Chapter Seven

It was cold when I walked outside that morning holding my keys to the truck, when I froze. I glanced at the man standing next to it. He was glaring at me.

"What're you doing here?"

"Get in the truck," Paul said. I stayed where I was.

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to take you somewhere... anywhere, just out of Forks."

I hesitated before placing the keys in his outstretched hand. Slowly, I made my way to the passenger's side, slamming the door behind me.

He started the car and I flinched slightly at the rumbling of the engine, I had somehow managed to block out the sound of my truck, and I felt more aware of everything.

We drove in silence, I could feel the small waves of heat eminating from his body, I wanted to huddle close, to absorb the warmth to fight against the bitter cold I always felt, but he wasn't Jacob.

"Do you always do that?" He asked, glancing at me.

"Do what?" I asked quietly.

"Hold yourself like you're gonna break or something."

I suddenly became aware of my own nails digging into the skin of my sides.

"It helps."

"Helps with what?"

"To keep the cold out," I said simply.

He glanced at me again.

"You can scoot a bit closer if you want. Body heat and all that."

I moved a little closer, closing my eyes at the feeling.

"Better?" He asked.

I nodded.

"So you can let go of your chest now," he said.

I slowly relaxed her arms and folded them into my lap.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"A place I sometimes go."

I briefly wondered where that was but then dismissed it after all I didn't really care all that much. I was just glad to go somewhere that wasn't Forks, with the painful reminder of Edward.

He pulled up into a shabby car park. There were a few beaten up trucks, one of which had a bin liner as a window. He turned off the truck. I glanced apprehensively at the small pub. It was painted a maroon red that had faded with age and was slowly peeling off.

"You're taking me drinking?" I asked.

He glanced at me but didn't answer.

I followed him in there.
"Aren't you underage?" I asked. He was friends with Jacob, and I was sure he wasn't Sam Uley's age either, so that made him sixteen, or seventeen at a push.

"Yeah, but I don't look underage do I?"

He walked up to the bartender. "A beer please."

"A coke for me," I said quietly. The bartender nodded and got our drinks.

I picked up the cold glass with a jolt; it reminded me of all the times Edward held my hand.

I followed him, wrapping an arm around my waist to try and stop myself from breaking in the middle of the pub.

I cringed when I sat down in an old chair. The material of the seat was coming off, the stuffing beginning to ooze out. The stale smell of beer and smoke was too much as it puffed out the seat as I sat down.

I watched Paul as he took a gulp of beer, and took a sip of coke and placed it back down, making sure to keep a hand wrapped around it, keeping up the illusion.

I tried to pretend I didn't notice his shrewd look, as if he knew exactly what I was doing and why I was doing it.

"Want to play some pool?"

"What?" I asked, vaguely surprised, somehow I didn't expect him to say that.

"Want a game of pool?"

I didn't answer and he rolled his eyes in response. He got up and walked to the pool table, I followed.

"Pick a cue," he instructed, nodding at the row of long sticks on the wall. I stood in front of them, wondering which one I was supposed to choose.

A tanned hand reached out and grabbed one. "Here," he said exasperated.

I clutched it in my hand.

"You do know how to play right?"

I shrugged. I had never played before; there had never been an occasion where I needed to.

He shook his head, as though he was trying to rid himself of some thought.

"Okay, it's simple; you use the cue to hit the balls."

He measured up the cues before picking one. He rubbed some chalk on the tip and bent over the table. I watched. Paul's face was a face of concentration as he pulled the cue back slowly and slid it forward with a soft clunk. The balls, which were in a triangle formation, spun across the table. One almost fell into one of the pockets but didn't. I didn't miss Paul's frown.

He backed up from the table and gestured for me to step up.

I did, hesitantly, forcing my hand into the professional looking position, only for me it looked clumsy, and I copied his actions. I felt conscious of Paul's eyes watching me but I tried to ignore it as I tried to hit the white ball. Of course instead of hitting the white ball I ended up scraping the green material.

Paul jumped forward and yanked the cue from my hands.

"Woah, hit the ball. Don't destroy the table." He ran his fingers over the patch I had skimmed.

I chanced a look up at the owner blushing when I realised that he was watching us closely. His bushy eyebrows were pulled down into a deep frown.

"Damn, lucky you didn't tear it. Okay watch me closely."

I watched as he took his turn, hitting the white ball softly, which then hit the red ball he was aiming at into the pocket.

He stood up and grinned.

"Looks like your yellow."

I stood in to take my turn, Paul stood next to me, adjusting the angle of my arm and the position of my hand. The warmth of his skin felt nice against mine and for a second I had trouble breathing.

"Nice and easy," he said.

He let out a sound of approvement in the back of his throat, as I hit a yellow ball.

I gave a small smile at my achievement.

It was twenty minutes later that Paul was seriously frowning and I was trying to bite back a smile.

I had pocketed all my yellow balls and was going after the black ball while Paul was still trying to pocket 2 red balls.

I missed the black ball and stood back for Paul's turn.

He pocketed one red ball but missed the second.

I stepped forward and managed to get the black ball into the pocket. I stood up and stepped back breaking into a grin. I looked at Paul and he was staring at me, his mouth slightly slack. I was suddenly reminded of when I first saw him in the hospital he had had the same expression on his face then before Jake had ordered him out the room.

My smile was wiped from my face as I was reminded of the hospital.

I stood back as Paul shook his head, and pocketed the last red ball. He took the cue from my hand and put it back up on the wooden holder along with his own.

"So much for never playing before," he mumbled.

We sat down and finished their drinks.

Paul had gone and gotten us refills during our pool game, and I had realised that there wasn't any ice in the glass. I wondered if he had requested for a coke with no ice. A wave of embarrassment hit me and my cheeks pooled red. I felt pathetic.

Suddenly all the joy was sucked out of me. I wanted to go home.

"Can we go?" I asked quietly. Paul studied me for a second before nodding. He downed the rest of his drink (a coke this time) and we left.

The ride was as silent on the way back as it was on the way and once Paul parked my truck against the side of the road right by Charlie's police cruiser, I got out and unable to even find the face to say goodbye to Paul went inside, without asking how he was going to get home.