting my ears was like man-sex and honey, all wrapped into one. The tone, however, irked me to no avail.

"It's just… well," I began stumbling on my words. It was enough to be physically clumsy, but verbally? I was majoring in English, for God's sake. I cleared my throat and tried again, still keeping my eyes perched on the drink.

"It's… a shitload of olives."

Gah.

I could feel myself blush.

"Do you have a problem with olives?"

It felt like an eternity was passing. For some reason, this one voice was making me choke up. My mind was spinning with lust and contempt. I wanted to both jump and slap the person speaking to me.

A slightly damp hand touched my cheek, pushing my face to look at his.

"Tell Rosalie it's perfect, as always. And I think the olives deserve an apology."

Oh holy shit.

He was gorgeous. My eyes sunk into his deep emerald pair. They were flecked with bits of gold. His hair was strewn out in every direction, the dim light from the bar causing it to glow reddish-brown. His lips were smirking up at me, taunting me.

I felt myself bite my lip. For a second, I briefly wondered how much strength it would take to pull him into the shoddy bathroom up the stairs and take him right there.

Sane, non-horny Bella, came to the rescue with slight disgust.

Did he just ask me to apologize… to his olives?

And as much as it hurt to leave the beautiful creature before me, cradling my cheek, and as much as I knew my wallet would hurt from the lost tip, I stared at him coldly. The next thing out of my mouth was so uncharacteristic of me, so disrespectful to a customer.

But something about his tone, and his eyes, made anger bubble up through my throat. I could feel the word vomit hit my brain before filtering out through my mouth.

"Fuck olives," I said abruptly, leaving the check, and my gooey heart, behind.

"They might get a little stuck, don't you think?"

Alice had come skipping up to me, having heard the end of my dispute with the Olive God. I wrinkled my nose as the thought of Alice attempting anything with olives permeated my imagination.

"God, Alice, gross."

"What? The fact that you're wearing your damn high school hand me downs instead of the great outfit I picked out for you, or me getting my freak on with some garnish? Because I vote that the ensemble is pretty terrible."

"There is no way in hell I'd be able to serve anyone wearing heels, and you know it. I can barely do it in tennis shoes."

"It takes practice, is all. And a little confidence wouldn't kill you either. So, you finally met my brother, huh?" she asked, swerving her head in the direction that I had just stamped away from.

"He drove you to fantasize about gallivanting with pickled goods? Not my fetish… but to each is own."

"That… that… thing… is your brother?"

I wasn't sure what I meant by my statement. I was still hurt over the brash way he had talked to me. The tone in his voice had been so hostile. Then, when it had changed… when he touched my face. My body rebelled against me, and a shiver went down my spine as I imagined his hands twirling the olives from earlier.

Alice was chuckling slightly.

"Oh God, what did he say to you? Don't worry, that's just… well… that's the way Edward is. He believes he's a 'brooding soul' or some shit like that. And he has some hang-ups when it comes to his routines. Don't let him get to you. Once you get to know him, he's actually really sweet."

I chanced a glance over Alice's shoulder back over to the table where… Edward… sat. He was glaring up at me, and I was afraid that the glass cradled in his hand would be crushed by the intensity of his hand.

My cheeks grew crimson as I removed my gaze from his face. Alice, noticing my attention wavering, turned her head and looked at her brother. She shook her head slightly, swiping her short black hair from side to side.

"Oh, Edward. Stupid, silly Edward." She said, still looking towards him.

I heard the front door bell tinkling, and the hint of auburn hair whipping through the Chicago wind.

He was gone. I should have been relieved that the awkward situation was over, that the pompous ass had left for the night. I should have left the table, letting someone else clean it, so I wouldn't be hurt by a dismal tip. I should have turned away at that second, shouting "I am woman, hear me roar" and venting to friends about his arrogant nature.

But instead, I walked over to where he'd sat. I begrudgingly caressed the glass that had been in his hands only seconds before, still warm from its contact, balancing the stem between my fingers. I looked at the sticks, displayed in a neat row beside the glass.

Then something caught my eye. A stray olive, pinning a one hundred dollar bill against the wooden table.