I had started/posted this story a while back, under a different penname and with a different plot. That's all changed. If this sounds vaguely familiar, that might be why. Chapters are short, posting will be frequent (steady at the least).
i.
The knocking at his door came earlier than expected. He was still partly dreaming as he sat up, leaning his bare back against the headboard. With veined, tense fingers, he rubbed his hands over his tired eyes and through his wild-sleep hair.
His room was dim, lighter than he liked. He had hardly gotten any rest. Sleep—good sleep—was hard to come by. The day before replayed in his head, kept his mind awake and his heart racing.
He yawned before slipping into a pair of dark gray sweatpants, moving quickly to answer the persistent pounding.
"Morning, brother."
Edward didn't offer a response but held the door open wide. Jasper stepped inside, his ash blonde hair freshly shaved. The shoulders of his black overcoat glistened from the light rain falling from the gray clouds. Shaking his head, tiny sprinkles of water jumped off of him and onto the wooden floor. He offered Edward his hand before pulling him into a short embrace.
They sat in the living room, a dark cherry-wood coffee table separating them. Jasper glanced around the pristine space before adjusting his position on the deep, dark gray couch. He never could get used to how unused the place looked.
"How'd it go?" Edward asked.
"We did what you asked."
Edward nodded, the muscles in his jaw flexed tight with tension.
"How is she?"
Jasper paused. His eyes fell on a small silver pendant sitting on the tabletop.
"We crashed her engagement party. How do you think she is?" he replied, leaning back on the couch and running his palm in small circles over the crown of his head.
"How did she look?"
Jasper rolled his head back, his brown eyes staring straight up at the tall ceiling.
"Shocked. Furious. Indignant. Take your pick."
Edward stood, his arms crossing over his chest, his patience instantly thinned.
"You know that's not what I meant."
With a loud sigh, Jasper rose to his feet.
"She looks insanely gorgeous. Stunning," he answered. He eyed the shiny pendant again before meeting Edward's stare. "But you know that, don't you?"
He didn't respond but headed to the kitchen. On the counter sat a short glass of water, a cell phone submerged inside. Edward fished it out and shook it dry.
"Get rid of that," he said, tossing the phone to Jasper.
Edward dumped the water into his sink, then washed the glass quickly. He was careful as he dried it, rubbing it until it whined against the towel. Placing it back in its place he turned to Jasper, who watched him quietly.
"When Aro catches wind of what happened..."
"I'll deal with Aro," Edward cut in.
The sky was black with night by the time he pulled off the road and parked outside of a dingy bar. He stepped into the grimy space, his hat snug on his head and his hands shoved into his pockets.
It was always the same song and dance. His broad shoulders and confident swagger caught their eye; his sharp jaw line and pouted lips kept their attention. It was the mesmerizing ivy of his irises and the velvet tenor of his voice that sealed the deal.
He took a seat at the bar and ordered a Johnnie Walker Red, double short.
The bravest contender was blonde and she approached him before the bartender got the chance to slide him his drink.
"Hi there." She leaned into him, her head cocking flirtatiously to the side as she tried to get a peek at the goods beneath his cap.
Edward kept his gaze locked forward.
"You're beautiful but, no thanks," he responded.
He didn't want a blonde.
He declined several more advances in a similar manner. A polite no here, a swift rejection there. His right knee began to bounce as his patience had begun to teeter out, until finally, a petite brunette with matching eyes took the stool beside him.
"Picky."
He turned his head. It only took him a split second to decide that she would do. Her hair was a little shorter than he liked and her skin was a little darker than the pale he craved. But, she would do.
"Am I?" he responded.
She nodded, her eyes twinkling. She had watched him as he barely turned his head to assess the other women. She was well aware that she'd made it past the first hurdle.
"I'm Sophie."
"Hi, Sophie."
Edward nodded to the bartender who topped off his glass. He took a sip of his drink, staring at the girl over the rim of the cup.
"Are you going to tell me your name?" she asked.
He placed the glass on the bar and adjusted his hat.
"Nope."
Her confidence faltered. She nervously drummed her fingers on her knees as she watched him. She could have sat there and observed him all night. There was something about Edward Cullen.
"But I will buy you a drink."
Her fingers paused, before they came up to her lips as she bit flirtatiously on her nails.
Twenty minutes passed when she shut the door to his Camaro.
"Do you live around here?" she asked, buckling herself in.
"Nope."
"I don't live around here either."
"Doesn't matter."
The purr of his engine was rich and loud as he blew passed several exits on the highway. The car was silent the entire ride. He was glad. He didn't want her to speak and remind him of who she wasn't.
His knuckles tapped against the marble counter of the front desk of the hotel.
"We have an available room for one night. I'll just need a credit card. Incidentals, you know."
The young staff member folded his hands and smiled pleasantly. Stale elevator music played in the lobby.
Edward turned to Sophie.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she responded.
He chuckled as he leaned in to her. His hot breath tickled at her ear, made her stomach flip.
"Just give him your credit card. I'll take care of the room."
Sophie's back was littered with freckles, and it was distracting for him. Her breasts were too full and her ass wasn't full enough. She was warm in the wrong places, and her cries made the aftertaste of his scotch bitter in his mouth.
Her hands grasped at the wall as she threw her head back. Her knees would be sore tomorrow, but not as sore as she would be between her legs. Sweat collected between her breasts, dripping onto the white-white hotel sheets.
She moaned wildly, cried for him to push her to the furthest reaches of her limits.
He shut his eyes. Her voice was all wrong. He was losing focus. He pulled all of his energy, relentlessly pounding into her and concentrating on the memory of Her body. Her warmth. Her cries.
But it was never the same.
He rested his back against the headboard. His eyes traveled to the closed door to the bathroom, the sound of running water leaking through the bottom, escaping with the light. He stood and dressed quickly. Leaving three one-hundred-dollar bills—crisp and clean—he gently closed the door behind him.
See ya next, next week if you fancy it. See ya not, if not.