Hello everyone! I really do love you guys... like, a lot. If you're new to this party, follow the story and keep on keepin' on with us! If you've been here before and you came back, I send you as many sassy eye winks and hugs as my bandwidth will allow.

Today is Kristen Stewart's 23rd birthday. Tomorrow is my 23rd birthday. It is not illogical to believe that if I was born 24 hours earlier I'd be in a whirlwind love affair with Robert Pattinson; don't try to tell me otherwise. Tomorrow, I'm going to drown these sensible sorrows in buffalo wings and frozen margaritas at happy hour and eat as much mint chocolate chip ice cream as I want. It's my party, I can pig out if I want to!

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all of Twilight, I'm just living in a fantasy world.

"This is not a Lemon Drop!" Rosalie shoved the glass off of the bar and as I squeezed my eyes closed and grimaced, I heard the glass shatter on the floor. The unfortunate girl who made the drink looked like she had just been told that Santa Claus didn't exist.

"How do you expect to work at my club if you can't make a decent drink… or clean up broken glass for that matter?" The prospective bartender's chin quivered while Rosalie's clenched in resolution.

"Um…" Emily, the girl who offended Rosalie with her drink, balked back under the icy gaze that was being thrown at her.

"Do you think that you'll be able to make an Adonis Chariot or a Grecian Isle Tea if you can't do something as simple as mix lemon juice, sugar and vodka together?"

"Rosalie maybe she ca—"

"No. You can leave, Emma. Don't expect a call back." She huffed and wrote something down in her black auditions binder as Emily slumped away from the center bar and towards the exit. I got the broom that was under the bar and cleaned up the broken glass while Rosalie made notes on a girl she knew she'd never hire.

Day five of Cyprus' open call was going just as the previous four had gone. Most of the girls that came in either looked like they'd spent most of their time drunk on their ass in the club or didn't look old enough to get in. I felt bad for some of them; at the end of each day at least two girls left the interview in tears because they couldn't follow simple eight-counts or work a bar tap. There weren't any rehearsed dance routines performed at the club because goddesses weren't hired to 'put on a show' but Rosalie said that if they didn't have rhythm to get through something as simple as a few counts they'd never be able to emote well enough to be on the club's podiums. I didn't challenge her anymore when she sent good bartenders away because their footwork was wrong.

"This is ridiculous. How many more girls are on the list?"

"There's one more round of four scheduled for the day but they won't be in for another hour." When I was asked to help her find new girls I didn't think I'd be a glorified secretary. Besides showing them a simple dance number that Rosalie had taught me to teach them, all I did was schedule interviews and hand the occasional girl a tissue as she got ready to leave.

"I'm going for lunch, do you want to come?" did I just get invited on a lunch date by Rosalie Hale?

"Umm... I actually have leftovers from last night, Chicken Marengo with penne."

Marengo? Is that Italian?"

"Marengo is a place in Italy but the dish the dish is French in origin. After Napoleon won a battle there his chef made it for him and he thought it was his lucky meal. Its chicken and crayfish and cognac and a little—"

"Enjoy the history lesson, I'll stick with Italian. I need a pizza, a whole pepperoni pizza with garlic...and ranch dressing… and a diet Coke."

One thing that I did find strange during the daily auditions was Rosalie's casualness towards me. She'd make small talk in between girls and even asked me about my weekend plans, as if those had existed. Once I started my half shift at the club, it'd be like it normally was; Rosalie was her usual aloof and in-charge self during opening hours.

Besides my boss's 'friendliness', getting used to the temporary hours was taking some getting used to, also. We usually started around ten in the morning, and were finished by three at the latest. I'd go home and rest and do laundry or make a quick meal, come back to the club to work from eight to midnight, and sleep until the next morning. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world but I was getting paid for a full night as well as the hours I put in during the day, so I wasn't complaining too much.

After the lunch break, a few promising dancers who could actually make Vegas Bombs, and no tears at the end of the tryouts, I was on my way out the door when Rosalie walked into the changing room. "Bella, I don't need you tonight, or this weekend."

"What? Why, is something wrong?"

"Why would you think that something is wrong?"

"Because it's Friday and you're giving me the busiest nights off. Did I do something wrong?"

"No. you've been a big help this week and you're here every weekend as it is. Plus, you're getting bags under your eyes. Get some sleep this weekend and we'll start the auditions back up on Monday morning."

"Bags? Are you seri—", I walked to the closest make-up station and was about to go into hysterics when an unfamiliar laugh interrupted my panic. Rosalie Hale had… mad a joke at my expense, and was laughing?

"Funny." I frowned into the mirror when I realized that it was indeed a joke.

"I try." That was a lie.

"Comedy isn't your strong suit, Rosalie. You should stick to making people cry."

"It's always fun. Seriously though, Bella, take the weekend off and have fun. I've seen you enough for the week as it is."

"Fine. I'll splurge on some fancy anti-baggage cream for me and a nice walker for you, Nana Hale." Did I just mock my boss? This day was definitely a weird one.

Rosalie laughed and shook her head, then turned and walked down the hallway to her office. "Bye, Bella," she called while opening the door.

"Bye, have a good weekend."

I hopped in my truck, and hummed at the sun's amplified warmth through the windshield. It was only early May but the weather was great for Seattle. The sun was out, the white clouds drifted lazily in the sky and the trees lining the downtown streets were bright green. What was I going to do with an entire weekend?

When I got back to the apartment, after driving around looking for a parking space that wasn't a mile away from my building, Angela was already back and lounging on the couch watching one of those cheesy daytime talk shows. A woman on the screen flipped over a sign she was holding that said 'I'm Actually A Man'. "Bella! You're back, you won't believe what happened today!"

"Well from what you're watching, I'm going to say that Paula is actually a Paul."

"What?" Angela glanced at the TV and what appeared to be a woman in a shiny purple costume was giving someone in the audience a lap dance. "No! This is serious, this is fate!"

I couldn't help but giggle at her enthusiasm. I tossed my bag on the coffee table and sat in the armchair that I standing by.

"Do you remember Ben from high school?"

I though back to the time I spent at Forks High School and drew a blank. The two years that I lived with my dad were rough. I moved from my mom's in Phoenix and something in the Washington air made me grow hips and boobs towards the end of my junior year. Those were two things that I'd assumed I'd just never have, and they scared my dad shitless. If it weren't for the saleswomen in Victoria's Secret I would've worn sports bras and sweatshirts to every dance I was dragged to. By the time senior year rolled around most guys were too afraid to ask the police chief's daughter out on a date, and the ones that did find the courage to usually didn't make it that far into the house when they picked me up. Charlie made it a habit of hanging his gun on the coat rack by the door and even though he barely hunted, he'd always be cleaning his shotgun, even when it wasn't deer hunting season. Like I said, rough.

I drew a blank and just shrugged.

"Gosh, Bella, Benjamin Cheney! He was only the smartest guy we went to school with, captain of the debate team."

My first day at FHS flashed in my mind. Ben Cheney took it upon himself to show me around school, it was a noble thing to do but one of the football players threw him in a locker right before lunch and flipped the lock. I grimaced at the memory. From what I could remember he was a nice guy with really bad acne. "What about him?"

"I saw him today downtown! He went to Brown for engineering but now he's back in Washington. He saw me when I was headed to my internship and stopped me on the street!"

"Wow he recognized you after seven years?"

"Yeah! That's what I had to tell you! He went on about how he always had a crush on me in high school and even asked me out to dinner! He said it was just to catch up but god, he's gotten really cute, Bella. I don't know if my ovaries can handle this!" Angela was beaming. She looked like she was twelve and someone told her she was going to spend the day with Justin Bieber; really cute but a little scary.

"That's great, Ang. When you think you'll go?"

"He wants to have dinner tomorrow night at some restaurant by the water. This guy is fine, Bella. No acne, all muscle and he's interested in me? What am I going to wear? I wish you could help me find a dress."

"Actually, I can. I have the whole weekend off."

"Really? This is great! We have to go now!"

Before I could even respond Angela was off the couch and racing to her room to get her purse.

~oOo~

Less than an hour after I walked into my apartment I was in Macy's with Angela convincing her to buy the sexier, slightly more expensive dress, and not the one that 'fit her price range'.

"Bella, I'm not going to spend all that money on some dress, I barely have enough to cover my part of the rent as it is." She put the tan strapless bandage dress back on the rack and looked at the light purple wrap dress with a wistful look and let out a determined sigh.

Part of the reason why I hated shopping with Angela was because she always downgraded to something mediocre just because me paying more for rent and utilities made her uncomfortable.

"Angela Weber, if you don't buy this dress I'm going to buy it for you. That purple dress is something my mother would wear for a light lunch with her baseball wife friends. Put it back right now!" She looked at me with wide eyes and then around the store, there were some people staring but I didn't care.

"If you want to impress this guy then you need to wow him and a wrap dress on the winter clearance rack just won't do that. It's still here for a reason so leave it here." I really didn't mind her treating herself to something nice. The dress was cute and would always be in style, not like the heavy cut of fabric she was considering.

"I'm not getting this dress, Bella Swan, and that's final."

"Fine. You're right, Angela."

"I am?" Angela looked at me in disbelief. As if I would really let her win this one.

"Yes, you're not getting that dress... because I already have!" I quickly grabbed the dress off the rack and sprinted to the register by the dressing room. God help me, if I ended up tripping over my own feet now I'd never forgive myself.

Before the saleswoman could complete her spiel asking me is I'd found everything I needed or if I wanted to sign up for a store credit account, I shook my head quickly and smiled, "I'd like to purchase this dress, please. I'm sorry, but I really don't have time for semantics."

"Oh, alright, ma'am. Would you like me to—"

"Don't ring up that dress, miss." Angela came stalking from behind me, with irritation etched all over her face.

"Um…"

"Please, ring up the dress. I want to buy it; she doesn't wish to buy it…." I looked at her name tag, "… Caroline. I want this dress, Caroline." Working the bar, I learned that when you people addressed you by name, they were more likely to yield to you. John would buy the more expensive drink for the cute girl he'd been eye banging all night, and Maria would agree with me when I insisted that she should catch a cab home instead of dancing on the bar I didn't want scuffed up.

"I'm sorry, miss, but if she wants the dress and you don't I have to ring her up." I pulled out my bank card before Caroline could even ask me, and turned around to Angela with a superior smirk. Part of me wanted to stick my tongue out at her and chant 'nana nana, boo boo' but I didn't think Caroline would approve.

"I can't believe you did that," Angela groaned as we walked away from the register. Caroline handed me the receipt and my card and with a confused look on her face. She wished us a good day as she took the purple dress that could double as a robe and hung it on the return rack behind her.

I took the dress out of the bag and held it up to my body. Angela was a size 2 and there was no way I would be able to fit my size 8 waist in the dress without passing out. Doing my best Carrie Bradshaw impersonation I airily said, "Oh look, I have this dress. It's too small for me; what ever will I do with it?"

"Very funny, Bella."

"Oh please, you know you want to wear this dress and blow Ben Cheney's mind."

"I don't need you to support me."

I stopped walking and furrowed my eyebrows. "I'm not supporting you, at least not financially. You do your part, Ang. You really do."

"I'll wear the damned dress, but only because you already bought it." Angela snatched the dress from me and began to fold it. "But I'm going to pay you back."

"Fine. You deserve nice things." I handed her the Macy's bag and she shoved the dress into it without a second thought.

"You're amazing. The irony in this doesn't bother you at all, does it?"

"Irony?"

"Yes, Isabella, irony. You're pepping me up for a date and telling me about the nice things that I deserve but you won't even go out on a date with a guy that's interested in you." Angela raised her eyebrow at me.

"What guy?"

"The funeral guy that you met."

Oy. It had been two weeks since Beautiful Man bought me the blue orchids and smiled at me. The flowers paired with the white lilies looked like a bridal bouquet and every time I looked at them I couldn't help but grit my teeth. Angela said they looked like a funeral arrangement. Neither comparison made me happy. "That's different, Angela."

"How?"

I huffed and restarted our original pace. Maybe if I showed my disdain for this topic, Angela would get the hint and drop it.

"Well, I'm waiting." Dammit Angela and her long ass legs.

"I don't even know this guy. We went to high school with Ben."

"You said it yourself; it's been almost seven years since we graduated; that's almost a decade. I'm a different person than when I was in high school, and I bet he is to after being on the east coast for years. I didn't even recognize Ben when I saw him. It's not that far off from you and your guy."

"He's not my guy."

"You have a terrible double standard. I should have a life but you can be a barmaid that doubles as an old maid? You're afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Yes, you're afraid, a punk, cute little puppy with her tail between her legs."

"I am not afraid of anything, much less Be—… him." I hadn't told Angela about the name I'd given Beautiful Man. She'd have no remorse with that one.

"Prove it. If you ever see him again and he asks you out, say yes."

"This is insane! How did we go from finding you a dress for a date that you want to go on, to a bet that makes no sense? The second time I ran into him was a coincidence, there's no way I'll see him a third time."

"If you're so sure that you'll never see him again then agree to the bet. You have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not entertaining this ridiculousness anymore."

"Bella Swan is a bitch. A cute little bitch with her tail in between her legs."

We weren't on any direct course anymore and when I suddenly halted my stride we were in the lingerie section. "Deal."

"Well that was easy." Angela pursed her lips together and tried to hide, what I was sure was, a toothy grin.

"If I see this guy again and he asks me out, I'll say yes. It won't happen anyway so I'll agree to this 'bet' if it will shut you up.

"Thank you. Can we go now, I'm starving."

"Oh no, Ang. We can't go yet." I stared pleasantly at her and she wrinkled her brow at my expression. She was going to regret her words soon enough. "Since I'm a bitch, I think live up to my name."

"Huh?"

"This bitch thinks that you need some new undies for that pretty new dress. I think a nice lacy thong and matching strapless bra will do nicely under it, don't you? My treat."

Carrie Bradshaw would never allow Angela to wear plain old boy shorts under a new dress on a first date, now would she?