A/N: Hello all! This is my second fanfiction story ever, so let me know what you think, please.
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Chapter 1: Love Comes
"Okay, okay. I've got one; kill, bone or marry. Angelina, Brad, and…the coffee guy." The group of three sitting at the small table in the deserted coffee shop laughed at their ritual game. The beautiful blond with the perfect hourglass figure and long, toned frame was the first to answer.
"Alright, I would bone Angelina, marry the coffee guy, and kill Brad." The two men sitting with her laughed heartily. The lean, muscular man who resembled a struck match, with wild copper hair and pale skin, rubbed his light stubble with his palm and smirked at the woman.
"And why would you marry the coffee guy, baby?" His voice sounded hurt but his bright green eyes danced with amusement at her answer. She knew he loved hearing the whys behind her choices; it was the best part of the game to him. She leaned forward slightly and gave him his favorite sultry little smirk, answering him seductively.
"I would marry the coffee guy because he's the perfect man." The muscular Native American man behind the counter caught the smirking glance the stunning woman threw his way and laughed with her. The long, lean boy saw the exchange and the way the boy's gleaming white teeth flashed against his bronzed skin, making him look like a smiling wolf. He didn't like the way they seemed to be sharing a joke…possibly at his expense.
"And just what do you think is so funny?" The copper-headed man glared at the dark-haired wolf-man, which only caused his laughter to grow.
The elegant blond giggled and crossed her tanned right leg over her left to settle it gracefully in between the pale man's legs, resting against his taught jean-clad thigh. She loved his Irish mother for passing her inability to tan on to him. Her left hand came up to run through his untamed hair and down against his stubble.
"Relax, Edward; 'he's the perfect man' is just girl code for 'he's gay'." He jerked his head around and looked curiously at the russet man.
"You're gay?" Edward asked, not even trying to hide the shock from his voice. The large, muscular man threw his head back, guffawing.
"Oh yeah, I'm a huge flamer. And I'm a barista, not 'coffee guy'." His response earned a round of laughter from the table and Edward blushed in apology, but the man behind the counter waved it off easily. Edward turned back to his bewitching girl, whose leg was still resting on his thigh, making his pants a bit tight. He rested his long fingers on her smooth skin and started rubbing circles up, wondering at the contrast of his skin on hers.
"So why would you kill Brad and bone Angelina?" Edward lived for her answers. She always boned the girl, and her reasoning was different every time. It still never ceased to amaze him how hot that was.
"Angelina seems like a total femdom in the bedroom, while Brad seems like a whiny little bitch all the time. I'd rather play sub to Angelina than femdom to Brad. And since I'm already marrying the barista, I had to kill off Brad." She finished her reasoning with a shrug, squeezing his leg with hers. She loved this form of foreplay. They both turned to the big man with dark, curly hair sitting across from them, waiting for his answer. He looked a little lost, like his mind was somewhere else completely.
"I would marry the coffee guy, because I wouldn't want to marry a celebrity, bone Angelina, because I would never bone Brad, and kill Brad, because he's the only one left." His answer carried a sad tone and his friends looked at each other before pulling apart, realizing their friend needed them. The blond leaned across the table and took the big guy's hand.
"Em, what's wrong? You've been all down and out lately, but you won't talk to us. What's going on with you, sweetie?" Her blue eyes bore into his light grey ones and she watched as his unfocused eyes came to rest fully on her. He let out a defeated sigh and squeezed her hand.
"I'm sorry, Rosie. I just wish I could find a girl that would see past all of this being famous bullshit. I'm a person, god damn it! Why can't any girl I meet just fucking see that?" The more Emmett thought about all of the failed dates he'd had in the past months, no, more like years, the angrier he got. The last failed date was still fresh in his mind, having only been a week ago for a New Years party Rose and Edward had dragged him to. Emmett had spent the majority of his night telling a drunk, crying Kate that she was, indeed, pretty, he just didn't want to fuck her. He was then forced to hold her hair back as she vomited in his toilet for the remainder of the night. Emmett let go of Rose's hand and asked the barista to bring him a blueberry muffin. He felt like he could really use a blueberry muffin to lift his spirits. He remembered how when he helped Nana bake them when he was little, she would say, "They always remind you that, no matter how bad your life gets, there's still something to be thankful for."
Rosalie and Edward looked at each other again, unsure of what exactly to do. They sat in awkward silence for a few moments before Rosalie suddenly got an excited glint in her eyes. Emmett shifted slightly, knowing exactly what that look meant. She was scheming. She leaned forward again, crossing her arms underneath her, making her already noticeable cleavage more pronounced. She smiled conspiratorially, and if Emmett hadn't been afraid before, he sure as hell was now.
"So what would your dream girl be like, exactly? I want you to describe her in detail. And be completely honest, Em." Emmett sighed in relief, knowing that she didn't know anyone that would qualify as his real 'dream girl'. He was calmed to know she wouldn't be able to try to play matchmaker with him and one of her girlfriends. He sat forward in his chair as the tall, burly barista brought him the blueberry muffin, slightly warmed, with some napkins. Emmett muttered his thanks and carefully took the top of the muffin off, in order to start digging through the yummy gooiness of the cup. Rosalie grimaced at him.
"I still don't understand how you can eat those things, especially without the top. It's the best part!" Rosalie had given up eating muffins when she realized her metabolism was slowing down and she needed to start eating the healthy stuff in order for her leisure workouts to be enough to keep any weight off. Emmett snickered around the bite of deliciousness he just took and smiled at Rose.
"I'm just not a muffin-top kind of guy." The three had a good laugh at that, because they knew Emmett wasn't really that shallow, just crude, and could never pass up a good joke if it was laid out for him that perfectly. The muffin was definitely having the desired effect, cooling Emmett off and lifting his spirits. He was still mulling over how to answer Rose's question about his perfect girl.
"Okay, my perfect girl. She would have wild hair, like crazy wild. Like the wind's blown it around all day, but she doesn't care, because she's beautiful. She would realize she's pretty, but not that she was sexy. I'd like to be the one to show her she's sexy. She'd be pale; I'm kind of tired of all the tanned girls around here, no offense Rose." She waved off any offense, enthralled in his confession, just wanting to hear more. He thought for a few more seconds.
"She'd have dark hair and eyes, to clash beautifully with her skin. She'd wear ridiculous outfits that somehow managed to work on her, and she'd be spontaneous. Yeah, she'd be spontaneous as hell. Like, when she wants to do something, she does it, no questions asked, but loyal. She'd be loyal to a fault. She'd be smart, and have tattoos. Lots of tattoos, but she'd be able to cover most of them up with normal, everyday clothing. She'd be compassionate, and she'd wait to judge me until she got to know me." By then, the barista was turned around and listening intently to every word Emmett said. He knew the exact girl Emmett was talking about, even though he doubted Emmett had ever seen her. He had only left out a few things that would have described the barista's best friend to a tee. Emmett looked down at his muffin and smiled wistfully.
"And she'd only like the top of the muffin, that way I didn't waste money every time I bought one. She'd be crude as hell, but sweet and all woman. It'd be nice if she had kids. Not a lot, maybe just one or two around the ages of three or four. I've always liked kids." He had been staring off into space, imagining her – his girl. When he was done, he looked up at Rosalie and saw her smile widely. She clapped her hands together and then put one to her forehead and closed her eyes, humming low.
"I predict your perfect girl will be the next person to walk through this coffee shop's door." She made her voice heavy with a gypsy accent and opened her eyes when she was done making her false prediction. Emmett and Edward glanced each other's way and started laughing at her antics.
"Okay, Rose. If the next person to walk through that door actually did end up being my dream girl, I'd owe you that trip to Italy you've been wanting." She laughed, but then grew quiet as the barista chimed into their conversation. He had caught a glimpse of his best friend walking across the corner to come see him, and he wanted to give Emmett the heads up, because he thought it was time she found someone, too.
"Actually, she's right. The next person to walk through that door is the girl you just described perfectly. Except, also a little bit broken." The barista's last sentence had him looking down with sad eyes, but quickly turned to the door as he heard the bells ring with her entrance.
Emmett looked over, too, and froze, his eyes widening and every muscle in his body tensing in reaction to the angel that just walked through the door. The California wind had whipped her hair into a frenzy upon entering and it looked like dark chocolate snakes dancing in a mahogany fire on top of her head. Her creamy, slender body was stiffened, waiting for the cold January air from outside to be shut out by the closing door. Her hair skewed her face, but once the door had closed fully, it fell in wild abandonment around her shoulders, wavy and long. Her eyes were pools of melted Hershey's kisses framed by a light layer of make-up. Under her slight nose, her full mouth was pursed and her jaw clenched. She was wearing what looked like a long silk wrap-around shirt that ended at the swell of her ass with an intricate black and white flower pattern and short, but loose white shorts. A pair of black and white paint-spattered Cons adorned her feet with thigh high socks painted with Van Gogh's Café Terrace at Night pulled over her creamy legs, the bright lights of the terrace on her right, and the dark view of streets on her left. Upon closer inspection, Emmett could see small marks of ink peeking out from underneath her shorts. He shivered as he pictured all of the things he wanted to do with this girl, not just sexually, but intellectually. He wanted to have a conversation with this girl, no, woman, she was obviously a woman. He thought he was in love; his body had never reacted this way to someone before, not ever. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life and it was fucking painful. Once he heard her blasted words, he knew he was in love.
"Balls! It's cold!"
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A/N: So? Please let me know what you think, I love it when people read my stories, but I love it when they review even more. Even if you didn't like it, I still want to know (constructively, of course). I promise not to get offended. Thanks!