A/N: It's a long one, so I'll make it quick up here. I really appreciate how understanding everyone's been with my updating non-schedule lately. The last ten weeks have been crazy - my mom moved from our family home to a smaller place. We spent almost every night of the last eight weeks going through her house and pricing things she was ready to let go of for a sale. And I got a promotion at work that came with a steep learning curve, so I spent quite a bit of time reading two textbooks on a subject that I hadn't paid much attention to since college.
But the sale is over and the job has started. The craziness is slowly subsiding and my writing time is getting back to normal.
I'm incredibly lucky to have a fantastic beta and friend, Windgirl810, to help me, to ask questions, to point out things I miss. Thanks!
My two very good friends preread this chapter for me: Michelle0526 and Littlecat358. Thank you both for all your help!
All mistakes are mine.
Thanks for reading and please review!
EPOV
Leaning forward under the stream of hot water, I raise one hand to rake through my wet hair. I feel like shit.
"Fucking whiskey," I mutter.
I don't know how much I drank last night. Enough to calm me down after I got fucking furious at Tanya for being such a bitch to the new staff. Enough to keep me from pounding James for putting his hands on my girl. Enough to numb me after I found out my girl hasn't been telling me shit.
"Fucking Aro," I say, louder.
I never intended to fight with Bella last night. Knowing she was pretty tipsy, I tried not to react when she was bitching at me in my office. But I was pissed that she'd been lying about Aro, and eventually I couldn't hold it in anymore. I figured she would have a reason for not telling me, and she did. A fucked up reason, if you ask me, but I sort of understand why she felt like she couldn't talk to me about it.
I know I fucked up, too, though. My memory of the ride home last night is hazy; I remember parts of the argument in the parking garage. And I've had enough flashbacks of the sex – of gripping her tightly and moving her roughly – to know I wasn't gentle with her.
And, of course, thinking about it now has my dick twitching. Christ. Pissed off, hung way-the-fuck over, and horny.
"Fucking asshole," I mumble, sighing disgustedly at myself. Turning to the side, I lean back against the cool, tile wall. I close my eyes and try to remember what the hell happened after the sex, but no matter how hard I concentrate, my mind only repeats the shit I already know. Fighting. Sex. Waking up alone in my bed. That's all I got.
The stench of stale alcohol fills the steamy shower, coming out my pores even after I try to wash it away. Nauseated by the smell, I adjust the temperature dial until the water is cool, but it doesn't really help. I need to fucking lie down.
My legs are shaky as I wrap a towel around my waist and walk out to the bedroom. Bella's side of the bed is closer and I flop facedown on her pillow, inhaling her scent. Jesus, this feels better. If I could just stay here for a few minutes, then I think I could get up.
I don't move until I feel the cool sheet cover my back.
"Ballerina?" I mumble, turning my head. I crack one eye open to look at her, but it slides closed again almost immediately.
"Shhh. Sleep, Edward," she whispers. Her fingers brush lightly across my shoulder as I drift back to sleep.
A couple of hours later, I wake up feeling like I might fucking live after all. I get dressed and brush my teeth, wondering what the hell I should say to Bella. Stalling, I hold my hands under the faucet and then run them through the top of my hair, pulling at it until I'm satisfied with the way it looks.
Finally, I leave the bedroom and walk slowly up the hallway, both relieved and nervous when I see her sitting on the couch. Even though she's not facing me, I know she hears my bare feet on the hardwood floor.
"Feeling better?" she asks, twisting around to look at me.
"Yeah," I answer with a half-smile.
"There's a plate in the oven for you. And the coffee's still hot," she says, turning away from me again. "Want me to get it for you?"
"No, I'll do it," I reply. I mumble something about being back in a minute and go into the kitchen. Suddenly realizing how hungry I am, I stand at the counter and eat the eggs quickly, and then pour myself coffee. I grab a strip of bacon as I head back out to the living room.
She looks up as I sit down on the other end of the couch and we both turn sideways to face each other.
"Thanks for breakfast," I begin, unsure where this conversation is going to go. I swallow a big drink of coffee, then lean over to set my mug on the table.
"You're welcome."
"And for letting me sleep."
"You needed it," she nods.
Jesus. The last time we faced each other this uncomfortably on the couch was last fall – when she was the one with the hangover. But the rest of the details are eerily similar – sitting on opposite ends of the couch, Bella is covered with the white fur blanket, and I have no fucking idea what to say.
Reaching up, I scrub my hands across my face and blow out a breath.
"Ballerina, I really am so fucking sor–."
"Please don't apologize again," she whispers, interrupting me. "I get it. You regret everything that happened last night."
Lowering my hands slowly, I look at her. Her head is bowed, her eyes downcast as she picks at the blanket.
"I regret that I hurt you," I answer.
"I'm sorry I hurt you, too," she replies flatly, shrugging.
Worried by the distant tone of her voice, I study her. I don't think she's crying… but she won't look at me. Jesus, I wish I had taken some medicine before I left the kitchen because my fucking head is pounding. I press the heels of my palms just above my eyes to relieve the pressure, letting my head hang back for a minute.
Fuck. I don't know how to fix this. When I lift my head, she hasn't moved. Leaning forward, I put one hand on her leg.
"Bella," I say softly. She doesn't answer, but she doesn't pull away either. Sliding my fingers over her covered knee, I squeeze gently. "Baby, please talk to me."
She raises her eyes, looking up at me from under her brow.
"I don't know what to say to you," she mumbles, her voice quivering slightly.
"Come here… please," I say, holding my hand toward her.
As soon as she reaches forward, I close my fingers around hers and tug gently. She lowers her eyes again, but she comes willingly, and I use my other hand to help untangle the blanket around her. As I lie back, I spread my legs apart to make room for her in between. She settles against my chest, and I cover her up again before I wrap my arms around her.
"I don't want to think about last night anymore," she whispers.
"Okay," I answer, kissing the top of her head. I know we need to talk about some of this shit, but I don't want to make anything worse right now. We sit in silence again for a few minutes. It's not unusual for us to lie together like this when we watch TV… it is unusual for her to keep her hands on the couch instead of on me. And she's never this quiet unless she's fallen asleep on top of me. "What should we do today?"
"I need to go home," she answers. "I have laundry and stuff."
"Uh, okay. I'll drive you whenever you want," I reply, nervous again because she sounds like she wants to get away from me. "I could hang your sculpture for you today."
"If you want to," she says. She pushes herself up and climbs off the couch… off me. "I'll get dressed."
"Ballerina," I plead softly as she turns to walk away.
"I'll be ready in five," she answers without looking back at me.
She's quiet during the drive to her place. She's quiet as I hang the sculpture. She's quiet as I rifle through her freezer looking for something to eat. Finally, she says she's going to take a shower.
While the crappy frozen pizza is cooking, I walk to her stereo and turn it on, scrolling through the playlists on the attached iPod. When I see the hip hop list, I push play, and suffer through three terrible songs before Bella comes out from the bathroom.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"Fixing lunch," I answer, turning away from the counter where I'm cutting the pizza to look at her.
"I meant the music," she responds, frowning at me. "You don't like hip hop."
"Not really, no." I shrug, turning back to the food. "But you do."
She gets plates from the cabinet, and then comes to stand next to me.
"Someday I'll find a way to make you like it," she insists, reaching in front of me to pick a mushroom from the pizza. She smiles slightly at me as she puts it in her mouth.
I don't fucking think so, but since that's the most regular-sounding sentence she's spoken to me all day, I'm not gonna fucking argue about it. Instead, I smile back at her and lean down, pressing my lips softly against hers.
We spend the rest of the day together at her place, but things are still weird. We're overly polite to each other. Our conversations are superficial and strained. The only things that amuse her at all are my hangover and the way I smell.
I shower again before bed, hoping to wash off the lingering stink. When I walk into her bedroom in just my boxer briefs, she's already lying down, facing away from me. I know she's tired and she has to work tomorrow, but I doubt she's asleep yet. Pulling the covers back carefully, I get in bed and roll toward her, curling myself up behind her.
"Ballerina," I say against her shoulder as I wrap my arm around her waist. I'm not even sure what I want to say to her.
"Yeah?" Her voice is hushed. I press my lips to her skin and clear my throat softly, hesitating… stalling… trying to figure out something to say besides "I'm sorry". As the silent seconds tick by, I hear her sigh heavily. Then she cuts off any further conversation. "Goodnight, Edward."
She burrows down into the bed, pulling her pillow with her. I keep my hand on her, but I don't follow her down like usual, unsure if she wants me to.
"Night."
Saturday night, I sit on a stool at the Full Moon, nursing my beer and watching Emmett and Ben tend bar. I've been wasting time over here while Bella's next door working on dances for her classes. I was planning to take her out tonight, but she insisted that she'd had these plans with Alice for weeks. So I offered to drive her here and leave her alone for three hours. In return, she agreed to leave at nine – which is ten minutes from now.
Blowing out a breath, I drag my hand through the top of my hair twice, and then drain my beer.
"You want another, E?" Em asks as he trashes the empty bottle behind the bar. After I shake my head, he props his elbows on the bar and studies me. "You're quiet tonight. What's the matter? Trouble with Tiny?"
I shrug sullenly. I try to ignore his eagle-eyed stare, but after a few seconds, I crack. "Yeah, I guess. She's acting weird. Blowing me off the last couple of nights."
"You were working the last two nights."
"No shit, dickhead," I sneer, shaking my head at him. "But she wasn't. I thought she'd hang here with me since the studio is still closed for Christmas break, but she went home early both nights instead."
He's frowning at me like he thinks I'm fucking crazy. Maybe it sounds that way, but I feel it: She's pulling away from me.
"You do something to piss her off?"
Yes, I did. But I'm sure as shit not telling him the intimate details from New Year's Eve. I shrug one shoulder and drop my eyes to the bar top.
"That bad, huh?" he asks, apparently reading the look on my face. "Well, grovel. Tell her you're sorry."
"I have. She told me to stop apologizing," I grumble as I raise my eyes to his again.
That makes him laugh – loudly. Irritated, I stand up and grab my leather jacket from the stool beside me.
"I'm gonna go see if she's ready to leave."
"Okay. See you, E," he says as I turn away. "Don't worry about Tiny. She'll get over whatever asshole thing you did." I wave over my shoulder as I walk toward the door.
When I get outside, I see Alice's car still parked beside the studio door. Sighing, I walk to the side of my building and pull a cigarette from the pack in my jacket. Once it's lit, I inhale deeply and lean back against the brick wall, staring at the windows next door.
The lights aren't on in the room that faces the parking lot – they haven't been any of the times I've checked tonight. The girls must be in the other dance room, which kind of surprises me. Bella has told me before that she feels claustrophobic in the smaller, windowless studio. She prefers the one I'm looking at; the same place where I first watched her dance last fall. As I take another drag, I remember standing in this exact spot, smoking, watching her. I didn't know her then, but I wanted to.
Now I do know her, which is why I'm so fucking worried about the way she's been acting the last few days. She's definitely not herself when we're together. She doesn't smile, doesn't joke around, doesn't look at me the way she usually does.
Letting my head fall back against the wall, I exhale and close my eyes. Fuck. It feels like it's all slipping away from me, and I don't know how to stop it. This, this fucking feeling is why I swore off dating for so long.
When I hear the squeak of the studio's side door, I open my eyes and see Alice coming outside. After one last inhale, I push myself off the wall and drop my cigarette, stepping on it as I walk across the parking lot. I watch as she shuts the door and starts to lock it.
"Hey, Alice," I say when I'm close enough. "Is Bella done?"
"Oh, hi, Edward," she says, turning to look at me. "Um, no, but you can go on in." She pulls the door open and holds it for me.
"Thanks," I mumble as I walk inside. "See you later."
"Have a nice night," she says with a giggle. I don't know her well enough to know if she's serious or if she's laughing because Bella's planning to dump me as soon as she sees me.
Before I can turn around to look at her, she shuts and locks the door. The hallway and Bella's office are both dark. I hear music and walk toward the sound, knowing that what I thought was right; she's in the other studio.
Standing in the doorway at the back of the room, I lean one shoulder against the frame to watch her as she turns in the middle of the floor; the overhead lights aren't on, so the only light in the room is coming from the white Christmas lights still strung across the ceiling. She doesn't stop, but I see her eyes land on me in the mirror each time she faces the front. Spotting. That's what she calls it. Looking at the same thing on each revolution – she taught me that word, too – so she doesn't get dizzy.
"Hi," she says quietly.
"Hey, ballerina."
"How are you?" she asks. For the first fucking time since Wednesday, her voice sounds normal. She stops turning, but continues dancing. She rarely does this shit in front of me.
"I'm good, baby," I answer, watching her legs as she lifts up on the balls of both feet. Under the really short dress thing she's wearing, I can see those tight, black shorts that used to fucking kill me when I saw her running around in them. Well, they still fucking kill me, but it's a little easier to take now that I get to see her naked at home. "You look fucking great."
She chuckles quietly, huskily. I raise my gaze to meet hers in the mirror and we smile at each other. I hope this means we're getting past all the shit that happened earlier this week.
"Thank you," she finally says. "Want to come in?"
"Really? You never let me watch," I ask, raising my eyebrows slightly.
"I won't let you watch me teach," she corrects as I walk inside. I skirt around her to move to the front of the room. "You can't be in here with a bunch of little girls. Or older girls."
"I would only watch you. No matter who else was in here," I say lowly, pausing to look at her as I grab the back of the wooden chair near the corner. I keep my eyes on her as I drag it to the middle of the front wall and push it up against the mirror. "Can I sit here?"
"Sure," she answers, smiling at me as I drop into the chair. I slump backward, crossing my right ankle across my left knee. "Recognize the song?"
"Yeah," I respond, listening for the first time. It's While My Guitar Gently Weeps, but it's a female singer, not the Beatles. "Who is this?"
"Santana," she answers, as she slides her foot on the floor in front of her and then lifts it up behind her as she turns. "India. Arie. Remember the Halloween party?"
"We danced to this song," I answer quietly, totally captivated by her.
"You remember," she says, sounding happy about that as she lifts up on one foot and raises her other leg straight up in front of her. She holds it there for a second, and then bends her knee and lowers it before immediately doing it again, lifting her leg to the side this time. It's fucking hot. "Everything okay next door?"
My throat feels tight and I clear it twice before I try to talk. "Uh, yeah," I answer, squirming around a little. "I was just coming to see if you were ready to go."
"Not quite," she answers, starting to turn again. "I need to work on another dance a little bit. I would say that you could stay, but it's a hip hop song. And you don't like hip hop."
"I'll stay," I volunteer quickly, smiling when I hear her laugh. "I like watching you."
"Okay. I'd like to hear what you think of it, actually," she says. "It's right after this song."
Now she's moving across the floor as she turns, and she suddenly jumps up in the air.
"You're fucking good at those jumps, ballerina," I say.
She stops and smiles widely at me, her large, brown eyes shining. She hasn't smiled at me like this for days, and I feel my abs contract involuntarily as my heart picks up speed.
"They're called leaps," she reminds me.
"Right. You're a fucking good leaper then," I insist. She does several more, arching her back and neck. Since she's finally fucking talking normally to me, I try to keep it going. "You like this kind of dancing the best?"
"Hmm, not necessarily," she says thoughtfully, turning her way across the floor until she's in front of me again. "For me, it's about desire. How I'm feeling in the moment. What I want. Sometimes I prefer ballet – controlled movements, carefully choreographed. Beautiful. Other times it's jazz – fast and fun. Or lyrical. Letting my body really be moved by the music is so freeing. It's expressive, passionate. And hip hop is newer for me, but I love the way it can be street… or sensual… or both. Somehow even when it's rough, it's still full of emotion."
Jesus, it's a good thing she's still busy dancing instead of looking at me because my fucking mouth is hanging wide open. I guess not getting any for three nights has put my libido on high alert. I know that she's talking about dance, but my brain – and my dick – heard nothing but sex in that speech.
"Sometimes I'm just in the mood for something different. You know what I mean?" she asks. I close my mouth and swallow, but don't answer. She pauses to glance at me. "Edward?"
"Oh, uh, yeah," I agree, shifting around in the chair. "I know what you mean."
The song ends while I'm speaking, and she smiles softly before turning her back to me. Christ, it's fucking hot in here. My forehead is starting to sweat. Keeping my eyes on her, I lean forward and take off my jacket. As I sit back, I watch her pull the elastic band from her ponytail, shaking her head slightly as her hair falls down her back.
I don't recognize the hip hop song when it starts. She barely moves at first, only shrugging her shoulders with the music. As the bass kicks in, she swings her hips back and forth and lowers her ass toward the floor. When she's pretty low, she holds herself there, putting her palms on the ground. She slowly straightens her legs, and then skims her hands up the back of them as she stands, flipping her hair when she's almost upright.
When she turns around, she moves quickly across the floor. For a minute, it looks exactly the same as when I used to watch her with Seth – until she reaches for the bottom of that short dress thing she's wearing and pulls it off, tossing it to the floor beside her. Underneath, she's only wearing a black, lacy bra and those little fucking shorts.
Blowing out a shaky breath, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, trying to catch my breath… which isn't fucking easy because the way she's arching her back is making her tits look even better than usual. She spins to face away from me and takes several steps, stopping to shift her weight side to side. Then she circles her hips slowly… twice.
Jesus, what the fuck is she doing? She's thinking of this dance for one of her classes?
Facing me again, she moves forward. I sit up, tipping my head back to look at her face as she stands in front of me.
"Baby, exactly who is this dance for?"
"You," she whispers, breathing hard as she traces the fingers of one hand along my jaw. "What do you think?"
"I think I'm fucking starting to like hip hop," I answer, reaching for her hips. Smiling, she twists away, out of my grasp.
"I'm not finished," she says as she backs up. "I need to tell you something."
"Okay," I answer, watching as she dances across the floor and stops at the side of the support post in the room.
"I've been upset with you the last couple of days," she says as she swings herself around the pole.
"I know," I reply, trying like hell to pay more attention to what she's saying than what she's doing. But it's fucking hard.
"What happened Tuesday night in the car," she begins, standing in front of the pole now to face me.
"Won't happen again," I interject firmly, looking into her eyes.
"That's too bad," she responds lowly, sliding her back down the pole. As she stands up, my eyes drop to her legs, staring – barely breathing – as she glides her hands up her inner thighs. "Because I liked it."
Stunned, I snap my gaze up to meet hers. "Huh?"
"I liked it, Edward," she says, walking toward me.
"I thought you were pissed because I was… I wasn't… gentle," I reply.
"No." She shakes her head slowly, bending down to put her palms on my thighs so her face is right in front of mine. "You said you wanted to forget it. But you never asked how I felt about it."
I lean forward to kiss her, but she stands and backs away once more.
"Baby, sex with you is always great," I respond hoarsely, watching her as she turns and shakes her ass at me.
"Then we agree on that," she says, smiling when she faces me again. She's standing about a foot in front of me and I want to fucking touch her, but I can tell she's not done talking. "And the way you're so careful with me, Edward… you make me feel safe enough to tell you that right now, I'm in the mood for something different." She keeps her eyes glued to mine as she steps forward and drops to her knees in between my legs. "Okay?"
Nodding, I swallow loudly, then suck in a breath when she lifts my shirt up part way and leans forward to kiss my stomach. Hoping I'm right about where this is headed, I reach one hand behind my neck and yank my shirt up and over my head, digging my other hand into Bella's hair as her lips move across my abs, and then lower.
She sits back on her heels to pull off my shoes and socks, and then pushes them aside. When she raises up, she spreads her hands across my chest, trailing them lightly down my skin as she bends forward again.
"Fuck, ballerina," I exhale, letting my head fall back against the mirror while she torments me with her lips and tongue. She looks up at me as she unbuttons and then slowly unzips my jeans. Groaning quietly, I push my jeans and boxers down to my knees, and then she pulls them completely off, looking down at the floor as she shoves them away.
"I like your feet," she whispers, tracing her fingers along the tops of them… ignoring the fact that my dick is sticking straight up right in front of her. She's nervous, I think.
"Bella, you don't have to –."
"I want to," she insists, raising her eyes to mine. "I'm just not sure how… to make it feel good for you."
"Ballerina, I can fucking guarantee it's gonna feel good for me," I answer, then jerk my right foot away from her hand when she tickles the arch. She smiles at me, and then finally puts her mouth on me. "Fuck."
I close my eyes at first, but after a minute, I want to watch. Looking down, I slide my hands into her hair, pushing it back, groaning when I see her fucking perfect mouth wrapped around me. She keeps going, but when I feel myself getting too close, I stop her.
"Baby, wait," I say, holding her still. As she pulls away, she tilts her head up, frowning. "Jesus, Bella. I want you. Come here."
I stand up, pulling her up, too, and then crash my mouth to hers. Immediately, I wrap my arms around her back, unhooking her bra and pulling it down her arms. Before it's fallen to the floor, I cup her breasts, rubbing my thumbs across her nipples until she whimpers. I kiss down her neck to her chest, closing my lips around one breast and sucking strongly.
"Oh, God, Edward," she whispers, digging her nails into the skin of my shoulders. "Please. Please."
Moving quickly, I straighten up and turn us, turning her again so that she's standing in front of me. She's facing the mirror, her knees against the seat of the chair, with my hands resting on her shoulders.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful," I say, bending down to speak in her ear, but watching her in the mirror. Grazing my fingers down her arms, I grab her hands and bend us forward, placing her hands on the back of the chair, and then kissing her shoulder before I stand up.
Reaching for the waistband of her shorts, I slide them down her legs and press her feet apart after she steps out of them. I know she's wet and I can't fucking wait any longer, so I hold her hip with one hand and my dick with the other and push my way inside. Trying to give her time to adjust, I thrust slowly and shallowly a few times, watching her back heave with her breaths.
When I feel her relax, I pull almost all the way out, then immediately bury myself again. Gasping, she reaches forward to brace one hand on the mirror as I press her forward. Hanging on to her waist, I drive into her over and over, listening to her sounds… our sounds.
"I need to see your face, ballerina," I beg, waiting until she arches her neck to look at me in the mirror before I continue. Her eyes are darker, her lids heavy. She rolls her lips together and moans quietly as I slide in again. "You feel so fucking good."
"You do, too," she breathes, pushing back against me. Realizing she's close, I reach between her legs to circle her clit. I keep my eyes fixed on hers until she comes, crying out and clenching the hand on the mirror into a fist. When I feel her legs trembling, I lift her to kneel on the edge of the chair. After only a few more thrusts, I come, holding myself all the way inside her and leaning over to wrap my arms around her tightly.
As we catch our breath, Bella reaches one hand down to grip my forearm as I press my lips all along her upper back. Finally, I pull out of her and move us so that I'm sitting on the chair and she's sideways on my lap, resting her head against my shoulder.
"I'm going to make a mess on you," she murmurs against my neck.
"I don't fucking care. We'll shower when we get home," I reply, stroking my knuckles along her arm. "We're gonna have to clean this room tomorrow."
I feel her shake with silent laughter. "I may not be able to teach in here anymore. I'll just think of you… of this."
"I definitely won't be able to come in here without getting a fucking hard-on," I say, smiling when she giggles. "When did you learn to pole dance?"
She sits up to look at me, blushing slightly as she tells the story of the night the girls went to a strip club. "I didn't even show you everything I learned," she smirks when she's finished.
"Christ, Bella. You're always trying to fucking kill me, aren't you?" I groan, leaning my head against the mirror. "You set me up for this tonight, huh?"
"Alice and I really were working earlier, but, yeah, I had a plan for you," she admits quietly.
"A trap," I tease, tightening my arms around her. "And I walked right into it."
"Are you mad?"
"Jesus, baby," I answer with a laugh. "No, I'm not mad. Let's go home. I want to roll around with you and I'm not doing it on a fucking linoleum floor."
"It's Pergo," she corrects, hugging me.
"What the fuck ever," I grumble, but I smile and squeeze her ass lightly when she rears back to look at me. "Your dance was perfect, baby. Thank you."
"You're welcome." She presses her lips against mine twice. "You're welcome."
Three and a half weeks later, I stand behind the bar and fill two pitchers for one of Tanya's tables. It's fucking loud and crowded in here for a Wednesday happy hour – not that I'm complaining – but as I look around, I'm not really thinking about tonight.
I glance toward the stairs to the second floor, still roped off with yellow caution tape. Earlier today, Rose pronounced the upstairs almost ready for the grand opening this Saturday, but I keep mentally going over the details. The bar is stocked with liquor. The tables and chairs are arranged. The dart board machines and pool table are set up. All that's left is the glassware delivery, which is tomorrow morning, and tapping the upstairs kegs.
Noticing that the beer pitchers are about to overflow, I push the taps back and pour the head off both of them. As I'm pushing them across the bar to Tanya, I hear the side door open and turn my head, surprised to see my dad coming in. He waves at me as he approaches.
"Hey, Dad," I say when he sits down in front of me. Tanya is hanging around like she expects me to include her in the fucking conversation or something, so I raise my eyebrows questioningly at her. She rolls her eyes with a huff and walks away. "What brings you all the way down here?"
"I was bored at home," he shrugs. "Your mother is still in Chicago visiting Maggie. Thought I'd come and see what you kids were up to."
"Rose and Emmett have the night off," I tell him even though I have a feeling he already knew that.
"Oh, right," he nods. "Well, what about you? Can you get away for dinner?"
"I could, but Bella and I are eating dinner later. When she's done teaching," I answer.
"Date night, huh?" he asks, smiling at me.
"Kind of. I'm cooking for her," I admit, feeling my face heat when my dad lifts his eyebrows at me. Compelled to not sound like a pussy, I talk fast, trying to explain myself. "It's about to get crazy here with the opening Saturday and the Super Bowl party Sunday. And I have poker Friday night. I'm trying to be nice since she puts up with all my shit."
"Slow down, son," he laughs. "You don't have to explain. Wanting to do things that please the woman in your life is nothing to be ashamed of."
"Jesus, Dad, can we change the fucking subject?" I ask, scrubbing my hands across my face. He laughs louder, but gives in. He spends a few minutes studying the menu, and then orders food. While he eats, we watch basketball on the TV above the bar, commenting idly on the game. After he's finished, he hangs around, apparently not in any hurry to leave… which makes me wonder what the fuck he's really doing here. He also keeps talking. We spend several minutes on topics I don't give a shit about before he finally maneuvers the conversation around to me again.
"So, is the upstairs finished? All ready for Saturday?" he asks.
"Yeah, mostly," I grin. "You want to come up?" The last time my dad was upstairs, it was only roughed-in.
"Of course," he answers, smiling back.
Turning around, I get two glasses from the shelf behind me, and then lead the way, pausing to talk to Lauren at the other end of the bar.
"I'm gonna take my dad upstairs and break in the pool table," I say. "Come get me if you need me."
As we walk up the steps, I ask about Mom's trip.
"She's fine, says Mags and the kids are fine, too," he sighs. "I'm glad she's enjoying herself, but I want her to come home."
"You miss her?" I ask, turning to look at him.
"Yes. After all these years, no matter how much I look forward to being home alone, I always end up missing her within a couple of days. What can I say?"
"That's pathetic, Dad," I laugh, even though I'm actually glad that my parents are still happy together after thirty-whatever years.
"Maybe. But it's the truth," he says as we reach the top. As soon as I flip the lights on, he looks from side to side, taking in the whole room. "Edward, this is… wow. It's beautiful. I'm impressed."
"You don't have to sound so fucking surprised about that," I mutter, slightly embarrassed by the pride in his voice. He chuckles and claps a hand on my shoulder as I turn to look at him. "You rack and I'll pour the bourbon."
"Deal."
Soon after I break the balls apart, he asks how things are with Bella.
"Good," I answer, pausing to take a drink.
That's an understatement. The last few weeks with Bella have been fucking great. She's been more open with me – she's been telling me if Aro says shit to her, and I went with her when she showed her lawyer friend the lease extension he wanted her to sign. Physically, we're closer, too. She's getting pretty good at letting me know what she wants, out of bed and in it. Last week, she even produced that pamphlet of sex positions she had last fall, and then showed me all the ones she wants to try. She's still trying to fucking kill me.
Jesus, I can't keep thinking about this right now. Clearing my throat, I look up at my dad and continue. "She'll be here Saturday night. Is Mom gonna be back?"
"Yes. We wouldn't miss it. It's a big night for you," he replies, smiling at me. He leans over the table to line up his shot, and then hits. I watch as a striped ball rolls toward the corner pocket and drops in.
"Nice shot."
"Thanks. Anything new with Aro?" he asks.
"Uh, yeah. He called me today and said he'd made a decision about selling the buildings. He's stopping by here sometime tomorrow," I say. My dad misses his next shot, so I chalk my cue stick and walk around the table. Bending over, I point to the side pocket with my stick and then hit the cue ball, knocking a solid in. "He made Bella sign a one-year extension on her lease."
"What? Why?" my dad asks, raising his voice.
"To be a dick. To try to control her… and probably me, too," I say sardonically, hitting another ball in. "But she's got some lawyer she's been talking to – Claire somebody – who thinks the best way to proceed with Aro is to play along for now. He's such a fucking asshole."
"My thoughts exactly," my dad agrees.
That makes me chuckle – and makes me miss my shot. When he doesn't ask anything else about Aro, I'm confused. We've covered most of the big subjects, but he hasn't really grilled me about anything. I have no fucking clue what information he's trying to get by coming here tonight.
Letting him steer the conversation, I listen to him talk about his work a little as we continue playing, until we're down to just one ball each and the eight ball. It's my turn, so I aim and hit, but my ball stops short of the pocket. My dad looks at me with narrowed eyes before he hits first his ball, and then the eight ball in.
"You win," I declare, replacing my cue stick in the rack on the wall.
"Liar. You let me win," my dad says as he joins me.
"Well, I was a prick to you for several years," I retort. We pick up our drinks and wander over to the bar. "You deserve some sort of payback or bragging rights or whatever."
"You weren't so bad," he argues.
"Now who's lying?" I laugh. I walk behind the bar, picking up the bottle of bourbon to refill our glasses, while my dad sits down on a stool in front of me. We tap our glasses together and drink. "So, are you gonna get around to telling me what you're really doing here?"
"Am I that transparent?"
"No, Dad. I was completely fooled by the way you showed up here when Mom's out of town and Emmett and Rose aren't working. You spent almost an hour downstairs making small talk, which you don't do when you just stop by to say hi. Then you hinted around about wanting to see the second floor – where you knew we'd be alone," I say, smirking. "It doesn't take Sherlock fucking Holmes to figure out you're up to something."
"You always were intelligent. And a smartass," he says, making me laugh. He looks around the upstairs again before he continues. "I know I was hard on you when you decided this was what you wanted to do with your life. I was wrong. This fits you, and you're doing very well."
"Thanks," I nod, sipping my drink. "But that's not what you came here to say either. Go ahead and drop whatever bomb you're here to drop."
Lifting his eyebrows, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, blue, velvet box. He sets it down on the bar and slides it across to me.
"Boom," he says softly.
Our eyes meet and hold as I move the box closer to me. I'm not an idiot – I know what's usually inside a box this size. I open the lid and look down at the ring.
"Jesus Christ, Dad!" I snap the box closed and push it back toward him.
"It was your grandmother's," he says, picking up the box and opening the lid again. He sets it between us. "You were her only grandson… and she wanted you to have it."
I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat as I look down at the ring. It's a silver-colored band with a decent-sized round diamond in the center and smaller, kind of diamond-shaped stones on each side. "It's Grandma Cullen's?"
"Yes. She told me a few weeks before she died that she wanted you to have it," he says quietly.
"She's been gone four years," I frown, looking up at him again.
"She also told me not to let you have it until I was sure you wouldn't give it to the first little tramp that crossed your path," he says, smiling slightly. Yeah, that sounds like her. "Now I'm sure."
"Fuck, Dad," I say nervously, assuming he's trying to push me. "I know you and Mom got married young, but it's way too soon to think about Bella and me –."
"This isn't about Bella," he interrupts. "I'm sure you realize that Mom and I like her very much, but this is about you. You've matured quite a bit in the last two years and even more considerably in the last few months. It's time for you to have it. When and if you choose to give it to someone is purely your decision." He snaps the lid closed and hands the box to me.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome," he answers, smiling at me as I put it in my front pocket. "Let's finish up. I know you have to get going… for your big date." He laughs as I glare at him.
"Jesus. I wouldn't have let you win at pool if I'd known you were gonna give me shit about Bella," I complain.
"I haven't been able to tease you about a woman for a long time. It's hard to resist," he says. But he stops laughing and raises his glass. "To Grandma."
Nodding, I lift my glass to his, and then we both knock back our drinks. When we get downstairs a few minutes later, he goes home and I head to my office, closing the door behind me. I lean back against it and pull the velvet box from my pocket, swallowing loudly as I stare down at my hand. It means a lot to me that my grandma wanted me to have her ring, but that's not the shit running through my head right now.
"Fucking hell," I mutter, shutting my eyes and letting my head bang on the door. I stand still for a moment as my stomach continues twisting into knots, then decide to put the whole fucking thing out of my mind.
I grip the box tightly in my left hand as I walk to my desk and grab a manila envelope from the bottom drawer. Tossing it to the desktop, I pick up a black marker and write across the front of it.
Do Not Fucking Open
I put my initials underneath and feel pretty sure no one – except maybe Rose – would dare open anything I mark that way. After I seal the ring box inside, I stuff the whole thing into the safe and shut the door.
Out of sight, out of mind. I feel better already.
When I hear Bella come in to the condo, I walk out from the kitchen, slinging a towel over my shoulder.
"Oh, my God! It smells so good in here," she says, smiling at me as she drops her keys into the copper bowl on the console. "You're cooking?"
"Yeah," I answer, pulling her close when I get to her. "What the fuck did you think was gonna happen when I said we'd eat dinner later?"
She giggles as she shifts to wrap her arms around my neck. "I thought you meant order a pizza or something," she replies. "What are you making?"
"Paella," I say nonchalantly, then laugh when she gasps and pulls me down to kiss her.
"You're making my favorite?" she murmurs happily.
"I am," I answer, groaning quietly when she opens her lips, letting me in.
"Wait," she mumbles, rearing back to look at me teasingly. "What am I going to have to do later in return?"
"Wait and see, baby," I answer suggestively, then jump away when she digs her fingers in to the ticklish spot under my arms. I hold my hands up in surrender. "Stop! Stop! I give. You don't have to do anything. Here, I'll take your coat. You go shower. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes."
It takes effort, but I put all the worry about the opening and all the shit with Aro out of my mind, determined to concentrate on her. We spend the next two hours eating, talking, laughing. By the time we start on a second bottle of wine, we've moved to sit on the couch. My feet are propped on the coffee table and Bella is turned sideways with her legs across my lap.
"It's late, ballerina," I remark when I notice that it's past midnight. I slide my hand inside the hem of her pajama pants to rub across her ankle. "You're going to be tired for work in the morning."
"Aro said he probably wouldn't be in anyway," she shrugs. "I guess he hasn't told you anything about your building?"
"Uh, no," I answer, lowering my eyes as a quick jolt of fear clenches my gut. I know I should tell her. I will tell her. But I don't want her worrying all night tonight. I'll wait and tell her after I know what his decision is.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly, pulling on me until I bend down to kiss her. As I move my mouth with hers, I try to push the anxiety away again. I'm not as successful as before, but I manage to sound normal as I answer her.
"It's okay."
"No, I shouldn't have brought it up," she murmurs against my lips. "How can I make it up to you?"
"You could take your shirt off," I suggest, shrugging one shoulder and figuring that sex would be a good stress-reliever.
"Don't you ever think about anything else?" she laughs, tilting her head to the side so I can kiss down her neck.
"Of course, baby," I answer seriously, looking at her. "Sometimes I think about you taking your pants off."
"Edward Cullen," she scolds, but her eyes are shining as she pulls away from me and stands up. "I am not taking my pants off." She turns and starts walking toward the bedroom. "If you want them off, you'll have to do it yourself."
I catch her before she's halfway down the hall, picking her up from behind. "That sounds like an invitation to me, ballerina."
We're both smiling when I get the pants off a few minutes later.
In the morning, I lie awake in bed listening to the water as Bella showers. When I hear the hair dryer turn on, I decide to get up. I can't fucking sleep anyway.
Several minutes later, I tap on the bathroom door and open it when she tells me to come in.
"I thought you'd sleep for a while," she says, turning to smile at me. "You didn't get much rest during the night."
"Neither did you," I answer, smirking as I hold a mug of coffee with milk toward her.
"Thank you, baby," she says. She stretches up to kiss me before she turns toward the mirror again. Sipping my coffee, I stand still and watch her put makeup on. When she realizes I'm staring, she smiles. "What?"
"The shit you girls do is weird," I remark, flinching away with a laugh when she tries to hit me playfully. Yawning, I set my coffee down and walk to the shower, hoping the caffeine kicks in soon. I kept Bella up late and woke her again early, and I never really slept in between. I was wide awake most of the night, looking at her, listening to her sigh. And worrying about Aro. I have a bad fucking feeling in my gut that something is going to go wrong.
When I get out of the shower, Bella isn't in the bathroom anymore. After I get ready, I go to find her, smiling slightly when I see her standing at the kitchen counter eating cereal. She looks curiously at me while she chews and swallows.
"You're never dressed this early," she comments. "Where are you going?"
"The bar. Got shit to do," I answer, rubbing a hand across my face. "The upstairs glasses are being delivered at nine. I want to wipe the shelves down and stuff first."
She pulls my hand away from my face and steps toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Are you nervous about the opening Saturday?" she whispers, looking up at me.
Fuck. She knows me too well. I am nervous, except she's wrong about why.
"I just want to make sure everything's ready," I reply, but I have a hard time looking her in the eye. She lifts up on her tiptoes to kiss me.
"It's going to be great, baby," she murmurs against my lips. I have a momentary pang of guilt, but when she licks across my bottom lip, I forget about everything except her.
Tightening the arm I already had around her waist, I slide my other hand up to cup the back of her neck. We kiss and pull apart several times before she holds me closer, pushing her tongue into my mouth. At the same time, she scrapes one hand down the back and side of my neck, scratching me lightly with her fingernails. She moans quietly as I move my lips more urgently against hers.
Feeling my dick harden, I move my hand down to her ass, pressing my hips to hers, and then groaning as she rocks against me. Christ, it hasn't even been two hours since I rolled on top of her in bed and woke her up, but I'm ready to go again… even though I know we can't right now. But I keep kissing her for another minute before I wrench my mouth away, resting my forehead against hers as I try to catch my breath.
"Jesus, ballerina," I pant. "You better go."
"I know," she agrees, pulling away slightly to smile at me. Moving my hand from her neck to her face, I skim my fingers along her cheek. "I'll see you tonight?"
"Yeah," I answer, bending down to kiss her once more. Fuck, I hope I have good news by then.
"Cullen?"
"Upstairs, Volturi," I yell, shaking my head. I fucking told him I'd be upstairs when he called twenty minutes ago to say he was on his way. I also texted Emmett and told him to come in late. I don't want any witnesses for this.
I hear his deliberate footsteps on the stairs as I put the last two glasses on the back bar shelf. I turn around just in time to see his greasy hair appear when he reaches the top.
"Niiiice," he remarks, dragging the word out as he looks around. "Maybe I should raise your rent. Place is worth a lot more with the improvements you've made."
"My rate's locked in for another year and a half," I say calmly, knowing he's trying to get a rise out of me. I pick up a towel and wipe the already-shiny bar as he walks over and sits down in front of me.
"Right, right. You signed a two-year extension last summer," he says, acting like he just fucking remembered. What a dickhead. He sneers at me as he continues. "And your little girlfriend is mine for another year, too."
Clenching my jaw, I force myself not to react to his words.
"Drink?"
"It's a little early in the day," he replies, glancing at his watch. He chuckles lightly. "But what the hell? Screwdriver."
While I'm fixing his drink, he continues. "Well, Cullen, I've considered your offer," he begins. "And I've decided to accept… in part."
Of course. After jerking me around for over a month, he still can't just give me a fucking yes or no. I set his drink in front of him, and then pick up my styrofoam coffee cup and take a sip. The coffee is barely warm anymore, but it keeps me from saying something I'll regret.
"Which means?" I finally ask.
"I'd like to buy in to your business," he says. He lifts his glass and drinks half the liquid in it.
"No deal, Volturi. It's a one-owner operation," I reply, shaking my head.
"You didn't hesitate in that answer, but I wonder if you'll be as decisive about my next question," he says, smirking at me. "I've decided to let you buy one of these buildings. So, Cullen, which one would you like? Yours… or hers?"
"Hers." I speak without thinking – without having to think. Immediately, I know it's the right reaction. I'll deal with Aro as long as I have to, but I want Bella to be free of him.
I see the surprise register on his face before he recovers, smiling at me again. "I'll draw up the contract and bring it by early next week."
"Fine." He finishes his drink and pulls a five dollar bill from his pocket, but I wave him off. "On the house."
He nods as he stands and turns to walk away. At the top of the stairs, he pauses to look back at me. "I didn't anticipate that choice, Cullen, although I suppose I should have," he declares, still managing to sound conceited even though he just admitted I didn't do what he thought I would. "I realized from the day I met you that you have a weakness for women."
As I watch him disappear down the stairs, I prop my elbows on the bar and exhale loudly. He's wrong – I don't have a weakness for women… I have a weakness for one woman. One woman who's going to be royally pissed off when she finds out what I've done.
Fuck.
It's almost one when I get to Bella's that night. I walk straight to her room, relieved to see her sleeping, burrowed down in her bed. Maybe I can get one fucking night's sleep before I have to tell her about the buildings. I toss my jeans and shirt onto the chair in the corner, and then walk to the kitchen.
I wasn't hungry all day, but now I'm fucking starving. When I see the plate of brownies on the counter, I smile widely: She knows I fucking love it when she bakes. She even left me a note that there's milk in the fridge.
While I pour myself a glass, I stuff half a brownie in my mouth, barely chewing it before I wash it down with the milk. As I eat another bite, I turn around to lean against the counter and moan quietly, actually tasting it now. It's fucking delicious. Blindly, I reach back to get my glass, but I bump it with my elbow. Looking over my shoulder, I see the spilled milk running toward Bella's laptop at the end of the counter.
"Motherfucker," I hiss, moving to grab the computer and a stack of overturned papers underneath it. Muttering more curse words, I set the stuff on the floor and mop up the liquid with paper towels. Once it's all cleaned up, I replace the laptop and then the papers, setting them down right side up.
"What the fuck?"
I wasn't intending to snoop around her shit, but the piece of paper laying on top is from a bank and I'm reading it before I can stop myself. Three things catch my eye. The words at the top: Northwest Trust Investment Account Statement. The account owner: Isabella M. Swan. And the balance: $762,421.
"What the fuck?" I repeat.
Jesus Christ. Bella has three-quarters of a million dollars in a trust account? And she's working two jobs and living in this tiny apartment?
Then it hits me. I inhale sharply as I realize what this money must be – her dad's life insurance. That's why she doesn't spend it… or talk about it. It stings a little that she's never mentioned it though.
I turn out the light and head back to her bedroom. As I climb under the covers, she rolls over, pressing herself up against my side and mumbling something.
"What?" I chuckle.
She repeats whatever she was trying to say, but I still can't understand it.
"Okay, baby," I answer, hoping that satisfies her. I guess it does because she sighs the way she always fucking does at night. Turning on my side to face her, I kiss her forehead and wrap my arm around her. "Night, ballerina."
"So, Cullen, how's the dancer chick?" Josh asks, tossing some chips in the middle of the table. "Raise twenty."
Although we were good friends in college, I only see Josh once a month at poker now. I know he's more interested in distracting me from the game than he is in hearing about my relationship, but I answer anyway. "She's good. I call."
We both lay our cards down and I grin. Chuckling, I toss my cards to Paul, and then reach forward to drag the pot toward me. I knew Josh was trying to bluff his way out of a bad hand.
"Dude, is she the one we met a couple of months ago when we picked you up at the Full Moon?" Collin asks.
"Uh, yeah," I say, looking down to separate the colored chips.
"Smokin' hot," he observes.
I shrug, still intently stacking neat piles in front of me and biting my tongue. I want to insist that she's more than that, but we never really talk about women that way at poker. And Paul is the only other one here who's got a girlfriend.
"Jesus, Cullen. Are you blushing?" Josh laughs. "Does this chick mean more to you than a piece of tail or something?"
"She's my girlfriend," I reply, finally looking up to meet Josh's gaze.
"Oh, fuck. Cullen's in love," Collin jokes, as I pour more whiskey into the glass in front of me.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Josh leans back in his chair and holds his hands up, palms out. "This chick is more than just a regular, convenient fuck?"
"I thought you swore off long-term fucking after that chick in college screwed you over," Paul remarks as he deals the next hand. "What was her name?"
"Emily," I answer, trying to sound disaffected as I pick up the cards in front of me. My cards are good, but my mood has suddenly gone to shit.
"I remember how you stormed around the frat house for weeks after you found out she was screwing around," Collin remarks. "She really fucked up your head."
"Yeah," I agree… because he's right. Even though I don't want to think about her, my mind drifts back. Six years ago. I can still fucking see her face clearly in my head. I guess when someone fucks up your life the way she fucked up mine, you don't forget what the bitch looked like.
Emily Donnelly was the first woman I really fell in love with – more than just the puppy love I felt for a couple of girls in high school. Physically, everything about her attracted me at the time: Long, blond hair; hazel eyes; great body with even greater tits.
When I saw her across the room at a bar one night during the fall of my sophomore year, I didn't think twice – I walked right up to her and offered to buy her a drink. She called me on my age and demanded to see my real ID, instead of the one I used to get past the bouncer. Once I showed her, she let me buy her that drink and we talked the rest of the night. Drawn in by her intelligence, I listened to every word she uttered through her pouty, red lips. I was impressed that she was pre-law, and I dismissed all her reservations about me being two years younger than she was.
Just before closing time, she invited me back to her apartment. I went willingly, even though I had never had sex with someone I had just met before. That night was the best night of my life up to that point. I was begging her to go out with me by the time I left in the morning. At first, she laughed at my repetitive pleas. But she eventually relented, and when we went out a few nights later, I was already falling hard and fast for her.
I never looked back.
If I had, I might have been suspicious about her schedule – the many late-night classes or study groups, the Sunday visits with her parents. She never let me meet any of her friends, never invited me along on those Sundays with her family.
I should have realized that I wasn't the only one. But I didn't. I believed her – believed every fucking word she said.
Two months into our supposedly-monogamous relationship, she cancelled a date with me, saying she wasn't feeling well. Ignoring her instructions to stay away, I immediately headed over to her place, armed with orange juice and cough medicine.
The half-naked guy who answered the door was expecting a pizza delivery, not an angry boyfriend. A quick blast of nausea races through me as I remember – her nonchalance, her dismissal of my accusation of betrayal, her refusal when I begged her to have a real relationship with me. Her laughter when I told her I loved her.
That night changed everything for me. Collin's right – I did mope around angrily for several weeks, and then I decided I'd play her game. I screwed who I wanted, when I wanted, with no regard for the woman's feelings at all. One-night stands… two week stands… whatever. It was all the same to me. Physical pleasure without emotion.
"Dude, Cullen, your bid," Josh says.
"Sorry," I mumble. "Raise ten." I have no idea what anyone else bid.
I lose that hand and the next three, watching my piles of colored chips shrink. When it's my turn to deal again, Josh gets up to get more snacks and Collin goes to take a piss.
"Hey, man, don't let that Emily chick fuck with your head anymore," Paul says quietly.
"I'm not," I answer, shuffling the cards.
"And don't let these other idiots who can't get girlfriends bug you either," he advises. "I've seen some of the women Collin dates. Woof."
That makes me laugh, snapping me out of my mood a little. For the next couple of hours, I win pretty steadily and drink enough to get a decent buzz going. The guys tease me a little more about Bella, getting me to admit that I know exactly where she is – out to a movie and dinner with Alice – and that she's coming over later.
I still haven't told Bella what happened with Aro, talking myself into waiting until the papers are signed. Aro's such an asshole that I wouldn't be surprised if he has a few more tricks up his sleeve. There's no sense getting Bella all upset yet, right? But if I think about it too long, it makes my gut twist around nervously.
When my phone vibrates insistently in my front pocket, I pull it out to look at it. I'm surprised at the number that appears on the screen – she's not in my contacts anymore, but I still recognize the digits. Kate.
"Hello," I say curtly, raising the phone to my ear. Wherever she is, it's fucking noisy.
"Ed – Ed – Edward," she stutters. It sounds like she's crying. Shit.
"I fold," I whisper to the guys, pushing away from the table to stand up.
"Ball and chain," Josh coughs and they all laugh, but I ignore him and walk into the living room.
"Are you… there?" she asks, her breath hitching.
"Yeah, I'm here. What's wrong?"
"I… he… left me here," she sniffles.
"Who?"
"Eric… I thought he loved me," she's cries, starting to lose control and sob. "But he said he doesn't."
"Are you drunk, Kate?"
"I think so," she answers between gasps. "Can… you come get me? I don't have anyone else to call."
Fuck.
I look at my reflection in the patio door. I watch as I raise one hand to run through the top of my hair. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
"Where are you?" I sigh.
"Gallagher's," she hiccups.
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," I say quietly. "Drink some water, okay?"
"'Kay," she says. "Thank you."
"Yeah," I answer, hanging up the phone.
I walk back to the kitchen and make an excuse about something going on at the Full Moon. After slamming the rest of my drink, I pull my keys from my front pocket and tell the guys not to worry about the stacks of chips in front of my seat.
As I walk out the door of Josh's apartment building, I press the unlock button on the car remote and see my red taillights flash twice across the street. Looking up at the streetlight, I see the mist falling.
"Fucking Seattle weather," I mutter, zipping my leather jacket.
As I cross the street, I can't decide who I'm more irritated with – Kate for calling me or myself for not just calling her a fucking cab. "Fucking Kate," I mumble.
There's a new knot in my gut as I open my car door and get inside, buckling my seatbelt before I start the engine. I glance at myself in the rearview mirror as I release the parking brake and put the car in first.
Shaking my head at myself, I say what I really think.
"Fucking idiot."