Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, the series, or anything affiliated to it. It all belongs to Stephanie Meyer.

ARTIST OF THE WEK- The Lumineers, the song I used is called "Ho Hey". Real Indie and soooooo "hipster". Seriously, what's so wrong with those hipster kids? They're just trying to re-invent.

I sat next to Emmett and briskly ordered the local draft before placing the cotton napkin on my bare legs; when my brother explained the celebration, I expected gorgeous babes with catty claws in short dresses- not t-shirt and jean wearing women. "Well, she's pretty." One of the uniformed women exclaimed, her ear-length black hair sending me a cold hard look with it's casual, flat appearance. Back where I came from, flashy clothes and bright colors were a must. This was just one difference I was not warned about. "I didn't get the memo that this was a social event." I blushed crimson and ignored the fact that I was on the two girls at the table not belonging to the military, but to a man with a uniform. The other woman, with shoulder-length raven hair and crystal blue eyes, smiled over at me- I took her toothy grin as a message, "don't sweat it", so I didn't.

"Don't pay any attention to her, Isabella." How did these strangers know my name? she was dressed similar to me, but her maxi dress was billowy and looked to touch her- my teal, strapless mini barely covered mid-thigh. I assumed we would be at some ritzy bar for happy hour, not lunchtime at the local family bar &grill. This was how they celebrated in Jacksonville, then? "I'm Alice Masen-Ateara V." It was a funny name, and certainly a mouthful, but I didn't point it out and merely shook the tiny hand she offered.

"Yeah, she's definitely from California." The man across from me spoke as he cracked an elephant peanut and threw the shell on the floor; we were seated at a high table with elevated chairs, but I still felt pretty small compared to the crowd around me. "You could have at least prepped her about NC before you dragged her across the United States, Emmett." The bitchy woman next to him slapped his shoulder, but I couldn't tell if they were together or not by the lack of romanticism present.

"I don't where I belong,

I don't know where I went wrong."

"I'm Jared, and this my darling fiancé Leah." She snorted at that, but didn't regard me for the rest of the conversation. The two other wives in uniform, one in an electronic-looking one matching Emmett's, and other in a plain one I saw in the most recent battlefield movies, introduced themselves as girlfriends of the other two men at the table. Emily Young and Bree Tanners were both headstrong, smart individuals, and both of them clung to their shaved Marines like white on rice. I couldn't quite place the name to the face, but the names "Embry" and "Paul" were thrown about. As long as I didn't catch their men's wandering eyes, I was sure to be fine. Well, the Leah chick didn't seem to take a shine to me, but she was one girl.

The world wasn't going to end because one girl didn't like me. Our table of ten argued back and forth how we were going to fix the next order, so I put my napkin over the small plate of twice-cooked potatoes appetizers and smiled brightly. "I've got the next round. Two pitchers of Samuel Addams sound fine?" The table nodded mostly, but Leah wrinkled her nose at me.

"I'm not an Addams fan." I pushed the instinct to ask her, "so what?" and shrugged my shoulders softly. "I prefer Budweiser." Yeah, well, I only liked drinking Coronas, but did she see me buying me a six dollar bottle of lemon beer goodness?

"That's fine, I'll grab you a bottle." I really was trying my hardest to ease our interaction and dodge the confrontation bullet I knew she was trying to throw at me. Did she think I was scared of her tough girl exterior? If she did, she was in for a surprise.

"Fantastic!" Her intimation of what I knew was my accent infuriated me to no end, but I grinned at it and snatched my clutch from the table before walking off. I fumed at myself as I waited in line for the bartender, cursing myself for not lashing out at the mean broad. What was her problem, honestly? Had I given her some reason to hate me? Was it my dress, or my high heels? Was it my over-the-top makeup and jewelry? She couldn't blame me for dressing so nice, it wasn't like I could gauge what type of deal this was through a dense brother that only ever wore his uniform or PT garb to functions after work. I enjoyed dressing and creating another persona within me, I liked looking nice in public. At home it was sweat pants city, but in the real world only sharply-dressed people were taken serious. If I was a man, I would wear suits.

"Two pitchers Samuel Addams and one bottle of Budweiser, please." The bartender directed me to the cashier next to him, which belonged to another line of people. I gave him an incredulous look before taking a deep breath and leaned on the granite counter. Flirting usually got me things I couldn't get in San Diego. "Please, can you put it on a tab for me? I'm at that table over there." I pointed at our table, but he was silent in his rejection and turned to help the customer behind me. "Seriously?" I growled, but turned around and got in the next line. Why was life so against me right now? First the stupid Leah girl hating me right off the bat, and now the bartender wasting my time! I muttered under my breath, considering all of the different ways I could kill him in my mind. Why couldn't I make a tab and pay it all once we were ready to leave for the night? I should have just called a waitress over and ordered from her, rather than volunteer to pay for the round by myself and buy it manually. I shifted from foot to foot, wincing slightly in pain when the arch of my foot began to ache.

"Do those shoes hurt you?" I jumped at how close the voice was behind me; swiveled on my heel and faced the stranger, but there was no apology or bashfulness to his face for startling me. Men and boys alike had initiated random conversations with me, but none of them had ever looked like this guy! He was easily over six feet tall, and one of my hands trembled at the fact that his skin was so flawless and an alabaster hue that wasn't very common in San Diego. My eyes did a two second rake over his body- big muscles in the right place, who would not gape like a foolish chit? His green eyes caught me staring, but there was no indication other than a light flush to his cheeks that he registered my train of thought. My mouth suddenly ran dry and I skirted my eyes away from his in embarrassment.

"I don't think you're right for him,

Look at what might have been.

If you'd taken that bus to Chinatown

I'd be standing on Canal and Bowery-

She'd be standing next to me."

What had he asked me again? My black peep-toe pumps took my interest as my eyes were glued to the floor. Oh, right, shoe pain! "Um… no, not really. But I've done a lot of walking today." Having no time in between, I had to get ready at ten in the morning and stay in that shape all day- with a long-dreaded dentist appointment for Derek, final paperwork to sign at Fort Jejune, Em's dry-cleaning waiting to be picked up across town, Derek to feed and bathe before dropping him off at Mrs. Morrison's house, I didn't have one spare moment to waste with flat shoes and casual clothing. He nodded, but showed no true emotion. It was as if he were truly curious about the welfare of my feet instead of trying to hit on me. "I'm Isabella Swan, but my friends call me Bella, new in town. You?"

I held out my hand to him, but he only looked at it with mild curiosity. My palms were sweaty and I was a nervous wreck; who knew one guy could have that kind of affect on me? "My name is Master Sergeant Edward Cullen. I am not new to this town." The first flicker of emotion went over his face when I retracted my hand in a lame effort to salvage my dignity; his words were proper and the meaning was always literal in his phrases. "Did you want me to shake your hand, Isabella Swan?"

He looked so confused, it was painful just to watch. "Sure, if you want to…?" I pushed an awkward smile out and shook his soft hand, wherein he held mine so softly and took care to position it correctly in his hand- the weird sexual tension and his robotic responses made the situation so ironic and funny that I had to laugh. It was the only light subject all day, and I appreciated the minor break from reality this conversation with Edwrad Cullen gave me.

"Why are you laughing?" It was a valid enough question, but he sounded genuinely inquisitive. It felt more like he was asking, "what is laughter, and why are you partaking in it?", was there a hint of innocence inside of "Master Sergeant"?

"Because this is just… kind of funny." I shrugged with another chuckle. "Why are you smiling, huh?" It was the first smile of our interaction, and it was beautiful- his straight teeth were Colgate white and there was a pleasant raise of eyebrows and more expansion of his tight cheekbone skin. His folded arms dispersed when one hand moved from his cheek to his parted lips; the imagery of his self-discovery was almost erotic to me.

"I am smiling like an idiot." He said the expression as if he was a mere child repeating what he heard from two adults talking in another room. Another giggle left my mouth at the thought of a grown man like him barely smiling for the first time in his life at this very moment. Marines were trained to be ruthless, always ready for war, and unfeeling to the common human emotions that could keep them from sticking to their protocol- but was this really his first awareness of a smile? Out of nowhere, his warm hand shot out and touched my face; I flinched away out of sheer surprise, but stayed still as his hand went over my cheekbones and settled at my lips. It was half mesmerizing, half unsettling. It was almost like he had no awareness of another's private area and if he did realize mt outward uneasiness, he sure didn't show it. Did he know how to show embarrassment, aside from that cute but minuscule red-faced blush? When I tried to move away from his random fingers, he stilled me with two hands- I instinctively pushed away from him in a small struggle for what I thought was my safety. One moment, he's shy white knight and the next he's some pushy, touchy-feely guy?

It wasn't until the teller called for the next customer that he let go of with a sudden realization. "You didn't like me touching you. I- I… I do, I mean that…" But then his face morphed into this evil man snarl and he turned quickly on his foot and stormed out of the restaurant, slamming the swinging front doors with a lot more force than he used with me.