From Chapter 19 (Edward):

"Come on, Pablo. You're gonna need your sleep."

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20 AN OFFER
•EMMETT•

Sleep is the first thing to go.

It's no joke juggling two jobs that range from early morning to late night. Before Edward, I'd established a healthy routine that allowed for workout time, all the "extracurriculars" of life as a Chippendale, dealing with the occasional surprises that come with working with large animals, and getting my much-needed beauty rest. With sleep-time being my only wiggle room, my solution is to combine sleep—and wiggling—with Edward-time.

Edward needed no convincing. In fact, he was quick to point out that for the same half-hour it takes me to drive home from the Rio, I could be at his place, and that's where I've slept at least two nights a week for the past three months.

The only thing better than going to bed with Edward is waking up next to him, both of us as hard as cedar trees. The first one awake usually gets the party started. While the cowboy in me rises with the sun, the dancer's late night cancels out the early bird. It hardly matters today; Edward's beat me to it.

I don't know how long he's been working me over, but I'm halfway to coming before my brain realizes I'm awake. I tap the lump of covers moving between my legs. "Fuck! I'm close! I'm close . . ." If anything, my warning spurs him on. A swish of warm, wet tongue meets my balls. His fingers hit all those nasty places I love. He swallows me down to the root and draws my orgasm, fast and furious.

As I lie there, head spinning, Edward climbs out from under the sheets, a giant grin on his face. "Morning, Hoss."

I grab him by his wild hair and yank his head to my lips for a thank-you kiss. "That was quite the cock-a-doodle-doo, Pablo. You have one of your dirty Chippendales dreams again?"

He tweaks my nipple. "Get up. I need to paint you."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"I'm sleeping." I close my eyes to prove my point.

"Uh, no you're not. You're talking to me."

"Oh. I see how it is . . ."

He grabs my hand and drags me out of bed and into the bathroom. Oh boy. We're in full-on Picasso-mode today. Nothing short of total surrender will satisfy him.

"Shower, please," he says. "I'm gonna have a hard enough time concentrating without you reeking of sex."

"Oh yeah? Are you stretching me out over the bike again? I liked that one; I got to lie down."

"Nope. I'm starting a new series today—Ride a Cowboy."

"Nice. What am I wearing?"

"I'll lay it out for you in the bedroom."

"You are sexy as fuck when you take control; you know that, Pablo?"

"Shower!"

I smile all the way through my shower, because why the hell wouldn't I? I've never been happier.

There's something hot about the pair of not-perfectly-white briefs sitting on the bed with a tan Stetson Edward must have picked up at some Western-wear store, but my dusty boots at the foot of the bed make me chuckle. I'm more than happy to oblige Edward's fantasy. I don't even care if this painting never sees the light of day. Getting my man revved works for me.

Before putting on my costume, such as it is, I start "Save a Horse" playing on his sound system at something close to full-blast, partly to get myself in the mood and partly to tease the shit out of Edward. It'll always be "our song" and the story I tell of how we got together. He may prefer to write his little sister out of that memory, but that's how it went down.

I check myself in the mirror to make sure my dick is properly tucked and my towel-dried hair looks okay under the hat. He'll fix me how he wants me, which is honestly a huge turn-on. It's a rush to be the artist's object to decorate and pose. I picture Edward at his easel, brushing the sky onto the blank canvas. He'll look up, and those intense green eyes will give away everything he's feeling even though he'll play it all cool and professional.

I turn down the obnoxious volume and start my Chippendales-cowboy-strut down the hallway, but Edward's voice stops me in my tracks.

". . . do you want?" Edward sounds agitated.

He must be on the phone, I'm thinking, when I hear a second voice. Someone's here. I move closer, staying in the shadows.

"Thanks for the offer, Jake, but I'm gonna have to decline."

What the fuck? Jake? What the hell kind of offer?

Whatever it is, that fucker is still here, still talking, still agitating my man. I don't like it.

Without thinking through the consequences as much as I probably should, I resume my dance straight toward the front door and into full view. "Hey, babe! I'm ready for our—oh."

The scene in front of me is like a freeze-frame of a movie. I recognize Jake instantly; he's wearing the same biker gear Edward first painted him in—before the undressing in subsequent editions. He's a good-looking guy on the surface, but any attraction I ever felt toward him is long gone. Vegas is littered with guys like him, climbers desperate to take whatever their looks will get 'em. I'm not impressed.

Edward looks a bit startled when he sees me in nothing but my boots, briefs, and hat until it kicks in that I take off my clothes for a living. Maybe Edward also remembers how he stuck up for me with Sam and that I've been relishing the chance to do the same for him.

I give Jake's eyeballs time to take a nice, long ride up and down my body—Gotcha, fucker—before pulling my hat over my package and stepping behind Edward. "Whoops! I didn't know we were expecting company."

Without removing his scowl from Jacob, Edward says, "We weren't."

"Well, don't mind me," I say. "I'm just gonna grab some of that leftover pizza before we get started." As if even a crumb of crust would ever survive the rare occasions I splurge.

Edward cracks the kind of smile only I can see. "I finished it already. Sorry."

"Oh well. Guess I'll have to find something else to munch on." I nibble on Edward's ear. He laughs. Good. Jake is watching all of this as if he bought a ticket for the privilege. "Oh hey," I say, addressing Jake directly for the first time. "Aren't you that guy from the first series Edward painted?"

Jake's eyes light up as he sticks out his hand. "I am. Name's Jake."

"Hey." I reach my right arm over Edward's shoulder. "I'm Emmett . . . the upgrade."

Edward's lips quirk visibly this time. It feels great to put the son-of-a-bitch in his place.

Jake rolls past my dig, clearly unwilling to let go of whatever mission brought him here today. "I was just telling Edward I'd be willing to pose with you sometime. You know what they say: two heads are better than one." He chuckles alone at his clever joke before pressing on. "Plus, I've got the modeling angle covered, so there's that whole market you could tap into."

I assume I appear to be considering his very generous offer while it explodes inside my head. Is this guy fucking shitting me with this "modeling angle"? Who the fuck does he think he is, David fucking Gandy?

Edward turns slightly in my arms to get a better view of my response. His expression is priceless. Yes, Emmett. Whatever would you do without Jake to make you famous? I will not disappoint my man.

"Hmm. I'd like to show you something, Jake . . . if Edward doesn't mind?"

Edward looks a bit puzzled, but he shrugs. Maybe the sexiest thing about him is his trust in me. I give him a wink, then triple-flip my hat back onto my head. As I slip away to the bedroom, I hear Edward mutter something to Jake about how I love to show off.

Propped up on the bureau is my favorite Edward M. Cullen, the artist's most personal and erotic work, a highly stylized oil depiction of me on all fours that night at the Red Rock, our first time. My naked body is blurred beneath layer upon layer of oil, but the way he chose to paint my face says everything about the artist's intention. With my head angled toward the viewer, anyone looking at this painting would have to be drawn first to the hunger and wild anticipation in my eyes as I wait for my lover to join me on the bed.

No, the sexiest thing about Edward is his talent.

Edward calls this painting Fantasy Realized; I teasingly refer to it as Hoss's Canyon. What we call it doesn't matter because this one's never getting reproduced, and the original is never leaving our sight.

The scene at the front door has evolved slightly since I left them. Jake is standing just inside the closed door, a decision I'm sure Edward made somewhat reluctantly because of my shameless "Homo On the Range" routine. This is a quiet neighborhood.

Of course, Edward already knows what I'm holding, and I see him smirk as I approach. Jake can't make out the details until I get too close for his comfort, holding the painting to my chest for him to view along with the rest of the goods he'll never sample.

"So, thank you for the offer, Jake, but I'll stick with the solo work. Pretty spectacular, don't you think?"

Jake takes a step backward, bumping against the door with his ass. "Definitely."

I'm not sure exactly what Jake comprehends—the flat-out rejection of the idea of posing with me, the enormity of what he lost when he let Edward slip through his fingers, or the depth of Edward's feelings for me so clearly evidenced in every brushstroke—but it's clear Jake is disheartened. My work here is done.

Edward, as it turns out, is just getting warmed up. "Now that I think about it," he says, "there might be another way to make this work."

Jake perks up; so do I. If there's one thing I recognize, it's a big ol' tease coming on. Seems Edward has learned a thing or two from the master.

"How's that?" Jake asks, right on cue.

Edward is on fire right now, glowing from the inside out. Look at you go, Picasso.

"Well, I don't know if you're aware," he says to Jake, "but as of last month, I am the official painter of the Chippendales. So, if by some chance, you were to get a job dancing with the Chipps, I could potentially paint the two of you together." I do my best not to gag while Edward lays it on as thick as the five layers of paint representing my ass. "For that matter, I could paint you with any number of the guys. They do love their group shots, all oiled and buffed . . ."

I catch the slight droop of Jake's eyelids as the fantasy plays out. Go ahead and drill down into the scene, you bastard, because you are never, ever getting in on that.

Edward's attention snaps to me. "What do you think, Emmett? You'd know better than I. Think Jake's got what it takes?"

Oh, how I love Edward for putting the sword into my hands.

"Hmm." I set down the painting, narrow my eyes, and scrutinize Jake the way he's been doing to me since he arrived. He stands up taller and puffs out his chest. "I gotta say"—Jake's eyebrows rise ever so slightly with hope—"I just don't see it. I mean, obviously, some guys can surprise you, and you should totally go for it if you're willing to put in the work. Who am I to say you'd never make it past the first cut?"

Edward huffs. "Well, you have been a Chippendale for over a year now. I'd say you're somewhat qualified."

Jake is hanging on every word. This is almost too easy.

"Yeah, I mean, anyone with an innate sense of rhythm and a decent amount of flexibility can learn the routines. The thing is, there are some aspects of the job that can't be taught—personality-wise. Know what I mean?"

The poor bastard has no choice but to nod.

"I see what you're saying, Emmett," Edward says, adding a solemn shrug to illustrate just how gosh darned sorry he is that his fucker of an ex could never be enough of a man to do what I do.

Jake blinks at Edward, then shakes his head as if finding himself at the end of a road he never meant to take. "Yeah, of course. I wasn't . . . I didn't even know about that gig you have going with the Chippendales. Congrats, man."

Edward's done playing. "What do you really want, Jake?"

Jake takes a step toward Edward, sending adrenaline buzzing through me. "Same thing as before, man. I never stopped wanting you." The fucking nerve of this guy.

It's my turn to speak up. Granted, I may not look intimidating in my current outfit, but I could still put the fucker through the front door. "Dude, you know I can hear you, right? I'm standing right here."

Jake's hand flies up. "No disrespect, Emmett."

"How is it possibly not disrespectful, you propositioning my man, right in front of my fucking face?"

"As I've tried to make abundantly clear," the weasel says to me, "you are part of the deal."

Jake's gaze moves between Edward's and mine, looking for any tiny shard of encouragement. I leave it to my very capable boyfriend to hammer the final nail in Jake's coffin. Edward places his hand on Jake's shoulder and gives him a look shot through with honest-to-goodness pity, the best revenge ever.

"Jake, there is no scenario I could ever envision that would include you. Ever."

Boom! This is the part of the dance when we yank off our boxers and moon the audience. A half-second later, the lights would cut out, pitching the room into complete darkness—exactly how Jake's face looks right now.

He fumbles for the doorknob while sputtering out, "Good to see you, Edward. Nice meeting you, Emmett. Take care." Jake pulls the door closed behind him. Good riddance.

Edward's back hits the door as he let out a giant sigh. "So . . . that happened." His mouth twitches into a grin, which I return with one of my own.

"I think your asshole is bigger than my asshole."

"See, that's just . . . no," Edward answers, but his grin has already turned into a full-blown smile.

I step in, trapping him against the door and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm ready to paint the sexiest cowboy on the planet."

I pump my eyebrows. "Just paint?"

"For now." He kisses me back with the promise of what later holds. "Thank you, by the way, for making my last fantasy come true."

"Last? I've got a twenty-foot lasso in the next room that begs to differ."

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

A/N: Well that was fun! I'm not even going to attempt to photoshop THIS chapter's painting because I could never do justice to the visual in my head of Emmett on all fours, peering over his shoulder while Edward approaches all rough and ready to go.

Confession: this chapter started out as the epilogue, but like all my characters, these two got talkative as hell when I threatened to cut them off. Hence, not the epilogue. Confession #2: Ladyeire spent a mile of chat conversation helping me come up with the details of this chapter because sometimes she just sees plot and knows how things work. Basically, all I started with was Emmett's line- "I'm the upgrade." We went from there. Much love, too, to SagaDevotee for nudging me in all the right spots to help this ending take shape. And as always, my sweet Chayasara, who never says no to my boys! :)

I really loved the feedback on the last chapter. Thank you all so much for making this story such a joy to post.
XOXO
~BOH