Usual Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the creation of Ms. Meyer.
"Number 7 piloted the Huskies to a decided victory Saturday,
showcasing explosive passing prowess and exceptional athleticism.
Exuding confidence and maturity that was lacking last year,
Cullen reminded spectators he's a force to be reckoned with."
~ Football . com
~:~Bella~:~
Warm light heated my face, slowly penetrating my sleep-hazed mind until I rolled over to escape the heat and claw my hair out of my face. Opening my eyes, I sleepily focused on the bright slashes of sunlight cutting across me, my bed, the colorful braided rug on the floor. I lingered, curled on my side, easing into wakefulness in the quiet of my dorm room.
With the indulgence of sleeping in, I really needed to get a move on, but one Sunday morning ritual took precedence over all things. With a groaning stretch, I grasped my phone from the bookcase beneath the window and dialed.
"Ah, my favorite granddaughter."
I smiled, my heart swelling. "Your only granddaughter."
Grams laughed down the line, the familiar sound wrapping around me with all the warmth and comfort of one of her hand-crafted afghans. "And I'm doubly flattered. With that sleepy voice, I know I'm first on your list this morning."
"Always, Grams. You know it." I eyed the clock atop the bookcase and mentally cataloged what I needed to do, but my words held only truth. Grams would always come first. Not only because I loved her from the depths of my soul, but because she never failed to prove herself worthy of my devotion. I'd long given up on the idea of people deserving love and trusted only in those who earned it. And Grams had earned my loyalty time and again since a squalling infant had been delivered unceremoniously on her doorstep, only to be accepted with pure love and grace.
"Tell me about your week, sweet cheeks."
And so I did. As I started packing my derby bag, I told her of my pleasure in a particularly satisfying exam midweek, of a boring chapter in biology, of the practice with the Littles. I told her about Mike "investigating" me and the study group. Which led to her asking about the other members of the group—Mike, another brain; Irina, and her plastic status; and of course, Edward.
And Grams, being Grams, asked about these other students in whose company I would be spending so much time. Had I still been in Georgia such questions would have been pointless. At home, she knew everyone, could recite as their multi-generational genealogy.
"Edward Cullen, you said, Bella?" She hmmed, letting me know she was thinking. "You know, Margaret's still following your Huskies. I'll ask her about this boy. She's bound to have plenty of juicy little nuggets."
Margaret was an old, beloved friend of my Grams, one who no longer left her home, but loved her sports and athletes and followed their careers with almost fanatical zeal. "She'll know him, Grams." I dropped the loaded derby bag on the foot of my bed and picked up my shower pack and robe. I started making my way from my room, down the hall to the floor's showers. "Everyone knows him around here."
"A big deal, then, eh?"
I grimaced, consciously choosing my words carefully, mindful of not revealing too much. "Big man on campus and all that."
She laughed, the sound echoing a young woman's mischievous delight. "And now he's in my Bella's study group. Don't let him get away with slacking. He won't be the big man forever and needs his education just like you, remember."
"Yes, ma'am." I rolled my eyes. How Alice and Grams thought I would have any influence in anything Edward did or didn't do, I had no idea. "I've got to go, Grams. Alice and Rose are meeting me for lunch before our bout and I still have to get ready."
"If you got up at a reasonable hour, you wouldn't have to rush, you know."
I sighed guiltily into the phone, but she just laughed again. "Good luck at your match." We exchanged I-love-yous and talk-to-you-next-weeks, and I picked up my pace. The girls were waiting.
~*~FotW~*~
I crossed campus in less than twenty minutes, dodging multiple cleaning crews removing the detritus from the celebrations last night. Huskies football was back with a bang as of yesterday's explosive win. Edward and the Huskies had crushed Boise State. Students had roared through the campus quads, converging in and around the Square and Frosh Pond for impromptu celebrations that lasted late into the night. I'd skirted the edges, an anonymous observer watching the people, their antics, until the celebration denigrated into a drunken mess. Then I'd made my way to my room, my mind on Edward and how satisfied he must be with his successful opening game.
Even now, late morning, the Northwestern sky glowed with a gentle mist, the air more crisp than a week ago, but still warm enough that I could get away with an off the shoulder white tee and raggedy jeans. As I hustled along the sidewalk toward the campus diner, I ruffled my hands through my still damp hair, grimacing when my bangle got tangled in the strands. I took in the frat and sorority shirts working on cleaning up the campus and wondered how Alice and Rose had managed to avoid such responsibilities.
I'd spent hours yesterday avoiding them, slinking between the library, the coffee house and my dorm room. I didn't want to think about Friday and didn't want to admit to listening to the campus radio station's broadcast of Cullen's game. I didn't know football, but since the dawn of my infatuation, I'd listened or watched every game most attentively.
The quiet of the late morning was broken as I neared my destination. Students darted in and out the glass doors of the diner. That Place made pretensions at having a retro decor, but the diner got lost somewhere in the execution. Between the Formica tables and the chrome breakfast bar, the campus hot spot failed at retro but maintained its popularity through on-campus location and good, cheap food.
Alice's text guided me to their table, and I bypassed the hostess stand, taking in the bustling staff and packed tables, before sliding into the booth opposite Rose. Sunday morning meant sweet chats with Grams and, as often as they could manage, Seattle Slammers events. This afternoon we had a bout against a team coming up from Portland who were known for their brutality on the track. I opened my mouth to launch a conversation on strategy, but Alice beat me.
"So now that Bella can't avoid us, let me tell you all about Friday night, Rose."
I gave Alice a dirty look, not sure exactly what she was about to spill to Rose, but certain I was about to be put on the spot. Unsurprisingly, she ignored me.
"Our Bella came into her inner flirt at the rally. Spread her love here, there, and everywhere."
A startled laugh escaped me. "Alice—"
Rose ignored me and arched a perfectly sculpted, blonde brow. "Tell, tell."
"You should have seen her." Alice framed her face with her hands, vogue-style, an over-the-top coquettish expression on her face. "If I didn't know how hard she was crushing on Edward, I would have been positive she was after Jasper."
I rolled my eyes as Rose laughed at Alice's theatrics. "She's just miffed he played my request and not hers," I said.
"Miffed?" Alice mocked. "Who says miffed?"
Before I could defend my antiquated vocabulary—one of the inevitable consequences of being raised by a grandmother—the waitress arrived and we ordered all our favorites. I ordered pancakes and bacon, indulgences I'd burn away skating in a few hours.
Rose steered us back on track, turning the conversation to our plans for the day. "When we came up against Portland last year, we kept the score really close. There's absolutely no reason we can't beat them today."
I gratefully latched onto the change in conversation. Nothing good could come from Rose and Alice dissecting my behavior Friday night. I'd avoided the inevitable interrogation yesterday with my cowardly hiding, but the respite wouldn't last.
"This is going to be a close one. Patty the Pounder is a beast." Rose tapped one of the flyers she'd set atop the table for emphasis. Across the front was an image from last year's match-up. It showed me skating the edge of the track, just scooting past Patty, whose expression, intimidating and borderline ferocious, evinced her displeasure at my scoring points off her. Many skaters were friends off the track, regardless of which team they owed their allegiance to, but Patty made a point of carrying her fierce persona twenty-four-seven.
Rose narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, Patty the Pounder." She straightened in her booth, her eyes following something behind me at the front of the restaurant. "I'll be all over Patty, Bella. Don't doubt that for a minute."
I grinned at Rose's cocky dismissal of the league's toughest blocker. Rose and Alice both lived in the sorority's residence and in all outward appearances epitomized the classic Sorority Girl image. Rose oozed cool sophistication, such that Lana Del Rey seemed a washed up has-been in comparison. To hear her speak nonchalantly of the brutal skater who had to outweigh her by an easy hundred pounds seemed utterly contradictory. I'd learned over the years that outward appearances weren't to be trusted, though, and if Rose said she'd handle Patty, there wasn't a doubt in my mind that she would.
The waitress arrived then with our food, plopping down my plate of pancakes and bacon with a loud clatter. Alice immediately started fussing with her assorted plates, but Rose's eyes darted again to something I couldn't see. I risked a glance over my shoulder and immediately realized what had captured her attention.
Edward and several other football players had arrived. They'd hauled several tables together near the front expanse of windows and sat laughing, talking, and shoveling mountains of food into their mouths.
My quick glance turned into a lingering stare. I needed my fix of Edward. Taking in his broad shoulders as he slumped a little, his back to the window, one arm braced along the side of his plate as he worked on his breakfast. Light shimmered in through the wide expanse of glass behind him, limning his morning-rumpled, masculine shape. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and forced myself to turn back around. As I raised a slice of bacon to my mouth, Rose caught my gaze. I widened my eyes questioningly.
She burst out laughing. "You used to be a lot better at hiding it," she finally pushed through.
Alice darted a look between us, then over the back of the booth, trying to pick up on the by-play.
"What?" I muttered around a mouthful of bacon.
Rose rolled her eyes. "Whatever, girl."
Alice plopped back around and started to smear butter over her pancakes. "Was she staring at him again?"
"Yep."
I gave both of them the evil eye, swallowing my bacon. "I would never be so crass as to stare at anyone."
Alice snorted.
"I wasn't."
"You used to be better at subtle, too, chickie," Rose countered. "I'm surprised his hair didn't catch fire, you were staring so hard."
I picked up my fork and started cutting my pancakes into teeny, tiny bites. "Whatever."
They both laughed, the sound so catching I couldn't keep my lips from tilting up, even as I felt my skin flush.
"'Course, Friday night, she wasn't the only one staring."
Rose looked at Alice, surprise sharpening her classic features. "You two holding out on me?"
I slanted a look at Alice, swallowed a bite, and then muttered, "Pretty sure his attention was on the Plastic glued to his side."
Rose narrowed her eyes at me, then turned her attention to Alice as the obvious source of better information, motioning for her to pick up her story.
"He did have one of the Plastics, but I swear the man's attention never strayed from our girl here."
While I considered Alice my best friend, Rose ranked right up there, with the added attribute as a sort of life coach extraordinaire. She always had a solid word of advice, a clean, uncomplicated perspective that I'd come to value immensely. Rose exemplified the sort of woman I wanted to be when I grew up. Yes, she was only a year older than me, but she exuded self-confidence, unashamed feminine pride, and a savvy, clever intelligence. If I didn't know her so well, if I didn't feel completely comfortable under her wing, she would intimidate the hell out of me.
Just then, she reached for her cup of coffee, catching and holding my gaze. "Sort of like he's staring now?"
My fork clanked sharply against the edge of my plate. My heart pounded, a throbbing beat that drowned out any other sound in the noisy diner. My world narrowed down to the table where I sat and a certain fantasy man. Part of me desperately wanted to turn and look, the yearning so overwhelming it felt like a wrenching physical compulsion.
But another part of me wanted to slink under the table and hide, to cling to the anonymity of the last two years. My gaze clung to Rose's, my whisper rampant with panic. "Is he?"
Her eyes never left mine, and I kept the link, absorbing her confidence until it became my own. She smiled, one of her trademark cool and feminine smiles that had stopped men dead in their tracks more than once. "I got this, chickie."
Alice giggled before sucking down her orange juice. Sure, and I'd like to see how calm she'd be if Jasper were the one under discussion.
Rose raised her coffee cup, hiding her lips as she murmured. "He's coming. Keep it together."
As hard as my heart was pounding moments ago, it sank like a dead weight at that moment. Coherent thought fled.
How could this be? How could I turn again into this non-reasoning blob of elements, when two days ago I'd not only held his eyes in a long, heated exchange but had actually smirked at him? The memory of that, the flash of surprise in his eyes, almost relieved my panic. Seeing him with the Plastic hanging off his side, the image so clichéd, so expected, I'd wondered why I spent any time at all fantasizing about such a guy.
I remember thinking he looked bored. And after the flirting and teasing with Alice's crush Jasper, my confidence had been high. When I caught his gaze on me, I couldn't help the smirk. As fascinating and attractive as Edward Cullen was, he was also the epitome of the campus football stud—cocky, over-inflated ego taking advantage of every bit of the attention showered on him.
Over the last two years, my fantasy had been based on distant impressions of him. Over the last few days, we'd exchanged words, and I'd discovered a hint of depth that only further intrigued me, reminding me that I didn't know the guy behind the image.
Friday night, flirting with Jasper, taunting Alice with her crush, had been easy, nonthreatening.
But Edward. There was nothing easy or nonthreatening about that man.
And then he stood over our table, so tall and broad and compelling, he sucked up all the oxygen, leaving me struggling for every breath.
"Girls," he said, his voice sliding over me like a warm caress.
Rose settled back on her side of the booth. "Boys."
Until then, my gaze had stayed unreasonably fascinated by the condensation sliding down the side of my water glass. At Rose's greeting, I risked a glance up. Beside Edward stood Emmett, whom I knew from a class last year. We were friendly, if not friends.
Alice kicked me under the table, and I jumped, snapped my mouth closed. I leaned over to bump my shoulder against her in retaliation, ignoring the feeling of being twelve years old in the school lunchroom.
With my late arrival, I'd ended up sitting on the outside of the booth. Part of me promised to never be late again, but another part of me insisted on darting surreptitious glances up at Edward as he towered over me, thankful for the proximity my late arrival afforded.
Even though Emmett stood beside him, a bigger, hulkier guy taking up more than his fair share of space, it was Edward, always Edward, who transfixed me.
When he leaned forward, I caught my breath. He picked up one of the fliers.
"What's this?" He didn't direct the question to anyone in particular, but I felt his gaze like a physical touch.
Rose, bless her, answered. "We have a bout today. The manager lets us leave fliers at the counter."
"So a bunch of girls skating in circles, playing at being all badass?"
I could feel my skin prickle as my temper threatened, but there was just enough of a tease in his tone to keep me in check. I snapped my head up, though, tilting back until I could meet his gaze head on. He was doing it again, trying to goad me. "Something like that," I finally said, whisper soft.
He shifted, bracing his hand on the back of my booth, over my shoulder. My pulse skittered wildly at his proximity. I had his full attention, and by the satisfied smirk creeping across his face, I'd taken the bait just as he'd intended. "And skin. You promised skin, yeah, Derby Girl?"
Did he mean to come to the bout? Did his words mean he wanted to see my skin, or was it just more taunting? Straightening up in the booth, I inhaled a little breath and met his challenge. "Possibly."
He grinned. "Like pulling teeth with you. Wonder what it would take to get a full sentence?"
My thoughts floundered for an instant, bouncing between the concept of Edward putting effort into getting me into conversation and how he could accomplish this and bristling at his usual brash confidence. But under the bristling, as always, I felt swamped by my attraction to him and I'd not lie to myself by denying I found even his unrelenting arrogance inebriating.
I wanted to say something provocative. My derby ensemble was fun, quirky, and while I wouldn't have previously described it as sexy, it did include booty shorts, a tutu and a bustier. It gave me the feeling of being feminine and powerful, but that had more to do with knowing I was a valued part of a team than with a conscious effort at sex appeal. The fishnets were just incidental.
But Rose knew me too well. Her amused voice interrupted my jangled thoughts as she tossed me a lifeline. "Only inspection you'll be conducting will be from the sidelines, Cullen."
His gaze darted to Rose, but returned to me almost instantly. "That right?"
I nodded, reaching out and clenching my hand around the warm coffee mug.
"Cat got your tongue, Derby Girl?"
My skin flushed, heat rushing from my chest into my cheeks like an ocean tide sweeping in.
I desperately sought some flirty, clever comment to fill the void. Desperately wanted to be that girl, the one who knew what to say, how to say it—to have the words, know the tone, understand how to wield the feminine wiles that would capture and hold the attention of the gorgeous man currently standing over me. The need made me a hypocrite, but feeling the impact of his nearness, I simply couldn't bring myself to care.
He was showing me yet another side of himself, and I was slipping more and more under his spell, forgetting any reservations, his masculine allure challenging my common sense.
Emmett reached over the table and picked up a flier. Emmett, for all his big, burly attractiveness, didn't send my senses careening sideways, so I grasped the opportunity to turn my attention to him and regain my equilibrium. His eyes scanned Rose's artwork, then bounced up to me. "You do this roller derby?"
Rose answered, her voice laced with cool flirtation. "She's my jammer."
Emmett settled back on his heels, an open grin on his lips. "Yours?"
"Rose is captain of the Seattle Slammers." Captain and Queen, we called her.
Emmett's lips twitched as though he was holding in a laugh. "Of course she is."
The looks passing between Rose and Emmett had me shifting in my seat, curious and impressed yet again with Rose's ability to captivate men. Before I could get lost in that tangent, though, Edward interrupted. "What does the jammer do?"
Alice answered. "Scores the points."
"That right?" Edward stared at me from beneath his dark brows. Someone called out his name then, and he glanced over his shoulder to deliver an answering chin lift. He dropped his hand from where it was braced on the booth behind me. "Gotta run. You guys will have to tell me more some other time."
And he walked away.
Like he'd walked away after class, after the study group. Just as he had for the past two years. Leaving me gaping after him, once again the silly, forgotten, crushing girl, wasting the opportunity presented by his attention.
"Damn." I'd lied to myself. No, he might not be my forever guy, but I wanted to know what it was like to be around him. What it felt like to be the one to make him smile. Maybe I was deluding myself and he was exactly the narcissistic manwhore he portrayed. But maybe there was something more buried under the cocky exterior. I well understood the cliché of appearances being deceiving.
"Well, that was almost a rude departure," Rose said as the two guys walked away.
I nodded, even as my head turned to follow Edward's progress across the room. Disappointment saturated me. I'd failed. I'd uttered more syllables during my last written exam than I had just then, squandering his attention.
Alice sighed, echoing my sentiments. "What's the difference between this morning's Edward and the one from Friday night?" The one I'd almost brought myself to flirt with, the one I'd definitely exchanged very long, heated glances with. The one I'd pretty much challenged with my smirk when I'd seen him with the Plastic glued to his side.
Her question didn't require an answer. There was no difference, of course. I pulled my gaze from Edward's ass where he stood over the table of players. He didn't sit back down, giving me the idea that he meant to leave soon.
I turned my gaze to Rose, my pulse beginning a wild staccato rhythm. "You still have vouchers?"
A satisfied smile brightened my friend's face before she reached into her bag and withdrew two slips of paper. "Make sure the big one comes with him," she said, passing me the vouchers.
I inhaled a deep breath, remembered my promise to Alice to be "open" to Cullen, my promise to myself when I'd moved across the country to try harder to be a part of things, and my very real desire to understand each and every expression that crossed Edward's face—all of these had me sliding out of the booth. "I'll meet you guys at the car."
The car because I couldn't imagine calmly returning to the table after this. My battered derby bag thrown over my shoulder, the vouchers clutched between trembling fingers, I started across the restaurant.
The guys had pulled three tables together. A couple of them still ate, but most leaned back in their chairs laughing and joking between themselves. Edward and Emmett stood near the end of the table, angled so they caught sight of me as I approached. Edward arched a brow, his expression sharpening into one of sarcastic inquiry. As though he was unsurprised by my approach, but skeptical of my intentions.
The expression, instead of intimidating me, actually reminded me of Friday night. Of how predictable he could be. Of course I was coming up to him, he was no doubt thinking. I was female, so naturally found myself sucked into his irresistible gravitational pull. While in a way, he was right, I knew no matter how infatuated I was, never would I allow myself to be just another notch on his goalpost.
Yes, I wanted to know more about him. But it would have to be on my own terms, with a safe mental shield reminding me that this was Edward Cullen. While he might be displaying some sort of weird half-hearted interest right now, his "dates" weren't called Flavors of the Week for nothing. No matter my curiosity, or my inner whore's rampant fascination, I needed to keep the truth I did know of Cullen in the forefront of my mind.
I opened my mouth to answer the challenge he'd silently thrown down, but before I could speak, heard my name called from the table.
"Bella!" A dark-haired guy sitting near the end of the table grinned. He seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place him.
I answered his greeting with a tentative smile and made to turn back to Edward.
"Jake's gonna be sorry he missed you. He's coming by after his run."
Memory clicked, and I tilted my head at the dark-haired boy I now recognized from Jake's soccer team. "Jake knows I don't run the Ocean on Sundays." I grinned. "Day of rest and all that."
He laughed, rocking back in his chair, saying no more but his eyes watchful and alert as I turned back to Edward. With our exchange, I knew I pretty much had the attention of the whole table. Instead of crashing my mood, it somehow made things easier. I knew a couple of them, I realized, and more importantly, they knew me. At least one other had run with me and Jake on the Ocean Trail.
"You're all witnesses, guys." I spoke loudly enough to include them, but my focus stayed with Edward. "I've come to lay down a dare for Mr. Cullen here."
He settled back on his heels, one hand lodged on his lean hips, pulling his dark tee tight across his chest and shoulders. "A dare, Derby Girl?" He laughed. "What, is this second grade?"
His guys howled at his sneer, but I powered through. "Here's the deal, Seven." I held up the two vouchers. "Come to our bout. Bring your friends. Cheer us on. Leave your ridicule at the door."
In the space of a heartbeat, he plucked the passes from my fingers. "And what do I get in return for taking your dare?"
I faltered. I hadn't thought this out. "What do you want?"
A slow, mischievous smile split his supple lips, softening his face and lowering my defenses. "A reward of my choosing, to be determined at a later date."
Instantly the guys around the table hooted, and I heard more than one raunchy suggestion as to what Edward should collect for his reward. Heat exploded in my face. "I'm not—I won't—"
"A reward of the G-rated variety."
My eyes traced his lips as he spoke, and a million non-G-rated options flitted through my mind. Thank God I was already blushing and he couldn't know how his words made my inner whore writhe at the sensual possibilities. "G-rated," I repeated softly, as though confirming.
Wicked, knowing amusement flickered in his eyes. "For now."
I nibbled my lip, then expanded my bravery to unprecedented lengths. I wanted to see him again, outside of school, outside the semi-conformity I'd surrounded myself in while on campus. I could camouflage my desire with this facade of wanting him to come and bring a load of additional spectators for the benefit of the Slammers, but as I met and held his green gaze, I expected he could see right through my charade.
I nodded, my pulse skittering in time with my riotous thoughts. I tightened my grip on the derby bag and wished, wished, wished with every fiber of my being that I could be anyone other than this floundering, confused girl who so often had no idea what to say. Before I let Rose down with a too-abrupt retreat from this suddenly tense conversation, I glanced up at Emmett. Twin dimples flashed in his cheeks and his infectious humor almost pulled me back from the precipice. "And Rose says the second pass belongs to Emmett."
The big guy laughed, turning to face the girls' table. Rose watched with one regal blonde brow arched. "Consider me your personal cheering section, Rosie!"
In my fevered imagination, I could feel Edward's gaze searing my back as I finally caved to the craven desire to escape and regroup. I dashed out the door, back down the sidewalks to the Camaro, where I whirled, plopping my back against the cool metal of the car and breathed. Inhaling one breath, then another and another, until reality began to penetrate.
I'd done it.
Edward would be at my derby bout, potentially conducting his pseudo-inspection of my uniform, seated in the VIP section with the vouchers I'd given him, watching me skate.
Finally. Whether I was ready or not, he would be there.
Seeing me.
A/N: Once again, huge and heartfelt gratitude to Jenny and Gigi at PTB for their beta expertise—seems I'm improving on my comma obsession, though just barely :) And to the wonderfully generous jayhawkbb for her continued support and guidance (even if she did keep a lil secret last month!).
And, wow, what a difference a month can make, huh? Thank you, thank you, thank you to TLS—FotW was featured in the Fic of the Week Poll the week of October 20th! Such an honor! I just can't express the thrill that went through me when I realized those infamous ladies were reading Flavor and passing it along to their readers. The fanfic community has been nothing short of amazing all the way around since I started writing and I'm so excited to be a part of it all.
