Chapter 2 – What's the Worst That Could Happen?
There's something about the internet that invites the world to tell it their secrets. It beckons, promises never to tell. And people do. They reveal hidden parts of their lives that they wouldn't dare utter out loud or in the light of day, or even in the darkest of nights. That silent, invisible weight is lifted from the shoulders of the confessor while their burden drifts off into space. And maybe it's read by someone halfway around the world or two houses down the street; if you listen closely enough, you can almost hear the chorus of "me toos." But in so many ways, the secret remains just that: a secret. Faceless. Nameless. Safe.
Perhaps that was why Rosalie Hale hit that submit button last week. She hadn't ever been one to purge to girlfriends, had never been the type to share her feelings and wishes for the future, but the weight of everything that had happened in the past year had finally been too heavy. She had to tell someone.
So she told the secrets blog she read on a nearly religious – and definitely furtive – basis, because who else was she going to tell? Garrett? He was already worried about her, though he didn't say it out loud. Nearly thirty years of knowing him and she could read his every expression. She knew what his concern looked like – that crease that went right down the middle of his brow, the way his bottom lip jutted out, how the right side of his mouth pulled not up, but out. He gave her the look when he thought she wasn't looking, because he knew she'd kick his ass if she caught him, but she saw it, felt it.
She hadn't wanted to talk to her parents about her feelings or the news that had been the catalyst for all of this. None of them were emotionally demonstrative and while she knew they would be there for her if she needed them, she didn't want to go down that road.
That left Kate, their newest roommate and Garrett's other half. Despite the fact that Rosalie had forged a friendship with her like she hadn't been able to (or rather, wanted to) with Garrett's past girlfriends, she didn't feel comfortable making herself vulnerable in that way. She could barely say the word without shuddering.
Instead, Rosalie had curled up on the couch that night and poured her heart out to her good friend Pinot Noir and Balthazar, the Rhodesian Ridgeback who thought he was a Shih Tzu ninety percent of the time and had at one point in time been theirs.
But he'd said goodbye to the dog just as easily as he'd said goodbye to Rosalie.
Balthazar had always liked her better, anyway.
All things considered, she and Edward shouldn't have lasted as long as they did. The way they'd met should have been a sign. She'd been behind his wheezing piece of shit Volvo that in the years to come he'd refuse time and time again to get rid of (probably because Rosalie told him what a piece of shit it was and that he should get rid of it). The light had turned from green to yellow and Rosalie had stepped on the gas, anticipating that he'd breeze through it like any other person on the face of the earth would. But what she didn't understand then, what she'd come to understand in the subsequent eight years they were together, was that Edward didn't do much of what she expected. So instead he'd slammed on his brakes and she'd slammed into his bumper. Her first words to him had been "you asshole" and his "what the fuck were you thinking?" Somehow the yelling had turned into flirting while they were waiting for the tow trucks and the flirting into dinner and sex at his off-campus apartment. Those words were what they had built their relationship on, and for a while it had been good. Sometimes even great.
Their parting words to one another had been much quieter. The fire – of passion, of anger, of love – had died out. There was nothing left to fan.
Last week, Rosalie had heard through the grapevine that Bella, the girl Edward started dating not a month after they'd called it quits, was now his fiancé.
It wasn't the engagement that had thrown Rosalie over the edge. She had come to terms with the fact that she and Edward wouldn't have been forever, though hindsight had thrown the spotlight on that fact. She hadn't wanted to see it before.
No, it was that in eight years of dating Rosalie, he'd barely been able to hear the word marriage without wincing. And yet twelve months later, he was pledging his life to someone else. It made her feel irrelevant, like she'd been his proverbial training wheels, discarded and tossed aside when he was ready to be a big boy.
The wilted rose she'd found on Google images had been the photographic equivalent of that feeling, and the Bull Durham quote the words she hadn't known how to say. It had been so easy to put together, so quick to upload on the blog and hit submit.
Of course, she'd been completely shit-faced and all alone in the house she, Garrett and Kate shared in Queen Anne. They'd been off on some lover's retreat for the weekend, leaving Rosalie with the opportunity to make that absolutely ridiculous drunken mistake. She'd woken up the next morning on the couch, hugging the empty wine bottle with Balthazar stretched out below her, hoping, praying that she'd just dreamed it, that she really wasn't fucking stupid enough to do what she feared she had. And when she saw the evidence that she indeed was stupid enough staring back at her on the blog, she ran to the bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet. She threw up and let herself cry for approximately two and half minutes, let herself feel sorry and sad and pissed off. And then she wiped her face, brushed her teeth, and took Balthazar for a run. When Garrett and Kate came back the next night, she was as good as new.
She was fine.
There was a knock at her bedroom door and she startled, pulled out of her thoughts. She stalled the fingers that had been rubbing along her collarbone, a nervous tic she'd always had. Garrett said it was her only tell, though he could read her just as well as she could him. They'd been best friends since they were still in diapers; there wasn't much they didn't know about one another, not many secrets between them.
His familiar sandy-blonde head of hair poked tentatively through the doorway.
"Are you decent?" Garrett's muffled voice asked.
"I'd like to think I'm better than decent, but you'd have to ask around," she called back. She pulled a pair of black stilettos from the closet she'd been staring blankly into for the past five minutes and slipped them onto her feet.
The door swung fully open and Garrett strolled in, hands in his pockets, looking overly nonchalant. Balthazar was right behind him, tail swinging lazily back and forth. Rosalie plainly caught the look of relief flashing across Garrett's features when he saw that she had changed from her work clothes to attire more appropriate for a night out at the bars, though, and she rolled her eyes.
"Coming to check up on me?"
He snorted. "Dude, how many happy hours have you ditched out on?"
"Excuse me for not wanting to fight off yet another douchebag slinging shitty pick-up lines," she shot back as he sat on the edge of her bed, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Balthazar plopped down at his feet, looking up at Rosalie with plaintive eyes. She shot him an apologetic look, wishing that she could curl up with him on the couch and watch a movie.
"You do seem to be a magnet for them," Garrett admitted.
It was her turn to snort. She walked over to her dresser, removing the opal ring her mom had given her for her sixteenth birthday, and reached for her lemon verbena lotion. She looked at her reflection as she worked the lotion into her skin. Her eyes were tired, a little tight at the corners, holding on to the tension she hadn't found a way to let go of. "Right, forget being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. My superpower is attracting every lame guy in the Seattle metropolitan area."
"Not that you're looking."
Rosalie caught Garrett's eye in the mirror. He'd said it casually, but his gaze was fixed on her, probing, knowing. She looked away and slid her ring back on, her heart constricting. "No point," she clipped out.
She hadn't gone out of her way to date since things had ended with Edward. Garrett had brought it up after six months, his voice edged with a foreign tenderness that in the moment had made her snap at him to mind his business. Later, it had spurred the tears that silently soaked into her pillow.
She'd been telling herself all these months that there was no one out there for her, that she was destined to be the girl who would never fit the mold men sculpted for her. She knew what they saw when they looked at her – a beautiful face and body, a centerfold. A fantasy. They rarely wanted to discover what was underneath the blonde hair and the curves and she knew that. She'd been on the receiving end of way too many stupid pick-up lines and third dates that led to turned-down invitations home to think otherwise. With the exception of Edward, it had happened time and time again. She expected it, anticipated it, so she didn't bother trying.
But deep down, she wondered if she was scared of the possibility that there was someone out there for her, someone who would take the time to dig deeper. She didn't want to believe in love again, to give years and herself only to have it all taken away.
"Yeah, so about that…" Garrett said, rubbing the back of his neck. Rosalie turned on her heel, recognizing his slightly sheepish tone.
"The dumbass in your voice just went up about five hundred decibels."
"One of my buddies from work is going to be at the bar tonight and I want you to meet him," he continued, ignoring her insult.
She stared at him incredulously. "Garrett."
"Rosalie," he responded suavely, throwing her a grin.
"I don't want to be set up with any of your friends."
"Why not?"
"Because your friends are assholes." That was a gross exaggeration, but she couldn't help thinking of the guys he played ball with at the court down the street, the same ones that always talked to her tits instead of her face. She thought of the co-workers she'd met at holiday parties and sports events and happy hours much like the one they were about to go to. Maybe they were nice guys, but they'd only ever wanted one thing from her. She didn't feel like dealing with that tonight, not when she was still feeling the sting of Edward's big news.
"Case in point," Garrett replied, gesturing to her as he stood up.
"I'm serious." She reached out to punch him but he dodged her easily, his body hard-wired after so many years of this dance.
He shot her an indignant look. "Shit, so am I."
"Well, then why are you trying to set this guy up with me?"
Garrett crossed his arms and appraised her for a long moment before answering. "Because, despite what you seem to believe since you and Cullen broke up, you deserve to be happy too."
"Jesus, Gar," she groaned, letting the irritation in her voice hide the sudden ache in her chest.
"Oh, I know, feelings." He gave an exaggerated shudder and this time Rosalie's fist made contact, clipping him on the shoulder. "Seriously, keep doing that shit and I'm going to change my mind."
Rosalie let out a sarcastic sob. "I'm heartbroken."
"Okay, listen, let's make a deal," he replied. Her lips twisted up into a reluctant smile. So many of their conversations at some point included "let's make a deal." It was their metaphorical white flag, a way to get back to an even playing field. "You're already dressed and ready to go, right?"
She looked down and nodded halfheartedly, taking in her silk blouse and dark jeans, the heels that brought her to face level with most men. She wondered if Garrett had waited to tell her about his friend until she was already committed to going, knowing she'd have put up a hell of a lot more fight if he'd said anything earlier. She had to give him props for his battle plan.
"So just meet him. If you think he's a total asshole, you have something to rub in my face for the rest of your life."
She raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what his angle was. Balthazar hopped up and trotted over to her, leaning heavily against her leg. She absently scratched at his head. "You're that sure of this guy, huh?"
He looked closely at her. "Do you think I'd riskyou with someone that I wasn't sure of, Rose?"
There was a sudden lump in Rosalie's throat and she looked down at Balthazar as she pet him, letting her hair act as a curtain between her and Garrett. He'd been her support system when her relationship with Edward had ended. She'd felt the final shift a few days before the night they'd said goodbye for good, had realized after she and Edward had fought that they weren't fixable. They'd always had arguments over everything under the sun (the best way to boil an egg, how to divide their shared bills, why Edward hastily changed the subject when their mutual friends wondered why they hadn't gotten married yet, which way the toilet paper should face on its roll), but they'd always been loud, passionate. They'd always made up afterward. The erosion had been so subtle that she hadn't even seen it until that night when their words to one another were quiet, when there was only the soft click of the front door behind him, when the apartment remained silent all night.
That had been the worst part, the quiet, knowing that neither of them had the energy or interest in fighting anymore, whether it was with each other or for their relationship.
Garrett had been there through all of that. He'd let her and Balthazar crash at the sparse studio apartment he was living in at the time, had helped her search for her own place. She'd found a perfect quaint craftsman in a quiet neighborhood on Craigslist that she couldn't possibly afford on her own, even with the generous paycheck she collected as a financial analyst, and Garrett had decided that his apartment wasn't really working out for him after all. Two weeks later, they'd driven a U-Haul across town and she'd moved all of her belongings into the room they were standing in now, heavy with the weight of the change her life had taken in just a short stretch of days. A month after that, Garrett and Kate reached for the same grande latte at Starbucks and two months ago, Kate had moved in with them. Rosalie was still counting her blessings that the two bedrooms were on opposite sides of the house.
Through all of that, Garrett had been there for her. He'd been her closest friend for nearly all of the twenty-eight years they'd been alive, and had been the best he'd ever been for the past twelve months. She trusted him and that wasn't something she could say about many people. She wasn't sure what made this guy so different, but she owed it to Garrett to at least try.
Maybe she owed it to herself, too.
Rosalie looked back at Garrett, standing a few feet away with one eyebrow raised in question. He stayed silent, waiting for her thoughts to smooth themselves out.
"All right," she finally said with a shrug. She was definitely curious, but Garrett didn't need to know that. She didn't want either of them to get their hopes up.
"Good, that's my girl," Garrett replied with a wide smile, ruffling her hair.
She smacked his hand away, rolling her eyes. "I said I'd meet him, not marry him and have his babies. Take it down a notch."
He rolled his eyes back mockingly and made his way toward the door. "I'm going to swing by Kate's office and pick her up, so we'll meet you there at six, okay?"
Rosalie briefly played around with the idea of being annoyed that she'd be showing up alone. But maybe it was better this way – she could get there a little early, have a glass of wine to loosen up a bit, catch up on the emails that had been causing her phone to buzz on her nightstand for the past thirty minutes. She could easily handle the douchebags at the bar until Garrett and Kate showed up. She'd honed her withering bitch glare well enough over the years to deflect any unwanted advances.
"Okay."
Garrett opened his mouth to respond and then closed it, his head jerking back slightly in surprise. "Okay?"
"What, do you want me to be difficult? I can switch it on real quick."
"No, really?" he gasped teasingly.
"Bye. I'll see you at six." Garrett waved over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway and Rosalie called out after him, "Don't be late."
"Cross my heart," he called back.
She heard the front door open and close, heard Garrett's car start in the driveway, and then the house was blanketed in a quiet that unnerved her. Quiet house meant loud thoughts and she didn't feel like thinking right now. She crossed the room quickly to her closet, gathering her jacket and red cashmere scarf and pulling them both on. And then she stopped in front of the mirror, wiping at an invisible smudge of eyeliner underneath her eye, running her hands through her hair and letting it fan around her shoulders, pale gold against the vibrant scarlet of her scarf. She wondered what Garrett's friend would think when he saw her. She wondered if maybe this time it would be different. Garrett had seemed pretty confident and that buoyed her, however microscopically.
Chances were that she'd be disappointed like she always was. But she couldn't help the split-second tug of anticipation in her stomach.
"What's the worst that could happen, right?" She looked down at Balthazar, who raised a dubious doggy eyebrow. She sighed and looked back to her reflection, her mouth set in a determined line. "Right."
-0-0-0-
Apparently someone – Murphy, it seemed – had been listening and wanted a show, because the worst that could happen was happening.
Rosalie had just paid Garrett back for being late with a much-deserved wet willy, an effective torture device she'd employed since they were little. He was bitching back at her, wiping his ear on his shoulder with a scowl, when his eyes slipped just past her and lit up with recognition.
"Ah, here he comes. Emmett!"
She looked over her shoulder, following the path of Garrett's gaze, which led straight to…
"Fuck," Rosalie hissed under her breath, whipping back around. She could feel her face and neck heating up and her hand flew to her collarbone, instinctively trying to calm the panic that was quickly invading every corner of her body.
Her unasked-for knight in shining armor was headed right for them.
She'd gotten to the bar early as planned. After ordering a glass of red wine, she'd settled on a stool that was tucked into a corner, hoping to be invisible for a while or at the very least remain undisturbed. And then she'd gone to work on her email inbox, checking her work account first before moving onto her personal one. The first couple of emails had been par for the course – an email from Bloomingdale's promoting a sale and one from her mom with a recipe for homemade chicken noodle soup, her way of telling her daughter to take care of herself without having to come right out and say it.
The third email had been an alert from the domain site that hosted the secrets blog. She had a message.
Intrigued, she'd opened it up, read it once and then again, letting the words sink in.
I've never been to the show. But I can tell you that I believe in opening my presents on Christmas morning, I've never read anything by Susan Sontag, and that vodka is always superior to scotch. Don't let the rookies get you down.
Her hand went to her mouth and she'd felt her lips pull up into a smile against her palm. She'd posted her secret without thought and most definitely without expectation. She'd almost managed to forget that other people would see it, that they would read it and maybe connect to the words.
But here was tangible proof, right in her inbox, that it had resonated. That she had been heard. That someone else understood what she was feeling, anonymous though he (she assumed he was a he with a name like Mac477) may have been.
It had been her silent "me too."
Her heart had beat heavily while she sat hunched over her phone and typed out a response, asking whether his omission of the more colorful parts of the Bull Durham quote he'd referenced was due to him being a gentleman or a chicken. She almost erased her last sentence – who are you? – but realized as her finger hovered over the delete key that she wanted to know, at least as much as she could know a nameless face, an anonymous screen name. She wanted to know what it had been about her picture that had caused him to respond.
She'd been so completely wrapped up in her task that she hadn't felt the presence next to her until a hand wrapped around her bicep.
It never failed. These assholes flocked to her like bees to honey. She'd tried to shake the guy off but he was persistent, even after she stood up and silently let him know that she wasn't like the petite, perky girls that frequented this bar. Those girls were the ones who'd have one too many Whatevertinis and fall for his unoriginal come-ons, then fall into bed with him when they were too drunk to know better. It certainly wasn't her MO.
Kate had once teasingly called Rosalie's collection of sky-high heels her "fuck you pumps," and it wasn't far from the truth. She was taller than a good percentage of men when she wore them. The added height made her feel untouchable, or at the very least more intimidating. She was trying to send a message when she wore them, and most of the time the guys that hit on her figured it out quickly.
This one was apparently too stupid to get a clue.
But suddenly she'd been staring at a chiseled jaw and the full lips above it had said something about being late. Vibrant blue eyes had silently implored her to go along with what was happening, and she had because she was too shocked to do anything else. She'd practically fallen over when his lips had touched her skin, dangerously close to the corner of her mouth. He'd looked equally shocked and she'd known that it hadn't been purposeful. It had been the only thing that saved him from having her smack his face off his head.
After being bitch-slapped by rejection, the other guy had skulked off to find someone more willing to buy into his bullshit and Rosalie had been left with this man who had randomly swooped in and rescued her.
She was, of course, immediately suspicious. Men just didn't do things for her without expecting something in return. She'd learned that lesson many times over and the hard way. She wondered what this guy was hoping for - a thank you in the form of a drink? A date? Something more?
Sorry, pal, I've got your number, she'd thought, picking her phone back up.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, well dressed and armed with a smile that probably dropped panties from miles away, though there was something inherently genuine and almost boyish about it. Still, she forced herself to ignore the fact that he was absolutely gorgeous. She'd brushed him off, re-engaging what she felt was her best asset in times like these: the ability to be a stone-cold bitch.
They always wanted something and she just couldn't bring herself to believe that a simple thank you would have sufficed. The memory of his surprise when he'd kissed her flashed through her mind, but she'd pushed it away.
And that had been the end of it. Another one bit the dust.
Only now he was coming toward them with a smile that held the ghost of a grimace and Rosalie was regretting ever letting Garrett talk her into doing this.
"Hey, man, you made it," Garrett called out, grinning widely. Rosalie had to clasp her hands in front of her so she wouldn't slap it off of him. Her discomfort often managed to morph into irritation and right now she was feeling both in droves.
Would-Be Knight – Emmett, she reminded herself – stopped in front of them and raised his glass, his grin turning sardonic. Rosalie couldn't help noticing the perfect symmetry of it, the straight white teeth it showed off, the dimples that played peek-a-boo at the edges of his curled-up mouth.
"Couldn't be happier about it, either." Emmett's gaze slid to Rosalie and she felt her cheeks go hot when he aimed those dimples at her. Talk about weapons of mass destruction. Her poor knees were taking the brunt of it. "Hello again."
Rosalie stared at him for a beat, disarmed by his smile and the easy tone of his voice. "Hi," she replied.
Brilliant, Rosalie, she thought internally rolling her eyes.
"Do you two know each other?" Garrett asked, confused, his gaze darting between them.
"Oh, we haven't been properly introduced. But he did kiss me," she said, finally recovering to a more comfortable state of sarcasm.
Garrett frowned and Rosalie recognized the crease of concern between his brows. "Uhhhh."
"That was an accident," Emmett said defensively. An annoyingly adorable swath of pink bloomed on his cheeks and it only spurred her on.
"Your lips accidentally fell on my face? Hmm, that's a new one."
He rolled his eyes. "I was trying to help you."
"Did it look like I needed help?" she asked, hackles raised. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Granted, he'd gotten rid of the guy much more quickly than she probably would've been able to, but at some point she would've gotten the message through, even if it had meant sticking her stiletto through that thick skull of his.
"Actually, yes, which is why – wait for it –" Emmett paused dramatically, eyes wide. "I came over to help you."
Her eyes narrowed. "I would've taken care of it. I have plenty of experience dealing with unwanted advances." She threw him a saccharine smile and then added, just to be clear, "I didn't need your help."
He shot her an easy smile in return, downing the rest of his drink and setting the glass down on the table next to them with a satisfied smack of his lips. His beautiful, perfect lips. Rosalie's gaze lingered on them for just a second…just one more second…before making it back up to his eyes, which were amused and challenging. "Sweetheart, that's one of several things you do need."
"Sweetheart?" she repeated, eyebrow arched.
"There were other names as contenders, trust me. I was trying to be nice."
"Oh, right." She waved her hand in the air. "That's your thing."
His eyes widened in earnest this time and he let out a small, incredulous laugh. "My thing? Since when is being nice a thing?"
"Since you decided to use it as a means to get into girls' pants, I would suspect," Rosalie shot back primly.
Emmett raised an eyebrow, his gaze making a quick sweep of her before settling back on her face. She didn't miss the way his eyes sparked with good humor, even as he drawled, "Well, I hate to break it to you but I wasn't trying to get into your pants."
"And yet you kissed me," she repeated, because apparently that was the only detail she remembered from their previous interaction. "Funny how that sends such a mixed message, isn't it?"
Kate walked up at that moment, her eyebrows going up into her hairline. "Whoa, what did I miss while I was in the bathroom?"
"Rosalie and Emmett apparently have some history," Garrett replied. His expression was a little bemused, like he wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Somehow Rosalie didn't think he'd anticipated it going quite this way. Then again, neither had she. "I'm still not sure if I need to introduce you two or not."
Rosalie looked sideways at Emmett, who was looking at her out of the corner of his eye appraisingly.
He shrugged. "We should probably make it official."
"I guess that would be the nice thing to do," she replied, one corner of her mouth twitching. He caught it and smiled wryly. It was infectious; Rosalie felt the other corner pull up almost against her will. "If you can keep your mouth to yourself this time, that is."
"I'll try my hardest," he deadpanned.
"I'm sure you will."
He held out his hand and she hesitated for a split second before taking it. His fingers, surprisingly long, closed around her hand and she swallowed, off-balance for the second time tonight from his touch. "Emmett McCarty."
"Rosalie Hale," she replied, all too aware that Garrett and Kate were watching this exchange closely. She could almost see the question marks over their head.
Join the club, she thought as Emmett released his hold on her.
She had no idea what to do with him. He'd lobbed every verbal curve ball she'd thrown at him back easily, had given as good as he got. What's more, he'd done it all with a smile on his face, like he was amused rather than put off by the attitude she'd slung at him. He was sarcastic, definitely a smart ass, but everything he said had an undercurrent of good nature that both intrigued and confused her. She'd always used her attitude as a means of either driving men away or, with Edward, evoking a reaction. She remembered clearly all of their fights, how she used her sarcasm to incite, deflect, defend, how Edward's tolerance for it dwindled over the years until it didn't exist at all. She and Garrett loved to verbally spar, but it was familial, brother and sister.
She'd forgotten what it felt like to truly engage; the zip of electricity working its way through her veins surprised her.
More than that, it scared her. It made her pull back, bring up the walls that had somehow managed to lower themselves (however slightly). Luckily, Garrett was particularly enchanted by the sound of his own voice and kept up conversation between the four of them for the next half hour. In fact, he only shot her a marginally put out look when she announced that she was tired and heading out.
"You're a real party animal, Hale," he said, watching with dismay as Rosalie shrugged on her jacket. Her gaze slid to Emmett briefly while she grabbed her purse sitting on the table. He was watching her, his expression easy and calm, holding a fresh drink in his hand.
"Oh, leave her alone, Gar. It's not like it's Saturday night." Kate shoved Garrett gently before smoothing out a wrinkle in his jacket, her eyes warm and affectionate. Though it was sometimes hard to be around them, Rosalie did love that Garrett had finally found someone that deserved him and loved him so much, so openly.
"It's seven o'clock," Garrett pointed out before turning to Rosalie. "You're a lightweight."
"I hope you get completely wasted tonight so I can torture you in the morning," Rosalie replied.
Garrett shook his head. "Real cute."
"Watch your back, bitch." Rosalie turned to Emmett, who was looking back and forth between them, amused. "It was nice to meet you, Emmett."
"The pleasure was all mine," he said, not seeming nearly as sarcastic as she would have expected.
She was halfway out the front door when she felt a hand on her arm. When she turned, Emmett was there. Her heart skipped a beat and her fingers curled tightly around the door handle.
"Hey," he said, sounding slightly unsure.
"Uh, hey." Jesus, she was batting a thousand when it came to intelligent responses tonight.
"I really was just trying to help you earlier, you know." He shifted from foot to foot, running his hand through his hair. Her eyes followed the movement, her fingers twitching with something that felt a little like jealousy, before settling back on his face.
"And I really could have handled it on my own," she replied. "You don't have to save every damsel in distress, especially if they're not."
Emmett's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, flickering with something that Rosalie couldn't decipher. And then he glanced down at his feet, shrugging, before gracing her with a small half-grin. "Well, it was the right thing to do. No ulterior motives, I promise."
"Well," she echoed dumbly. The tone of his voice was a little softer, no longer edged in sarcasm, and it threw her off-guard. "Thank you."
"Ah," he replied and the smile grew until it was brilliant. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Is that all?"
He nodded, walking backwards. "That's all. Have a nice night."
She let out a soft snort, unable to help her smile at the reference. "Good night."
She drove home with the radio on full-blast, singing distractedly along to an inane pop song. When she got home, Balthazar was waiting for her at the front door, tail wagging, and she let him out into the backyard. She wandered back into her room, instinctively reaching up to unwind her scarf from around her neck before she realized that it wasn't there.
"Great job, Rosalie," she muttered, shrugging out of her jacket and hanging it up in her closet with a huff.
She washed her face and changed into pajamas. She grabbed her phone and sent a text to Garrett and Kate, asking them to grab her scarf from the bar if someone hadn't already filched it, then settled on the couch with the dog and a cozy cashmere blanket.
In so many ways, tonight had gone completely differently she'd anticipated. She thought of Emmett, of the way he'd responded to her. He wasn't intimidated by her and, despite the shit she'd given him about that accidental not-even-really-a-kiss, hadn't hit on her. At all. He hadn't acted like she'd expected when she first met him, hadn't acted like any other man she'd run across lately. He'd been a total gentleman. It set him apart.
In hindsight, it also kind of pissed her off.
"Go figure that the one guy I wouldn't castrate for coming on to me would do the exact opposite," she said with a sigh, scratching Balthazar's belly. He let out a snuffle, which she took as his agreement. "Speaking of gentlemen, should we see if my new friend Mac has written back?"
He had. Rosalie's heart skipped a beat and she felt an irrational sense of excitement that he'd responded so quickly.
Just consider me a player to be named later. I was raised to be a gentleman, even if people don't always appreciate it. And because I'm a gentleman, I'll ask you something more polite – how do you feel about William Blake? We can talk about the designated hitter later.
Just like before, a smile bloomed on her face. There was something about Mac that made her feel comfortable and willing to open up. Maybe it was because he seemed to understand her in a way that she wasn't sure anyone else did or could. She wondered, though, if it was also because he was safe, anonymous. He didn't know her- what she looked like, anything about her history. There were no snap judgments or preconceived notions to deal with. She controlled what he knew, which in a strange way made her want to share more.
Still, it was a little scary baring her soul, even if he was just a name on the screen.
"What the hell are you doing, Rose?" she muttered to herself as she hit the respond button and typed out her message.
I've never really believed in the concept of gentlemen, but after the day I've had I'm starting to second-guess that. In fact, I'm starting to think I don't have it all figured out after all. Do you ever feel that way?
As for William Blake, I'm not entirely convinced that the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Unless, of course, that excess comes in the form of dark chocolate.
Lily
Rosalie smiled, shaking her head. "I mean William Blake," she murmured and though her heart was pounding, she didn't hesitate when she pressed send.
This is, as mentioned before, written entirely for the lovely lookingforhoofprints. She bought us and she owns us for the duration of this story. :)
LightStarDusting betas this bad boy and keeps us in line. Many, many thanks to her.
For those that haven't seen Bull Durham or need a refresher…we give you William Blake.
http:/www [dot] youtube [dot] com/watch?v=SFHIUmqMwJU
Need more Em? Check out 30 Days of Emmett, 2 one shots or drabbles a day, running through 12/20. Link is in both of our favorite authors.
See you next week!