I think we consider too much the good luck of the early bird
and not enough the bad luck of the early worm.
—Franklin D. Roosevelt
=8=
The end of the week finds me in an awkward position—literally.
I'm alone. In a spare room of Edward's condo, with my legs sprawled out and my hands resting between them. My breathing is heavy, and I'm praying to God he didn't just hear me screaming his name to the image of him jacking it in his room.
For any of this to make sense, I realize I have to describe the series of unfortunate events that lead to my current situation.
When I wake up Monday morning, I corner Rose with the fact the roses may very well be for her. After all, there are two women living here and it wouldn't be the first time someone thought it would be clever to give Rose, roses.
She swears up and down, though, that can't be the case and they just have to be for me. So I decide I'm overreacting and if they're from anyone, it must be Edward. It doesn't make sense otherwise because it's not like I have a line of admirers waiting at my door to give me pretty plants.
Taking matters into my own hands, I have Rosalie get his number for me via Emmett. Then I text him with a quick 'Thank you' and let him know this is my number and he's free to use it, adding a flirty wink at the end of the message.
About ten minutes later, I get a phone call from him saying he was going to text me back but preferred to hear my voice instead. Resisting the urge to swoon, I ask him how his day is going, and after answering with a vague response about having meetings all morning, he asks if I'll allow him to take me to lunch.
I smile because he has a way of making it sound like such an honor for him to take me out.
Quickly agreeing to what I consider date #2, I ask him where he'd like for us to go and what I should wear.
His response is, "Anything. I mean it's warm out, of course, but you always look beautiful, so . . ."
"You're good for a girl's ego." I smile. "I might keep you around."
I immediately take that comment back when he arrives to pick me up about an hour later and he's wearing a pair of dark wash jeans, a light grey button up and dress-y shoes.
I look down at my jean shorts, red baby tee and flip flops then scowl at him. "Don't you own a t-shirt and sneakers like normal guys?"
He squints one eye at me, looks over his shoulder, then back at me as if to make sure I'm talking to him. "Pardon?"
"Your outfit." I wave my hands at him then back at myself. "Where are we going that requires a nice shirt and real shoes?"
"Is that your way of telling me I look good today?"
"Edward."
"Okay." He chuckles. "I hate sneakers to be honest and only wear them when I'm working out. As for this—" he pinches the front of his shirt and pulls it away from his chest "—I have a t-shirt under here if you want me to take it off."
Yes, strip! "No," I sigh. "It's not that serious." Really I just don't feel like changing. So I don't. "So where are we going?" I ask, slipping on my sunglasses as we make our way out the door and down the stairs. "Have an uncle who owns a frozen yogurt shop?"
He responds to my quip with a snort, then shakes his head and reaches down to thread our fingers together. I smile at the gesture but choose not to say anything about it—sarcastic or otherwise.
On our way to wherever he's taking me, we chat idly about the most mundane things known to man. It's oddly comforting, though, that it's clear we're both not one to try and come up with clever things to say and wax poetic about the few interesting scientific facts we might know.
But when the subject of my car comes up, the mood immediately shifts.
Edward tries his best to seem cavalier about it, as do I, but it's an unspoken bone of discomfort for us for some reason. The conversation starts when he asks me if I got to go out again after we hung out yesterday and whether the car is driving fine.
I tell him I actually didn't go out but that I let Rosalie take it to work 'cause she didn't have gas in her car.
"She didn't have any complaints this morning so . . ."
"Good." He nods. "If it ever gives you any problems you should take it to Laurent."
"What if I have my own mechanic?"
"Do you?" he challenges.
"No, but what if I did?"
He shrugs. "I would still suggest Laurent—as I'm doing now. Simply making a suggestion, nothing else."
"Well thanks," I tell him sincerely. "I'll keep him in mind. It's good to have options."
"Where have you taken it before?"
"Umm …" I bring my finger to my mouth and tap it a little while trying to remember. "It was really just a place I found online. Mick's I think. Mikey's maybe?"
"Mike's Auto Shop?"
"Yeah, that's the one." I snap my fingers and point at him. "Know it?"
He snorts. "I know enough to know you need to be careful taking your car there."
"What's that mean?"
"That means the owner's a shady asshole. Who'd you go with whenever you had to get it fixed?"
"Myself." I shrug. He shakes his head a little at my answer. "What?"
"Do you know much about cars?"
"What's that got anything to do with it?"
"Everything. There's always some bitch ass ready to take advantage of people who don't know shit about cars. Always have someone go with you."
"Here we go," I groan. As a woman, I've had this talk and heard this lecture more times than I care to count. "Lemme guess. This is when you tell me all about the scary world of cars and how I should have a man there to protect me from getting scammed into spending more and yada, yada. 'Cause of course women know nothing about cars."
He's still driving but I see his eyebrows knit together as he glances over at me for a little bit before training his focus back on the road. A few seconds later, we come to a stoplight and he looks back at me.
"Are you done?" His voice is short, a little cold.
I frown. "Done?"
"Yeah—done implying I'm sexist."
"I said you were a sexist?" I point a finger to my chest and stare at him with wide eyes.
"You didn't say it. But you sure as hell implied it with that smart ass comment you just made."
The light turns green then and I just watch him silently as he creeps the car up a little, taking the next right and pulling into a parking garage. Noticing we're at Coco Walk—an outdoor mall— the inner part of me that clearly prefers humor over arguing wins out. "Feel like doing some shopping?" I tease.
"Not really," he answers flatly. "Emmett called me on the way to your place and asked me to pick up a few things for him for his trip. He's working and his dad's out of town, so he couldn't get to it today."
"That's sweet—your dynamic with him I mean."
When he doesn't reply and neither of us make a move to get out of the car, I sigh and decide to stare at the concrete wall we're parked in front of.
"Well, this is fun," I mutter, leaning back in my seat.
"Bella." I feel his finger at my chin, probing me to look at him. I do. "I just want to make something clear, okay?" I purse my lips but nod for him to go ahead with whatever he has to say. "Joking or not, the idea I'm in any way sexist or feel a woman is inferior to me doesn't sit well with me. Ever. My family owns several clubs and businesses, some of those being strip clubs. It's not a good look for anyone to think that about me. You say I'm a jerk," he smiles, "and you're not the only one. But I'm an equal opportunity asshole—the person's gender means nothing."
Realizing he's a little sensitive about this subject shows he's probably had to face the stigma and implication before. And with the role I'm hoping to eventually play in his life, the logical thing would be to comfort him, tell him I know he's not sexist and apologize for taking my own aggravation with the subject out on him. Maybe even coddle him a little. Things like that. So I reach over and cup his cheek.
"Edward," I say his name softly. Then disregarding everything I just told myself two seconds ago, I tell him, "If it's that big of a deal, I'll add 'not sexist' and 'equal opportunity jerk' to the list of things I have about you in my head."
I obviously feel a little guilty for hurting his feelings, but it's going to take a lot more than that to make me turn into a big pile of mush. On the outside that is, because on the inside, I just wanna give him a hug and apologize. I figure I'll save that for a bigger occasion of putting my foot in my mouth.
Dropping his head, I hear him sigh then grumble something about me being insane.
I giggle. "And see—now you have something else about me to add to your list!" Everyone has a list. He lets out a low chuckle and I smile widely knowing the storm seems to have passed. "Now are we ready?"
"Not yet." He brings his head back up and makes kissy noises while puckering his mouth.
I grin and lean over the center console to meet him halfway. Our lips touch and move against each other's in slow, soft pecks but when he pulls away just as I'm about to throw in some tongue action, I almost fling myself across the seat to bring his head back over to me.
We spend most of the day in Coconut Grove walking around the shops of Coco Walk and, ironically, making sure to stop at a yogurt shop.
"I've had better," Edward remarks, scooping a spoonful of his healthy vanilla yogurt with berries into his mouth.
I nod and hum around my chocolate yogurt with chocolate chunks. "Me too, but it's good though." He shrugs. "You're a food snob."
"Am not!" He looks down at the cup and grimaces. "Maybe it's the fruit I chose."
I roll my eyes. "Well, if it's that bad maybe your family should add frozen yogurt shop to the list of businesses you own."
"Not a bad idea," he beams—either not realizing I was teasing him or choosing not to care.
Despite being in sandals, after a few more hours, my feet and body decide it's had enough of the walking around. So Edward proposes we sit at one of the restaurants to have a better bite to eat than the junk we picked at throughout the day.
"I'm sorry we won't be able to stay much longer." He looks down at his watch. "I have to meet with Emmett because we both have to be at his club tonight."
"Emmett has his own club?" I ask incredulously.
"No—we all run and own all the clubs. We just have ones that are more our individual responsibilities than others. Since he's gonna be away, I have to go and make sure I know what's what in case shit goes down in his absence."
"What's the worst that can happen?"
"It's a club. Something always happens."
"Another strip club?"
"Nah, just a regular one."
We eat quickly, and I try my best not to gorge on the food after working up an appetite with walking around so much.
When he brings me home, making sure to walk me to my door, he gives me another round of sweet kisses. Then he tells me, sadly, the next couple days are up in the air as far as his schedule and availability but he'll make sure to find a way to see me.
So in truth, the week begins just fine. Even going back to work Tuesday isn't so bad.
There are some changes, but that isn't rare after being off for two days in a row.
One thing I can always count on with this job is there's always something new going on and different girls flitting in and out trying their hand at the pole.
When I return to work, Leah has the day off so it's Sam and the new girl who started over the weekend. Realizing I still have no clue what her name is, I whisper to Sam to get his attention.
"What's her name again?"
He snickers. "Chilly."
"Like the food you eat? Like one of the members of TLC or—"
"Like when you're cold," he struggles to hold in laughter, "with a' y'."
"Thanks, pal." I give him a pat on the back. "And what about these new ones?" I gesture with my eyes around the club at some other new girls. It's a fairly steady day, not too busy, not too dead—so hanging out a little bit isn't a big deal.
"That one," he points, resting his hand on the back of my neck to guide my head sideways, "goes by Peaches—she's cool." I nod, taking note to remember to make nice with that one. "Her," he points to another girl dancing in the corner with a guy I fear is on the verge of a heart attack, "is Ms. Banner. You don't want to have your mouth full with anything when you talk to her. She's funny as shit."
"Nice."
"And I'm not sure about anyone else. I worked yesterday but not Sunday."
"Hey guys! What's up?"
Sam and I look over and give Jacob a strange look at the strange influx in his voice. I had no idea his normal deep tenor could reach almost soprano levels.
"Hello, Jake," Sam greets him, his voice carrying a tone of confusion.
Jake's eyes flitter back and forth between me and Sam, and though he looks as though he wants to say something' he doesn't. After a bit of a stilted conversation with us, he excuses himself and I take to ignoring him for the rest of the night even though it's clear he's watching me like a hawk.
I like Jacob, he's one of the coolest people here, but I'm still a little annoyed with him about joining in on the crypticness at Laurent's shop. I might be letting Edward think I believed him but I can't shake the feeling I was missing something. I thought Jake and I were friends, so it rubbed me the wrong way a little bit. Not like betrayal—that's a little dramatic, even for me—but something along those lines. Basically, it's the knowledge now of where his loyalty would lie—not with me.
The rest of the night is uneventful and when I get home, Rose and I have a girl's night at the house in honor of her leaving early Thursday morning. At one point, Alice even comes over and it feels really good to hang out and get to know her a little better.
Now, Wednesday is when things start veering for the left.
Leah doesn't show up, I'm not sure she even calls, so when I get to work, Ms. Esme immediately calls me into her office.
"Yes ma'am?"
For the first time since I met her, her hard eyes have a bit of a softness to them.
"Sit." Her voice, however, still puts the fear of God in me. "How do you feel about getting behind the bar?"
"Permanently?"
"Perhaps." She shrugs. "But for now, I'm just talking about tonight. Leah's not in."
"Oh, is she okay?"
"The reason she's not here is irrelevant to me, you, and the staff. The point is I need an extra person behind that bar tonight. Sam can spot you if it gets to be too much, but I've watched you working. I think you can handle it."
"Wow," I gush. The bar is a bit intimidating,, but the tips spit in the eyes of what I make as a waitress. Well some nights. "Thanks."
She nods. "Just don't make me regret it."
I thank her and get up to leave, but she calls out to me one more time.
"Oh . . . and do me a favor or yourself a favor for that matter."
"Okay?"
"I'd go easy with the flirting from here on out," she warns, eyes blazing. "I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea and get hurt."
I inhale a quick breath to keep in a retort, knowing her comment is about Edward. What I really want to tell her is to worry about her own fucking life and flirting. But I don't. Instead I go with, "Don't worry. No one's going to get hurt on account of me."
"We'll see."
With it being my first full night behind the bar, it surprises no one that it's madness. Not just in comparing a Wednesday night, but any night in general.
We're slammed, and with so many of the faces recognizing me from being on the floor and running around to kinda bend to their will, they expect the same service behind the bar. Sadly—for them—it doesn't really work that way.
By the end of the night, I'm ready to rip my hair out or go running out of the place with my hands flailing in the air and screaming for my life. So as we're cleaning and wrapping things up, I almost snap at one of the new girls.
"What do you need?"
"Well, excuse me."
"Sorry," I sigh, taking in the barely covered tits and mid-section. "What can I get for you and which one are you?"
"I just want a bottle of water." She hands me a couple dollars. "And I'm Danielle."
I smile at her but squint my eyes trying to recall if I remember hearing her being called tonight. "What's your other name?" I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb at the stage.
"Oh." She scrunches up her face. "I actually don't have one yet. Tonight was my first night."
"What have you gone by before?"
"I haven't," she gets quiet. "This is actually my first time dancing, ever."
Her voice breaks a little, making it clear to me dancing isn't her first choice. I also take note to the fact she looks really young, younger than me and that's saying a lot coming from the woman who could barely pass as twenty-one on a good day. I'm sure there's a story here, I'm sure she might even be expecting me to reach out and tell her she shouldn't be dancing, that there's time to walk the other way, but I don't. If she's not dancing here, she'll be dancing somewhere else. That would be a shame because one thing I've learned is the girls that work at 'Big C' are very much taken care of, and hardly ever complain.
"You'll do fine," I reassure her. "Now about a stage name—does anyone call you Dani?"
"Not really."
"Good, you can go with that."
"So Dani?" She smiles, clearly seeking my opinion. I look at her face for a little bit as her bright green eyes stare at me waiting for approval.
"Green eyes," I whisper out, lolling my head from side to side to see how it sounds. "Dani or Green Eyes. Either one will work."
"Thanks . . ." she stops. "Umm . . ."
"Bella."
"Thanks, Bella," she says sweetly, taking the bottle of water and walking away. "It was nice to meet you!"
"You too!" I call out after her.
"You're a really sweet girl you know that?"
I jump and whip around to look over, then up at Sam. "You scared me, fucker."
"My fault," he laughs, then taps my chin with a finger. "But really, Bella, you're one of the nicest girls here. It's nice to see." I smile softly at his compliment, but squirm a little under his gaze. I'm not sure if he's flirting or trying to and I'm actually thankful when Jacob pops up, bursting the weird little bubble.
He looks at me pointedly. "Want me to walk you to your car, Bella?"
"That's okay," I tell him a little flatly.
"No really—"
"I said it's okay. We're all walking out together right now, right?" I look between both of them.
I feel Jake's glare on the side of my face and see Sam nod slowly before I grab my things from under the bar and make my out. When I get to my car, I notice Jake following me. I whirl around on him.
"Stop," I snap. "I appreciate you trying to walk me but stop. Stop watching me at the club and stop trying to interrupt any time I have a conversation with Sam or any guy for that matter. You've never done that before and if Edward put you up to it—tell him to stop."
"I'm just doing my job, Bella. Relax."
"Whatever." I scoff. "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."
With a theatrical exit, I slam my car door and peel off. Then I admonish myself a little because Jacob doesn't deserve all my annoyance dumped on him. Edward deserves some too.
Which leads us to Thursday.
The day is shit.
And it's not one of those days that start off good, but then someone or something rubs you the wrong way and kills your mood for the rest of the day, either. No, from beginning to end, it's pure and utter crap.
It's a day where you wake up and already have a scowl on your face and a glare in your eyes. The quintessential 'woke up on the wrong side of the bed'. And something hangs in the air letting you know the day is going to end badly.
I'm not for certain if it's because I might have had a bad dream and can't remember it. Or that I subconsciously went to bed upset. It may even be because I wake up at five in the morning to see Rosalie off when she leaves to meet Emmett because he lives closer to the airport. It may even be because I have to be at the club at nine o'clock for a quarterly staff meeting and I realize seeing my co-workers first thing in the morning is nowhere near the picnic it is to see them at night. Many things could have attributed to my abysmal mood. But one thing I do know, is the minute I walk out of the club, and I see my car leaning over a little bit is when I end up losing my shit.
And it's not pretty.
"Really?" I screech, barreling toward my car and whipping off my sunglasses. "For real?" I stare at the flat tire.
They're not new, but they are not old either. The road leading to the club and around my apartment is void of potholes, and I know I didn't drive around any construction sites where I might have drove over random nails.
I look around at everyone's car and see, from my vantage point, there doesn't seem to be anything amiss. No cars are toilet papered, no paint seems scratched or keyed up, windows not busted, so I know it wasn't some knucklehead kid walking around and fucking with people.
I lean down and swipe my hand over the tire in an attempt to inspect if by chance I'm wrong and maybe I did drive over something. But that goes to the pits of hell when I hear Edward's voice come from behind me.
"Hey, sweetheart."
A chill runs down my spine and I slowly straighten it up to look over at him. "What are you doing here?"
With a small smile, he tells me he knew Esme had a meeting with the wait staff today and wanted to come after and surprise me by taking me to lunch.
"How convenient."
His face falls. "What's wrong?"
"As if you don't know," I accuse.
"Actually, I don't."
"I have a flat tire."
"Oh? Do you have a spare?" he asks nonchalantly. When he takes a step toward me, I glare at him and take a deliberate step back. "Am I missing something?"
"Not at all." I cross my arms and jut my chin to the trunk. "I have a spare in there, but something tells me you already knew that."
"How would I have known that?" When I raise an eyebrow at him, his whole demeanor changes—his face hardens, his eyes narrow, and I see his jaw clenching over and over. "What the fuck are you trying to say, Bella?"
"I'm not trying to say anything. I just find it pretty damn coincidental you happen to show up the two times some random shit happens to my car."
He scoffs, but then chuckles darkly. "You're out of your fucking mind."
"Am I?"
"Why the hell would I mess with your car?"
"I don't know." I drop my arms and shrug with my hands. "Maybe you have some weird hero complex."
"Hero complex?" he laughs. "I'm sorry sweetheart, but I have no interest in ever playing captain save a—"
"Save a what!?" I snap.
"It's a general fucking statement." He raises his hands in defense. "And I'm not gonna argue with you. Trust me on that. But please—please tell me what I have to gain from toying with your car."
"I don't know!" I shout. But the look on his face has my anger deflating almost instantly and morphing into sheer embarrassment. "Fuck." I drop my hands to my sides. "I don't know." Have I lost my mind? "I'm really tired," I tell him. "And I'm not having a good day. Delirium makes me . . . just—I'm sorry." I move my hands to the side of my face and look back down at my car.
"Hey." He wraps his hand around one of my wrists to turn me to face him. "I promise I didn't mess with your ride." Then he flashes me a smile. "But cars aren't indestructible, sometimes shit happens to them—like flat tires."
I give him a look that says don't fuck with me, because I know I'll lose my shit all over again if he's trying to be patronizing.
"Okay," he relents. "I'm not saying I disagree. It does look suspect, but . . ."
"No, I get it," I sigh, looking back to my car. I've had so many issues with it, I guess the tire losing air is just one more thing to add to the list. "This is probably God's way of telling me it's time to let it go."
"I wouldn't go that far," he teases me. "But if you want, I can change the tire for you."
"It's just a donut but—"
"Is it flat, too?"
"No."
"Then it'll do. But is it okay if I follow you home and make sure you get there alright?"
"Paranoid?"
"Uh . . . yeah," he answers in a 'duh' tone. "I hate that donut shit. You need a new tire—a real tire asap."
"I'll get one."
He smiles and nods, and I hope he realizes my statement is meant to both reassure him as well as let him know I can take care of it on my own this time.
When I pop my trunk and pull out the tire, I realize I don't have all the necessary tools I thought I did. I have a tire iron, but I don't see the jack.
"Wonderful."
"What is it?"
Slamming down the trunk of my car, I look up at Edward, defeated. "Can you just take me home please? I'll find a way to work, but right now, I just want to get home."
He frowns but nods, tugging me by the hand to the car.
We're completely quiet on the way there. I'm exhausted, I'm annoyed and not the best of company at the moment. And something tells me Edward's still reeling from my earlier accusation.
When we pull into my apartment complex, I place my hand on his arm. "Edward, I'm sorry," I tell him sincerely. This is one of those moments where humor would be inappropriate. "Like I said earlier, I'm just having a rough morning and it wasn't fair of me to take it out on you like that."
"It's cool—I mean not really, but I'm not mad that the idea came to your mind. In this day and age," he chuckles, "it's always good to be smart. Don't ever be too trusting, Bella." He gives me a pointed look with the warning. "Even of me."
"Are you telling me not to trust you?"
"I'm telling you to be careful who you trust. I'm not saying you're naïve, but I can tell you're very accepting of people. That's not always a good thing."
Pursing my lips at his backhanded compliment, I tell him I need to get inside and relax for a little bit. Then figure out what to do with my car.
"Do you want me to pick you up for work? I plan on being there tonight anyway."
"Thanks, Edward." I smile. "That would be helpful."
"No worries. And the car—"
"I'll figure it out, okay? I have to," I almost plead. As much as I appreciate his help the last time, and know he would be willing to jump in again, this feels like a time where I really need to sort shit out on my own. If all else fails, I could ask him for advice or suggestions, but I need to try first.
"I understand. Just know I'm here for you."
I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. "And that means more than you'll ever know."
Sleep doesn't come easy for me for the rest of the day no matter how hard I try and salvage the hours I lost from waking up early. The two sides of my brain are too busy working overtime at trying to figure out what the fuck is going on and what to believe. It's a battle of one side thinking I'm overreacting and the other scoffing and saying no one's luck is that bad.
In this moment, I really wish Rose hadn't left today so I could have a sounding board to discuss my thoughts with. I debate calling Alice, or maybe Leah, the only other girls in my life but decide against it. We're cool but we're not that close.
Against my better judgment, I call my mother Renata, who everyone calls Renee. As far as mothers and daughters go, I would say we have a decent relationship. It's not volatile like some—see Rose and Tanya—but we also don't make a point to call each other several times a week to catch up.
I've been in Florida for about four months now with no desire to visit. And I started at the club a little over two months ago, but I don't even think she knows where I work. She answers on the forth ring and our conversation is quick. She's happy to hear from me but we're not good with small talk so I cut to the chase and tell her about what's been going on with my car, hoping to get an objective ear. Her response is that she wouldn't worry about it too much.
"What reason would anyone have to tamper with your car, honey?"
"That's the thing," I reply, a little whiny. "I keep to myself for the most part and don't mess with anyone. But it's just too weird for it not be something."
"Okay, then if you think that—file a police report."
"Mom. That's a little much, no? I have absolutely no enemies and no proof of foul play, and . . ." I trail off. "Well played, Mother." I chuckle.
She laughs. "I love a mystery just like anyone else, but sometimes two plus two just equals fourwithout there being a big reason behind it. You've had that car for a long time."
"Yeah."
"Now if it blows up one day out of nowhere, then we might need to revisit the situation."
I giggle, thankful to have shed my initial hesitation to call her, then end the conversation with a promise to call again soon.
In preparation for work and to unwind, I declare a bubble bath is in order. After pouring some soap and bath salts into the tub, I turn on the water and head into my room to look for something to wear while it fills up.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I survey my closet trying to decide what will work best for tonight. If I had my choice, it would be sweat pants and a t-shirt. But even on my worst days, I've never gone that route. For footwear I've done sneakers, flats, wedges, even heels—never again. Clothing choices have been a mix of jeans, shorts, twill pants, jumpsuits and different style tops but never a dress. I have no intention of starting that trend tonight either.
"Jeans it is!" I announce to no one.
When I make my way back to the bathroom, I yelp a little when I realize the tub would have flooded over had I spent another minute fucking around in my closet.
Having to spend several minutes scooping the water out with a tiny bucket isn't conducive to getting to relax so bath time gets cut short.
Getting ready is also a treat because no bad day would feel fulfilled without a bad hair day thrown in to the mix.
In my mind I was flattening my hair—however it's decided the finger in the light socket look is all the rage because I look ridiculous. With one last attempt, before it's ponytail time, I try and curl it.
Mid-curl the doorbell rings, though, so I abandon the idea and throw the curling iron down to run and answer it.
I do my best to offer Edward a wide smile when I see him on the other side of the door, but my mood only allows for a small one.
"Ready?"
I fluff my hair with my fingers and decide fuck it; I'll finish fixing it at work, so I quickly grab my purse and follow him out. Thankfully by the time I get there and look in the mirror, the bride of Frankenstein impersonation has deflated.
Work that night sucks, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. You saw it coming.
Leah's a bitch.
Jacob's a pain.
Sam hovers.
Aro stares.
The crowds of people are needy assholes who aren't in the tipping mood. And when Edward calls for me upstairs but refuses to actually let me wait on him, I almost rip his head off. Fun times are had by all.
As I'm waiting for him outside, I stay close to the club's entrance and stare at my car from a distance.
"You should probably get that towed before you get a ticket or something."
I furrow my brows and look over at Jacob. "Huh?"
"If you let it sit idle for a few days, one of the cops in the area is bound to notice and make a big stink about it."
I nod, understanding what he's trying to tell me. "It's not dead," I inform him. "I just had a flat and didn't have everything needed to change it."
"Want me to change it for you?"
"You got a jack?"
"Yeah, in my car."
I nod. "Sure, thanks."
As we're by my car, Edward pulls up and takes in the scene of Jacob working on my flat. "Did you get a tire?"
"No." I shake my head. "It's still the donut."
He hums. "Okay, well can I still drive you home?"
"What about my car?"
"Jake can drive it," he offers up his friend's services. Being beyond mentally exhausted, and admittedly wanting to spend even a few more minutes with Edward, I look over at Jacob to see if this is okay with him. He nods and tells us it won't be a problem and that he'll have Leah and Aro—who he was giving a ride home—drive his car behind him to my house and meet them.
"Leah took her home the other day, so she should remember how to get there," Edward tells Jacob, letting him know he's in approval of the idea. Then looking down at me, he smiles warmly. "Come on, I have a feeling you haven't eaten all day. Let's grab something."
"It's after two in the morning."
"We'll make it light."
The trip to the diner is short once it's clear my appetite is shit. "I kinda just want to go home and lie down." He smiles in understanding but not before making sure I get a to-go bag for my food in case I change my mind later.
"Hey, by the way," he calls for my attention when we get in the car. "I spoke to Emmett. They got to London okay and once he gets Rose set up with a phone, she said she'll call you."
I smile and lean my head sideways against the seat to look at him. "Thank you." Whether he knew the effect it would have on me or not, the reminder of my best friend—though I already miss her—was one of the few things that could bring a smile to my face at the moment.
When he mimes my body's posture and leans his head sideways to look into my eyes, we sit staring at each other for a few minutes. Me with tired eyes and his twinkling. "Edward?" His name drips from my mouth throatily as I feel my body leaning over to him without prompt.
He bends as I lean and our lips make contact roughly. I fist his shirt, arching my body into him as best as I can in the confined space. His hands snake around to cup the back of my neck and I loll it to the right, as he tilts his to the left. I open my mouth in response to the tip of his tongue probing at my lips and his fingers digging into my skin.
It's a battle of lips, tongues and teeth clashing as our bodies vibrate, trying to get to the other. I bring my left knee underneath me, swinging my right leg over to climb over the seat.
When I settle into his lap, Edward hisses and reaches around to grab two handfuls of ass to move me over him. I'm uncomfortable as all hell, but not enough to suggest we stop. If any stopping happens at my request right now, it'll be to suggest we take this to his or my place so he could fuck away my bad day.
The decision is unfortunately made for us when his phone vibrates in his pocket. I growl at it.
"You cock-blocking mother-fucker, this better be good." That's how he answers the phone. Since I'm still on his lap, the phone is only inches away from me, so I'm able to hear Jacob telling him in a panic to get me to my apartment as soon as possible.
I fly back over to my side of the car and buckle up my seatbelt as Edward tears out of the diner parking lot like a bat out of hell.
We've barely pulled into my complex, and the car isn't fully parked before I jump out.
I don't hear the ruckus of what's going on or what everyone is saying. Questions are being fired around me, firemen are telling people to step back, and I can see my neighbors looking around at each other for guidance. I'm numb as I crane my head up and stare at the black cloud of smoke engulfing the sky and releasing its ashes into the air.
In that moment, I'm in my own hell as I watch the flames concentrated on our side of the building. I can't worry about my things, I can't worry about where I'll sleep tomorrow. All I see is the place I called home for the past few months dying, the place Rose fought and struggled to get all on her own.
She left this morning and when she comes back, she won't have a place to stay. I let out a bitter laugh at myself, thinking about all the trivial things that got on my nerves today. Things that seem so mundane now, like waking up early, almost flooding the bathroom, my stupid bad hair day . . .
"Oh my God," I croak. hunching over. My hair. The fucking curling iron.
"It's okay, sweetheart." I feel Edward's arm wrap around me and I fall into his chest. How could I have been to stupid—so careless. Things are far from okay right now.
I hear him speaking to a few people and I recognize the voices of Leah, Jacob and Aro, but I can barely breathe, let along speak to them.
There's a brief discussion about where I'll stay tonight, the landlord comes and offers a few of us hotels, and Leah offers her place since I might be more comfortable with a girlfriend. Edward argues and tells them all he'll make sure I'm taken care of. In any other circumstance, I would be livid and annoyed with them discussing me like I'm not standing right here but I'm too spent for any of that pride shit right now.
After a few minutes of listening to their haggling, I look up and agree to going home with Edward.
The ride to his place is silent. He holds my hand on his lap and I catch him looking over at me several times but never does he urge me to talk or try to overly console me, and for that I'm grateful.
His place is huge, of course. I barely take in the massive space and large windows. I notice we're high up as well, but it's hard for me to focus on any of that.
"There are two guest bedrooms, so you can take your pick."
"Thank you." My voice is scratchy and hoarse from crying, and I cringe at the sound of it. With a quick kiss to my forehead, he tells me I can always come into his room if I need him, and though the idea is tempting—in so many ways—I need a moment to decompress sans company.
I cry in the shower, and I cry as I'm getting ready for bed. And the tears don't stop as I rest my head on the pillow. It's the first time in a long time, if ever, I've cried myself to sleep.
As that was the start of my Friday, the rest of the day seems like a dream or out-of-body experience. I don't leave the guest room and I vaguely take in Edward's coming and going as he speaks to me through the bedroom door. I don't go to work, I don't have the strength—though I should find it, seeing as how I have to buy all new shit. The thought and realization only serves to produce a fresh round of tears.
By night time, Edward's had enough of the Debbie-downer routine, and barges in the room with food in his hand.
"You're in the same spot I left you this morning. I'm not saying you shouldn't feel the way you're probably feeling right now—I had a fire in college and it took months to get my shit back. But, baby, I'm so fucking thankful you weren't in there when that fire went down. That's what you need to focus on right now."
I roll over on my side and look over at him but stay silent. The gratitude and 'it could've been much worse' scenarios haven't sunk in. Really, I'm not there yet.
"If crying is your thing—cry. If you need a drink, say the word and I'll get whatever bottle you need. But the depression shit, I can't let it happen on my watch. At Coco Walk, you said you like sushi so that's what I brought." I lift my head and see a tray in one hand and a bag in another. I blink at it. "And these are from Alice and Esme. Don't ask me about sizes and all that shit 'cause I don't know, but there are a couple pairs of jeans, shirts and shoes in here."
"Tell them I said thank you," I whisper.
He nods and sets the food down on the nightstand and the bag on the floor before walking out of the room quietly.
I don't know when I fall asleep. But I wake up early the next morning feeling much better than I did the day before. I also look around my room and see the food has been removed and the few items of clothing are hanging in the closet. I smile. 'Caring' makes its way to the list and I decide I should make Edward some breakfast in an attempt to show my gratitude.
I brush my teeth, and wash my face having taken a shower right before bed and dressing into the new pajamas either Alice or Esme got me.
The fridge is packed to the brim, and I rub my hands together ready to let my mind get lost in preparing an array of items.
But then I stop myself because most people don't realize it, but breakfast foods can be just as crucial with the 'hows' as many lunch and dinner foods. For example, how does Edward like his eggs? Scrambled with cheese like me, or maybe over easy. Should I fry the bacon to the point where it's burnt to a crisp or does he prefer it chewy? Don't even get me stated on how long I should toast the bread.
I debate making it however the hell I like and then he would just have to eat it and like it, but what's the point in that if I'm doing it for him to thank him. I grumble and make my way to his room so I could ask, but my heart drops to my toes at the same time my stomach lurches to my throat in panic at the noises coming from inside.
The first thing I hear is his moaning and when I don't hear anything in response, I know he's alone. Good for him 'cause I would have lost my shit if he had the balls to bring some bitch home. I don't care that I'm not his girlfriend and technically just an overnight guest. There would have been bloodshed.
The second thing I hear is my name.
I don't have boundary issues, not before this moment at least. But there was nothing that was going to stop me from getting a peek of what was going on.
With the door barely cracked open, I'm not able to see much, but it's enough. I get a side view of him in bed, one leg bent at the knee with his foot flat. The blankets are thrown off, his pants are on the floor, wife beater pulled high over his chest and one arm bent behind his back.
But most importantly— his cock is in his hand.
I lick my lips as I watch him moving over his dick, up and down, up and down.
"Fuck." That's him, not me. I bite down on my lower lip, almost gnawing it off to avoid letting anything slip out and bringing attention to myself.
He's being quiet about it, but it's clear he's a vocal one.
"You like that, sweetheart?"
I gulp and nod my head, even though he's clearly not talking to me.
"Let me fuck that pussy, Bella."
"Shit." I panic 'cause that time it is me.
I make a mad dash to the bedroom and cross my legs to try and stave off the aching now present between my legs. It doesn't work.
"Fuck it." I get up and lock the door, then almost rip off my shorts and fling them to the floor. I try and be as quiet as possible, I don't tend to be that loud to begin with but fuck —the two seconds of watching Edward has me wetter than any damn porno ever did.
With two fingers of one hand rubbing at my clit, and the other curled under my thigh probing in and out of my pussy, it's no surprise I come hard and fast. Turning my head into the pillow to muffle the sound of me screaming out Edward's name.
When I compose myself and make my way to the kitchen—I'm met with a showered, changed, and smirky Edward. Whether it's because he heard me or knew I was spying I'm not sure.
Either way, it's a sign I need to be more careful. And the next few days, or weeks, depending on how long this arrangement lasts, is going to be very interesting.
