2. Nighttime Occupations
"Ribbed for her pleasure?"
"....What?"
"Ribbed for her pleasure?" Edward repeated, about twenty decibels louder than necessary, jade eyes gleaming.
Bella's eyes widened and her jaw tightened, torn between laughing and ducking her head in shame. She tucked her lips into a tight line, trying to focus on the gaudy display of gratuitous condom variety this poor excuse for a pharmacy had to offer. She spoke with controlled calm. "I don't think that will be necessary. Thank you for the consideration."
Edward shrugged. "Alright. What will it be, then? Condom choice says a lot about a man, you know. What did you say his name was?"
"Laurent," Bella replied in the same tight voice. This was unbearable.
Those long, tapered fingers paused in mid-reach toward a box of Magnums. "He's French?"
"Mmhm," was all she could manage.
His hand dropped and he crouched to begin a more thorough search. "I don't think they carry extra small here. We might have to scavenge a specialty shop."
Bella's composure was lost, defeated by a fit of astonished laughter. "Edward!"
He just grinned and straightened. "Can't resist an opportunity to live up to the stereotype to impress the expectant American, yeah?"
Beet red in embarrassment, exacerbated by involuntary surges of laughter, Bella just shook her head and yanked the first box within reach from its hook. "Off we go."
"Are you embarrassed, Isabella?" The humor in his tone made her want to smack him with the box of spermicidal ultra-thins she held clutched in her hand.
"About buying condoms, no. About buying them for my boss... yes. Emphatically." And having to do so in front of this strange, alluring man whose existence she'd been oblivious of until he'd sung before her not even an hour ago, no less – very definitely. She resisted the urge to hiss obscenities under her breath as she walked to the counter with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances.
"What is it he does, anyway?" Edward asked as he followed, eyes wandering aimlessly over the dingy aisles in the seedy establishment.
"He's an artist. A sculptor." A man-whore. Oh, how she hated her boss right then.
Edward just replied with a disinterested "Hm."
They approached the counter, and Bella placed the box on the surface, forcing a confident smile on her face. "Good evening."
The clerk was, of course, barely more than a teenager, his attention perking up as he picked up the box of condoms. His eyes darted impishly between Edward and Bella. "I'm sure it will be for you."
Bella swallowed, painfully aware of what this looked like. She gestured between herself and Edward with a hand. "We're not—"
"Of course we are!" Edward interjected, his face the perfect picture of indignation. Then he smiled coyly. "Don't be shy, darling. It's completely natural. And what better way than... responsibly?"
The clerk just snickered and rang up the purchase. Bella swallowed again, torn between outrage and embarrassment, but admittedly—and grudgingly—distracted by the torrid images conjured at the suggestion. A shiver rippled through her nervous system in all the nicest places. Then she mentally chided herself for entertaining the notion.
Once the transaction was complete and the item was bagged, she tore out of the store.
Edward followed with a lazy grin. "Was it something I said?"
She opened her mouth, weighing her options. He meant to get a rise from her, and if she ripped into him now, he'd get exactly what he wanted from her. She sighed. "You coming or not?"
"How could I resist an invitation like that?" he answered cheekily, striding to her side. "Shall we, darling?"
"Who are you?" she muttered aloud, shaking her head as they walked.
"I'm Edward, of course. Was the experience so traumatic you've forgotten? I've been told my sense of humor leaves an impression, but this..."
She smirked in spite of herself. "I mean why are you walking me all over London? Shouldn't you be... what do you Englishmen call it... frolicking about with your drooling groupies back at the bar?"
Edward laughed loudly, his gilded tenor resonating like her favorite wooden wind chimes. "Frolicking about... yes. I suppose that's what you expected, yeah?"
"Actually... no," she replied, eyes ahead of the dark and nearly desolate street ahead of them. "Well, alright, at first, I did. That was before I spoke to you, however. Though it's probably stupid of me to make an assumption like that after knowing you all of an hour."
He shrugged beside her, glancing between the stretch of sidewalk before them, and the lovely brunette philosopher at his side. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I get that a lot. Stigma of the musician, I suppose. Not that I'm saintly by any means. Just not the cad you were expecting, surely."
"How long have you played?" she asked, tilting her head up to look at him. Only then did she really notice how tall he was. Over six feet in height, easy. The black t-shirt, slender gray pea coat, and well-fitting jeans in a dark wash were doing nothing to impair the visage of his tall figure, either. She momentarily wondered if he'd appear even taller without clothes. Then she mentally smacked herself.
"Since I was a child," he said. He smiled down at her, taking a beat to appraise the sincerity in her warm eyes. Lucid, inquisitive, and almost mahogany in color. "I was classically trained from the time I was able to sit upright on a piano bench. My mum and dad evidently thought producing a child prodigy would look good in their social circles."
The cutting and unexpected honesty in his words wasn't missed by either of them, and Bella tilted her head when his gaze flicked from hers and onto the pavement. There was a bite to his tone, hinting at a much more elaborate story, but she didn't think it appropriate to press him on the matter since she barely knew the man.
His smile wavered a fraction but remained, eyes trained on her reaction.
"And singing?" she asked to diffuse the tension. "Was your voice trained as well?"
He shook his head. "No. I started writing my own songs when I was about thirteen, and... no one was there to sing them but me."
Her eyebrows drew together for a moment as she considered his words, again wondering what might have been meant by that, but gave him a smile in response. "Well, I think it's lovely."
"Thanks," he said, his gratitude audibly sincere. The humor surfaced in his expression again. "What about you? Your speaking voice is delectable. Chrissy Hynde would be envious, as contraltos go. Do you sing?"
Bella laughed. "Me? No. Well, I played around when I was younger, but... I'm so musically disinclined it's a little sad."
"Rubbish," he argued. "I'm sure you just need a little practice. It's easy."
She just rolled her eyes. "Not quite, but thanks. Anyway, it's not so bad. My telephone voice, as Laurent calls it, is what got me my job."
"Oh? And what kinds of sinister things does he have you doing on the telephone with a voice like that?" He grinned at her, vaguely cognizant of the fact that he had no idea where they were going, and hoping that she was at least aware of their direction.
"My day job is perfectly immaculate and pure, thank you. Get your mind out of the gutter." She made a show of tucking the bag of condoms into her courier bag with mock stealth. Then she casually spoke again. "Phone sex, however, is my night job."
A wicked smile and a glint of amusement in her reflective eyes greeted him as he peered down at her, and he experienced a moment of inexplicable vertigo.
Breaking their locked gaze quickly, he looked at his wrist, to the watch that wasn't there. "You're quite tardy then, aren't you? Or is this a job you perform anywhere?" He had half a mind to demand a demonstration.
"Oh, I'm an anywhere, anytime kinda girl," she grinned, hoping to mask the chagrin at her own words. Untrue as they were, they slipped out before she'd realized just how easy she'd proclaimed herself.
"Really..." The word drifted off of his lips slowly, curled and diabolical by the smile that ghosted across his expression.
"So, what about you? Got a day job when you're not being a frolicking musician?" Her grin reached her eyes and Edward felt as though a blanket had been wrapped around him, protecting him from the cold he hadn't realized he'd been shrouded in.
"I am..." he began, taking careful deliberation with his words, wondering how this would be received by someone like her, "...a tattoo artist."
Her head tilted, and she worked to keep the surprise off of her face, unsure whether or not she was successful. Her brown eyes dropped to his torso, wondering if he'd be covered in ink underneath his clothes.
He noticed her straying eyes and smirked.
The tiny movement of his lips drew her attention again and she cleared her throat. Dignity, Bella. "Do you... have any tattoos?"
Her lips twisted in a moment of instant chagrin. That would only verify exactly what she'd been doing with her eyes.
His smirk melted nicely into an asymmetrical smile. "I do."
"Can I see?" Ah, well. If she was going to make an ass of herself, she might as well indulge a little.
"Perhaps one day I'll show you." His voice had dropped slightly, and he made no effort to censor the sinister glimmer in the gentle lift of his eyebrow. He didn't have many; he wondered idly if that would be disappointing or relieving in her eyes. It was startling to discover how much her reaction suddenly mattered to him.
Bella just nodded and chuckled, then attempted to steer the conversation to a more safe topic. "Tell me about the more interesting parts of London."
Their conversation continued in a steady exchange, questions light and curious. The tension seemed obvious to both of them, and beneath the friendly banter, they marveled at the unlikeliness of the situation, demonstrable in the constant flicker of words back and forth. There was traces of wonderment in their tones at the inexplicable urgency to propel the conversation, in spite of the innocent inquiries; favorite music, favorite literature, places traveled, and those they desired to see in their lifetimes.
It wasn't until a while later, Bella not having noticed the time as they strolled through the streets, that they arrived at their destination. She begged Edward to stay outside while she ran the bag up to her boss, despite his insistence to witness the exchange for himself. She won out in the end, to his disappointment.
Laurent was, to say the least, annoyed that she'd taken so long with the delivery, but had apparently found a stash to tide him over for most of the night.
When she returned to the front of the building, they shared a silent gaze for a moment. The errand was complete, and they'd reached the point where they would part ways.
"So..." Bella finally broke the silence, "...thanks for escorting me to shop for condoms."
Edward grinned. "My pleasure, of course. Do you live far?"
She hesitated a moment, wondering if he intended to invite himself to join her. "Uh... just a few blocks that way." She pointed with a finger.
He picked up on the vague response and was immediately chagrined when he realized how his words could have been construed. Not that I'd complain, he mused internally before he squelched the thought.
"I didn't mean that nearly as forward as it sounded," he replied with a rueful laugh. "I just want to make sure you get home in one piece. May I walk you?"
Sense told her to say no, but on the other hand, she couldn't deny that, in spite of his striking appearance—pretty men usually meant trouble—she'd been enjoying his company.
Sense be damned.
"Sure."
He smiled and held his arm out, which she linked in hers.
After another half hour, they'd finally made it onto her block, and Edward took it upon himself to disengage from their conversation when he noticed where they were.
"You have a flat in Westminster?" he asked in astonishment. He wasn't so surprised about her boss having a flat in the area, but this wasn't what he expected from this strange and rational creature.
She groaned in response. "The boss' insistence. And Rosalie's influence."
He chuckled. "Doesn't quite seem to suit you."
Bella smirked. "You have no idea. I'm used to pick up trucks and log cabins. This is, er... over the top."
"Ah, yes. Your small, rainy hometown in... Forks, was it?"
She nodded, digging through her courier bag to fish out her key ring. "Yeah, good old Forks. But I got a little more accustomed to city life after I moved to Los Angeles."
"Where you met Laurent," he clarified, not really asking.
"Right." She confirmed, triumphantly jerking her keys from the bag. She paused and looked at Edward, who was staring intently at her in return. Concern etched into her brow. "How far do you have to go?"
"My brother's pub. I live upstairs."
"Oh," she said in surprise. Then remorse. "Oh. That's far. Rose and I took a taxi, I didn't even think about how far we'd been walking..." She seized her BlackBerry from her bag and her eyes widened at the time. "It's almost five a.m.!"
He smiled that smile that could melt the pants off of just about anything with legs. Except her, of course. "Sounds about right. I hope you aren't in too much trouble, but I'm glad I could see you home safely."
"Could I call you a cab?" She bit her lip. Now she felt like a jerk. She wondered why Rosalie hadn't called her, but then it occurred to her that she might have gone home with Emmett. That meant the apartment was empty.
"Not necessary, love. However, you could repay me by coming to the pub on Friday?" His teeth gleamed from the soft glow of the street lamps, his smile mischievous.
Sense was skittering away in steady increments, and old, bad habits that she'd worked hard to evict came flaring up in its place. None of that had to mean she'd do something she'd regret, though. It could be innocent, couldn't it?
"I can do that. But why don't you come upstairs for now?" The words were out of her mouth before she could bite them back, and she felt a twinge of unexpected thrill course up her spine. Of course, she worried that he'd take it completely out of context. Would that be so bad, Bella?
He hesitated merely a moment. They were both aware of what had the potential to happen with such an invitation, and he couldn't deny the temptation to succumb to his more basic testosterone-driven instincts. However, there was something equally enticing about this opportunity, and he felt his expression melt into one of introspection as he contemplated his desire to simply speak with her more, encased in an environment where she would likely be more comfortable. He wanted to understand this woman better, undeniably intrigued by the array of startlingly honest responses and questions she'd offered all night.
"I'd love to." He fought to keep his face polite. It was dangerous territory to enter, and he knew he'd have to tread carefully to keep the tension from escalating. He suddenly doubted he had the means necessary for such a feat. "However, I really should get home. Will you come on Friday, really?"
Bella's lips curved in a smile, and she nodded her head. She wasn't surprised that he'd declined, and a wash of disappointment and subsequent relief passed through her. "I'll be there. Thanks again."
"It was my pleasure," he reiterated. He kept his eyes on hers, striving to convey that he'd wanted, badly, to accept her invitation. Probably for all the wrong reasons. "I'll see you there."
With that, he offered her a glowing smile, and she had to steady herself against the wall with a hand to keep from quivering unceremoniously to the ground. "Good night, Edward."
"Good... day, Isabella," he replied with a wink. Then he walked away, and her eyes followed until he was gone, just a distant blur against the dark gray backdrop of a London dawn.
Big fat thanks go to my fantastic beta, TwilightMomofTwo. If you haven't read her stuff, get on that immediately. I swear you won't find better canon Edward POV work than hers.
Thank you, also, to those that reviewed and faved.
Something I thought worth mentioning: Though we mostly all picture Rob Pattinson as Edward, and we've heard his lovely singing voice... I did tweak my version of Edward's voice (he's roughly a low tenor--still got a sexy voice, ladies and gents, don't fear--as opposed to the baritone that Rob sounds to be)... I imagined this character to be along the likes of a Thom Yorke/Chris Martin/Rufus Wainwright kind of vocalist, since this story idea wasn't originally intended to be a Twilight fic. Thought I'd share that bit of trivia.
