Last time:
"Nevermind," she sighed, grabbing her bag off the parking lot. She fished her keys out of the front pouch, made sure the doors were locked with a beep, then slung the bag over her shoulder and walked calmly towards the massive, looming tour bus. "I need to make a stop on the way."
Vegeta starred after her for a moment, then huffed, and followed. Kami help him if he ever dated a woman like her.
******************************************************
Bulma let herself fall to her knees, her fingers gouging into the soft earth. She grabbed up fistfuls of the slightly moistened soil and threw it back down, seething with sadden fury, her face dripping with tears. The gravestone she sat before was elaborately decorated with carvings that were nearly exact duplicates of artwork that Mrs. Yosano had done, and the poem inscribed had been written by Mr. Yosano. It was longer than an ordinary gravestone, bearing both their names; the way they always wanted it. Not only to be buried side by side, but in the exact same hole in the ground, their coffins touching.
She let out a gasp for air, punched the ground, then stood, not daring to touch the precious granite tribute of love; she was mostly afraid that she would tarnish the proclamation in some way, or disturb her sleeping loved ones. She didn't know which she feared more, though both made her take a step back and just admire the craftsmanship. At that moment she decided that her and Yamcha would be great friends from then on. It struck her deep that it was these circumstances that brought about her change in feelings for her ex-boyfriend, but only the most extreme would have allowed her to hear his words. And she believed him wholeheartedly, and that's why she knew they could be friends; she wouldn't sleep with him again—even if she thought she would have before, she realized now that it was only to comfort him—or lead him to believe in any way that she was interested. Just friends.
Vegeta watched from afar, his back leaning against the tour bus, taking a drag of his cigarette. He exhaled, sneered at the flaming cancer stick, then flicked it away. And he'd been doing such a good job at quitting. Oh well, it was never his thing to give up. So why give up smoking?
He wondered absently who were the people Bulma was mourning over, though didn't care to ask. It was her business, and she'd promised to only be ten minutes. She could cry and scream for her ten minutes, and then they were leaving. If they were going to reach their destination in time, they had to move quickly.
Finally she was finished with her grieving and headed back towards the bus, pulling her cell phone from her pocket. She talked to whoever was on the other end for twenty seconds, then hung up and stopped two feet away from Vegeta.
"Done?" was all he said.
"Yeah. Where's the dress?"
*******************************************************
Goku picked up his cellular phone, dialed six numbers, lingered over the seventh, then pressed "off". 17 and 18 both let out a chuckle at their friend's nervousness. He'd been doing that same exact thing for the past twenty minutes now.
"Just call her, sheesh," 17 said, tossing the tabloid he'd been reading on the coffee table. He was always fascinated by the sheer idiocy of the stories they printed in those things, especially when they were about Green Dragon. "She wants you too. I mean, you kissed her, right? And she kissed you back. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am."
"My ass-kissing brother is right, Goku," 18 said. "Call the girl and ask her out. Better yet. Call her and ask her to bring her other friends. That way you're not pressured by being alone with her." This wasn't exactly 18's style when it came to dating, if she had one at all, but it seemed fitting for the bassist. He was perky, yet shy when it came to girls. He would do better in a group first, then ease into being alone.
"You're right," Goku sighed, finally dialing the entire number and bringing the phone to his ear. Four agonizing rings, and then a familiar voice answered.
"Mau residence."
"Chi-Chi?"
"Speaking."
He let out a great sigh. Kami her voice sounded divine.
"Goku?"
"Yeah," he choked out, his mouth suddenly dry. 17 tossed him a bottled water in noticing his dilemma. He whispered something incoherent to 18, but Goku wasn't paying attention. All his focus had to go into keeping himself calm when he talked to Chi-Chi. He had no clue that she was feeling the exact same knot in the pit of her stomach too. "Are you busy tonight?"
"Not really," she said, her voice steady, though her hands were so tightly squeezing Krillin's that he could barely stand it. "Just hanging out with Krillin and Maris."
"What d'you say me and you, and Krillin and Maris, and the twins go out for a bit?"
"I'd say you read my mind," she laughed.
"Great. Where should we pick you up?"
"511 Dragon Drive. It's in the East 550 area."
"Alright. I can find you. Be ready in ten. Bye."
"Bye."
If their lives had been a movie, the film would have done a split screen of this moment; Goku and Chi-Chi both sighing with relief as they hung up their phones and collapsed into the nearest chair. And their friends laughing behind them, knowing that the seeds of love were already planted and only needed a little bit of care and patience to grow.
Too bad the same wasn't true for a certain black-haired megastar and his fiery heiress.
********************************************************************
"You hit your head or something?" Bulma asked in all seriousness as she starred at the dress he held before her. Never had she worn something so, well, she couldn't even think of a name to call it, it was so completely alien to her.
"Just try it on," Vegeta grumbled, holding it out to her. She grabbed the hooked top of the hanger and watched as he opened the door to the front of the tour bus, told the driver to continue to "the spot", then closed it again. "Well?"
"And if I don't?" She wanted to hurl the dress out of the now moving vehicle. Black wasn't even a good color for her. Not that she paid attention to that kind of thing.
"Look." He ran one hand through his unruly hair and looked up at her, his head bowed slightly. She could tell that he wasn't enjoying this anymore than she was, and it struck her with a kind of satisfaction that she could make him completely miserable. All her years of adoring him seemed to wash away from her and now her soul desire of the evening was making sure she never saw his face again. "Put on the dress. If you don't like it, then we can stop somewhere and get you another one. Ok?"
She was about to shout her already formulated come back, when she realized he was compromising with her, and only sighed.
"Alright. Hang on."
As she slipped on the simmering black dress, the coolness of the fabric seemed to soothe her anger. It felt nice to wear something so elegant and expensive, for even with all her wealth, she chose comfort over style. And she was surprised that it covered her more than the dress Chi-Chi had offered her a few days ago. It was form fitting from the waist up, pressing her breasts together, though not in a way that would permanently brand her as a slut; it was sleeveless, the straps concealed under what looked like scarves attached at the top of her shoulders. The bottom half of the dress flowed out and went to just below her knees, fanning out gracefully when she twirled in front of the mirror. It had a diamondesque simmer to it, though not in that gaudy way that can be duplicated in any cheap clothing store. This dress was a designer dress, and she felt beautiful for the first time in her life.
She realized, as she reached for the door, that she wasn't wearing any make-up, and that her hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail. There was no way she was wearing this dress and looking the way she did.
"Vegeta?" she called through the door.
"What?" He was leaning against it, unnerving her.
"Did you by any chance buy make-up with this dress?"
He let out a laugh.
"18's make-up and junk is in the top drawer of the cabinet."
"Thanks."
"Hmph," was in only response.
***************************************************************
Bulma had to practically hold her breath as she came out of the bathroom; she couldn't know what his reaction would be, and though she tried to convince herself that she didn't care, deep down she wanted him to fall flat on his face in worship. She stood there for a full twenty seconds, as he looked her over, before she let herself breathe. Her breasts heaved slightly and a faint smile was playing on her lips. She knew she looked magnificent. But was it good enough to scrape a compliment from Vegeta?
He smirked at her after what seemed like an eternity, then said, "Well, I've never seen a nerd look so good."
Her stomach turned as the obvious compliment washed over her. But instead of smiling sweetly and saying thank you, she sharply said, "I don't need to doll myself up to look good."
"But it helps," he laughed, turning towards his room.
"Where're you going?"
"To change. You didn't think I'd wear this when you're wearing that?"
He emerged from his room some five minutes later, decked out in a black three-piece suit, a sullen look on his face.
"What?"
"I hate this," he muttered, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. He smacked the pack into his palm, drew one cigarette with his lips, then offered one to Bulma.
"I don't smoke."
"Really?" was all he said, then lit the addictive stick of tobacco and paper, inhaling it fully.
She wrinkled her nose at this. She hated smoking and anyone who smoked around her. Ever since she was a child and her grandmother had died of cancer she'd hated smoking. When Yamcha tried his first cigarette in the 8th grade, Bulma wouldn't talk to him for a week. But she'd been childish then, letting her own annoyances get in the way of her relationships with others. This she could ignore, if he kept his distance that is. The moment he stepped too close and she got a whiff of his nicotine breath, she'd let loose on him.
"You're one of those anti-smokers, aren't you?" he asked suddenly. Bulma jumped slightly, having not expected him to say anything more to her until they arrived at wherever their destination was.
"No," she answered firmly. "I don't like smoking, but I'm not going to tell you that you can't smoke around me. That'd be childish."
"I'll put it out if you want," he said, surprising her completely. Where was all this niceness coming from? Was he the same Vegeta she'd met that weekend? What happened to him to cause such a change? Was he high? Or drunk?
"It's fine," she insisted, though what she really wanted to say was, "Yes, damn it! You're disgusting!"
He smirked up at her, making sure she noticed him, then smooched the cigarette into the ashtray that sat on the counter behind him.
"I'll brush my teeth too."
Before she could stop him, he was already down the hall, leaving her ten times more confused than she already was. But before she could delve too deep into her thoughts, the bus driver yelled, "We're here Mr. Ouji!" from his enclosed space, and she ran to the nearest window, pressing her face into the cold tinted glass to get a better view. She wanted to rub her eyes to make sure she was seeing clearly, but quickly remembered the make-up she'd just spent twenty minutes on and instead clutched the tiny purse Vegeta had provided her. She almost didn't notice that he was standing beside her. He smelled deliciously minty.
"Now will you loosen up?" he grumbled. "Kami…"
But she wasn't listening. She was too busy staring at THE hottest place in Japan, The Lion's Den, a five star restaurant combined with the most exclusive dance club, admitting only the most famous of the famous. When she had first heard about the place she'd immediately turned her nose up at the idea, finding it preposterous like all the rest of the "sleazy" nightclubs around. She hated the whole idea of half naked women rubbing up against horny men, drunk out of their minds, and smoking and snorting all the drugs known to man. But after some research, insisted upon by Chi-Chi, she found that it was actually a place she would want to go, if she could get in, of course. She loved the fancy restaurant part—romantic, elegant, quiet—and then the club part—dancing, having fun, letting loose, and absolutely no illegal drugs would be tolerated. It was almost like bringing two completely different worlds together, though the sections were technically separate. Classical music played in the restaurant, and the hottest club music blared in the club. And even she, the heiress of Capsule Corp. Bulma Briefs, could never have been permitted access on her own. It was THAT exclusive.
"How—?" she started, but found her voice wouldn't project the words she was thinking.
"Green Dragon is hot now, I suppose," he said off-handedly, stopping himself from reaching for his pack of cigarettes that were no longer in his jacket pocket. "The club owner called me a week ago and said I needed to make an appearance." He took a deep breath, as if he were going over some important plan in his head, then said, "Your dress will be fine for the restaurant AND the club. But there's no way in hell I'm staying in this when I dance. I'll leave you with a body guard when I change."
"A body guard?" she laughed, finally pulling her eyes away from the window. "I think I can handle myself."
"I'm responsible for you, woman. You're getting a guard whether you like it or not."
"And what, you have body guards follow you EVERYWHERE?"
"Pretty much," he scoffed. "There's one waiting right outside the bus right now to escort us inside. Three of them came in a car behind us."
"That's ridiculous. You guys didn't have any body guards at the bar this weekend."
"You're sure about that?"
"But—"
"Look. Let's just get this over with, ok? We're on the road at 9:00 tomorrow."
"You're a damn yo-yo, did you know that?"
"Yes," he huffed sarcastically, wrapping his arm around her waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And she realized, rather jealously, though she hated to admit it, that that was probably the truth; he was so used to wining and dining girls that when he put his arm around her he barely changed his manner. "The owner knows I'm coming tonight," he informed her. "So there's going to be paperotsy. Just—" He reached for the doorknob and gave it a quick turn. Bulma figured it was a signal to the guard outside. "—stay close to me, ok?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes suddenly fixed on all the flashing cameras and eager reporters that crowded around the tour bus. A young blonde woman in a tight gray pinstriped suit came crashing through the others and forced a microphone and video camera in Vegeta's face. He only snarled viciously at her and pushed the hunky piece of equipment aside, pulling Bulma to come with him off the bus steps.
"Vegeta!" the blonde called after him, hissing as her cameraman couldn't keep up. "Vegeta! Can you tell me who this lovely girl is you are with? Is she another fling? Or are you finally settling down?"
"What a stupid question," Bulma mumbled under her breath, unaware that the microphone picked up her voice.
"Good Kami!" another reporter suddenly gasped, shoving right into the blonde and nearly toppling her over. "You're Bulma Briefs, heiress of Capsule Corp., aren't you!"
Bulma barely had time to glare at the annoying reporters as Vegeta yanked her away and practically ran into the building, the first body guard leading the way and the other two bringing up the rear. If they had shut the door two seconds sooner, the nasty reporter's camera would have been ruined.
"Great," one of the guards huffed, leaning against the door, though didn't for more than a second, seeing as hundreds of angry fists were banging on the other side. "Your agent is gonna blow her stack when she reads the tabloids tomorrow."
"Everything's under control, Bobbo," Vegeta insisted, his arm still firmly holding onto Bulma. She almost blushed, though quickly remembered what a jerk he'd been to her. "'The Boss' knows that I'm with her. And she knows how retarded the press gets. So stop blubbering and get us a decent table." The guard only grumbled at his duty and began walking away. "And make sure we're not around a lot of people!" he called after him.
"His name's Bobbo?" Bulma asked, a hint of laughter behind her voice, as they waited to be seated.
"No," he said shortly. "But it suits him."
Moments later "Bobbo" came back, a sullen look etched in his features, and mumbled that their table would be ready in a few minutes and that they should wait at the bar.
As they entered the lavishly decorated restaurant, Bulma found that she couldn't keep her mouth closed or her eyes from darting in all directions so not to miss a single piece of artwork or fancy table setting. The walls were a rich vermilion, scattered with sweeping golden designs that seemed to burst from the walls in their magnificence. All the doorways were draped with the same red color, the heavy fabric being pulled back and held in place by fancy gold ropes. In the four corners of the massive dining hall, there stood four distinctly different, but very similar, marble statues of Greek gods and goddesses. And when Bulma happened to glance down as they walked to the bar, she noticed the floor was the same beautiful white marble.
"I'm in love," she whispered as she slid onto a bar stool, her eyes still on the room behind her, though she only saw half of it through the open doorway. She'd always had a passion of Greek and/or Roman decorating styles. She vowed that when she had her own place she'd dedicate an entire wing to Greek and Roman; marble floors and statures, water fountains, giant vases with real-looking wax flowers, and anything else she could think of that would look Greek or Roman.
"You're happy then?" Vegeta asked, waving the bartender over.
"Yeah. This'll work."
"Good. Then I don't have to hear about it from Jun."
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked as he approached them, his face drawn and almost angry.
"Scotch neat," Vegeta said, reaching into his pocket, then grumbling.
"And for the lady?"
"Bourbon, please."
Vegeta looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a small smile on his lips. At least she wasn't a wuss and ordered his dates' usual Shirley Temple.
Maybe 18 and Jun were right. Maybe this was just what he needed.
*************************************************************
17 and 18 had to practically drag Goku out of the car and up the driveway, with him trying to escape the entire time. On their way over, he'd chickened out and wanted to turn back around. Though, unfortunately for him, 18 was driving, and wouldn't allow him to be a coward.
"She's expecting you," 17 said, avoiding Goku's wild legs as they kicked out. "And you don't want to let her down, do you? Then she'll never want to get to know you."
"Besides," 18 cut in. "She likes you too. It's obvious."
At this Goku finally relaxed and shrugged off his friends' hands.
"Alright," he sighed, stepping up onto the porch and ringing the doorbell, surprising them both. They'd expected him to stand there for several moments and wait for them to ring the bell.
"Hey Goku," Chi-Chi said, shoving aside her usual shyness. She wanted so desperately for him to like her as much as she did. "17, 18."
"Hey there!" the twins said in unison, gently pushing past her and into the house. She didn't care though, her eyes and mind completely focused on the incredibly attractive man that stood before her.
"You look great," Goku finally said, know that a fierce blush was rising in his cheeks.
"Thanks," she murmured, though she was only wearing a tee shirt and jeans. She'd taken Bulma's little "slut" speech to heart and decided to dress more conservatively. "So, where're we going?"
"Bowling," he said, his lips curling into a smile, as he was finally feeling comfortable.
"Really!" she all but squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I'm so completely addicted to bowling!"
"Me too," he said quietly, his arms wrapped around her tiny waist, thinking that he'd never been happier.
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---Chapter 7!! Ok, so not a lot of dramatic stuff happened, but I'm still easing into this thing. I happen to like how things are going, you know? Hopefully you do ^_^ I mean, I did get them on their dates and semi-comfortable with one another, so that's a start, right? I'm not one for jumping ahead. I like to take my fics slowly.
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Reviews=More Chapters)
Next time: The rest of the gang's dates…
Note: My beta-reader is on vacation, so no one but me read through this. Hopefully not TOO much is wrong with it.
"Nevermind," she sighed, grabbing her bag off the parking lot. She fished her keys out of the front pouch, made sure the doors were locked with a beep, then slung the bag over her shoulder and walked calmly towards the massive, looming tour bus. "I need to make a stop on the way."
Vegeta starred after her for a moment, then huffed, and followed. Kami help him if he ever dated a woman like her.
******************************************************
Bulma let herself fall to her knees, her fingers gouging into the soft earth. She grabbed up fistfuls of the slightly moistened soil and threw it back down, seething with sadden fury, her face dripping with tears. The gravestone she sat before was elaborately decorated with carvings that were nearly exact duplicates of artwork that Mrs. Yosano had done, and the poem inscribed had been written by Mr. Yosano. It was longer than an ordinary gravestone, bearing both their names; the way they always wanted it. Not only to be buried side by side, but in the exact same hole in the ground, their coffins touching.
She let out a gasp for air, punched the ground, then stood, not daring to touch the precious granite tribute of love; she was mostly afraid that she would tarnish the proclamation in some way, or disturb her sleeping loved ones. She didn't know which she feared more, though both made her take a step back and just admire the craftsmanship. At that moment she decided that her and Yamcha would be great friends from then on. It struck her deep that it was these circumstances that brought about her change in feelings for her ex-boyfriend, but only the most extreme would have allowed her to hear his words. And she believed him wholeheartedly, and that's why she knew they could be friends; she wouldn't sleep with him again—even if she thought she would have before, she realized now that it was only to comfort him—or lead him to believe in any way that she was interested. Just friends.
Vegeta watched from afar, his back leaning against the tour bus, taking a drag of his cigarette. He exhaled, sneered at the flaming cancer stick, then flicked it away. And he'd been doing such a good job at quitting. Oh well, it was never his thing to give up. So why give up smoking?
He wondered absently who were the people Bulma was mourning over, though didn't care to ask. It was her business, and she'd promised to only be ten minutes. She could cry and scream for her ten minutes, and then they were leaving. If they were going to reach their destination in time, they had to move quickly.
Finally she was finished with her grieving and headed back towards the bus, pulling her cell phone from her pocket. She talked to whoever was on the other end for twenty seconds, then hung up and stopped two feet away from Vegeta.
"Done?" was all he said.
"Yeah. Where's the dress?"
*******************************************************
Goku picked up his cellular phone, dialed six numbers, lingered over the seventh, then pressed "off". 17 and 18 both let out a chuckle at their friend's nervousness. He'd been doing that same exact thing for the past twenty minutes now.
"Just call her, sheesh," 17 said, tossing the tabloid he'd been reading on the coffee table. He was always fascinated by the sheer idiocy of the stories they printed in those things, especially when they were about Green Dragon. "She wants you too. I mean, you kissed her, right? And she kissed you back. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am."
"My ass-kissing brother is right, Goku," 18 said. "Call the girl and ask her out. Better yet. Call her and ask her to bring her other friends. That way you're not pressured by being alone with her." This wasn't exactly 18's style when it came to dating, if she had one at all, but it seemed fitting for the bassist. He was perky, yet shy when it came to girls. He would do better in a group first, then ease into being alone.
"You're right," Goku sighed, finally dialing the entire number and bringing the phone to his ear. Four agonizing rings, and then a familiar voice answered.
"Mau residence."
"Chi-Chi?"
"Speaking."
He let out a great sigh. Kami her voice sounded divine.
"Goku?"
"Yeah," he choked out, his mouth suddenly dry. 17 tossed him a bottled water in noticing his dilemma. He whispered something incoherent to 18, but Goku wasn't paying attention. All his focus had to go into keeping himself calm when he talked to Chi-Chi. He had no clue that she was feeling the exact same knot in the pit of her stomach too. "Are you busy tonight?"
"Not really," she said, her voice steady, though her hands were so tightly squeezing Krillin's that he could barely stand it. "Just hanging out with Krillin and Maris."
"What d'you say me and you, and Krillin and Maris, and the twins go out for a bit?"
"I'd say you read my mind," she laughed.
"Great. Where should we pick you up?"
"511 Dragon Drive. It's in the East 550 area."
"Alright. I can find you. Be ready in ten. Bye."
"Bye."
If their lives had been a movie, the film would have done a split screen of this moment; Goku and Chi-Chi both sighing with relief as they hung up their phones and collapsed into the nearest chair. And their friends laughing behind them, knowing that the seeds of love were already planted and only needed a little bit of care and patience to grow.
Too bad the same wasn't true for a certain black-haired megastar and his fiery heiress.
********************************************************************
"You hit your head or something?" Bulma asked in all seriousness as she starred at the dress he held before her. Never had she worn something so, well, she couldn't even think of a name to call it, it was so completely alien to her.
"Just try it on," Vegeta grumbled, holding it out to her. She grabbed the hooked top of the hanger and watched as he opened the door to the front of the tour bus, told the driver to continue to "the spot", then closed it again. "Well?"
"And if I don't?" She wanted to hurl the dress out of the now moving vehicle. Black wasn't even a good color for her. Not that she paid attention to that kind of thing.
"Look." He ran one hand through his unruly hair and looked up at her, his head bowed slightly. She could tell that he wasn't enjoying this anymore than she was, and it struck her with a kind of satisfaction that she could make him completely miserable. All her years of adoring him seemed to wash away from her and now her soul desire of the evening was making sure she never saw his face again. "Put on the dress. If you don't like it, then we can stop somewhere and get you another one. Ok?"
She was about to shout her already formulated come back, when she realized he was compromising with her, and only sighed.
"Alright. Hang on."
As she slipped on the simmering black dress, the coolness of the fabric seemed to soothe her anger. It felt nice to wear something so elegant and expensive, for even with all her wealth, she chose comfort over style. And she was surprised that it covered her more than the dress Chi-Chi had offered her a few days ago. It was form fitting from the waist up, pressing her breasts together, though not in a way that would permanently brand her as a slut; it was sleeveless, the straps concealed under what looked like scarves attached at the top of her shoulders. The bottom half of the dress flowed out and went to just below her knees, fanning out gracefully when she twirled in front of the mirror. It had a diamondesque simmer to it, though not in that gaudy way that can be duplicated in any cheap clothing store. This dress was a designer dress, and she felt beautiful for the first time in her life.
She realized, as she reached for the door, that she wasn't wearing any make-up, and that her hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail. There was no way she was wearing this dress and looking the way she did.
"Vegeta?" she called through the door.
"What?" He was leaning against it, unnerving her.
"Did you by any chance buy make-up with this dress?"
He let out a laugh.
"18's make-up and junk is in the top drawer of the cabinet."
"Thanks."
"Hmph," was in only response.
***************************************************************
Bulma had to practically hold her breath as she came out of the bathroom; she couldn't know what his reaction would be, and though she tried to convince herself that she didn't care, deep down she wanted him to fall flat on his face in worship. She stood there for a full twenty seconds, as he looked her over, before she let herself breathe. Her breasts heaved slightly and a faint smile was playing on her lips. She knew she looked magnificent. But was it good enough to scrape a compliment from Vegeta?
He smirked at her after what seemed like an eternity, then said, "Well, I've never seen a nerd look so good."
Her stomach turned as the obvious compliment washed over her. But instead of smiling sweetly and saying thank you, she sharply said, "I don't need to doll myself up to look good."
"But it helps," he laughed, turning towards his room.
"Where're you going?"
"To change. You didn't think I'd wear this when you're wearing that?"
He emerged from his room some five minutes later, decked out in a black three-piece suit, a sullen look on his face.
"What?"
"I hate this," he muttered, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. He smacked the pack into his palm, drew one cigarette with his lips, then offered one to Bulma.
"I don't smoke."
"Really?" was all he said, then lit the addictive stick of tobacco and paper, inhaling it fully.
She wrinkled her nose at this. She hated smoking and anyone who smoked around her. Ever since she was a child and her grandmother had died of cancer she'd hated smoking. When Yamcha tried his first cigarette in the 8th grade, Bulma wouldn't talk to him for a week. But she'd been childish then, letting her own annoyances get in the way of her relationships with others. This she could ignore, if he kept his distance that is. The moment he stepped too close and she got a whiff of his nicotine breath, she'd let loose on him.
"You're one of those anti-smokers, aren't you?" he asked suddenly. Bulma jumped slightly, having not expected him to say anything more to her until they arrived at wherever their destination was.
"No," she answered firmly. "I don't like smoking, but I'm not going to tell you that you can't smoke around me. That'd be childish."
"I'll put it out if you want," he said, surprising her completely. Where was all this niceness coming from? Was he the same Vegeta she'd met that weekend? What happened to him to cause such a change? Was he high? Or drunk?
"It's fine," she insisted, though what she really wanted to say was, "Yes, damn it! You're disgusting!"
He smirked up at her, making sure she noticed him, then smooched the cigarette into the ashtray that sat on the counter behind him.
"I'll brush my teeth too."
Before she could stop him, he was already down the hall, leaving her ten times more confused than she already was. But before she could delve too deep into her thoughts, the bus driver yelled, "We're here Mr. Ouji!" from his enclosed space, and she ran to the nearest window, pressing her face into the cold tinted glass to get a better view. She wanted to rub her eyes to make sure she was seeing clearly, but quickly remembered the make-up she'd just spent twenty minutes on and instead clutched the tiny purse Vegeta had provided her. She almost didn't notice that he was standing beside her. He smelled deliciously minty.
"Now will you loosen up?" he grumbled. "Kami…"
But she wasn't listening. She was too busy staring at THE hottest place in Japan, The Lion's Den, a five star restaurant combined with the most exclusive dance club, admitting only the most famous of the famous. When she had first heard about the place she'd immediately turned her nose up at the idea, finding it preposterous like all the rest of the "sleazy" nightclubs around. She hated the whole idea of half naked women rubbing up against horny men, drunk out of their minds, and smoking and snorting all the drugs known to man. But after some research, insisted upon by Chi-Chi, she found that it was actually a place she would want to go, if she could get in, of course. She loved the fancy restaurant part—romantic, elegant, quiet—and then the club part—dancing, having fun, letting loose, and absolutely no illegal drugs would be tolerated. It was almost like bringing two completely different worlds together, though the sections were technically separate. Classical music played in the restaurant, and the hottest club music blared in the club. And even she, the heiress of Capsule Corp. Bulma Briefs, could never have been permitted access on her own. It was THAT exclusive.
"How—?" she started, but found her voice wouldn't project the words she was thinking.
"Green Dragon is hot now, I suppose," he said off-handedly, stopping himself from reaching for his pack of cigarettes that were no longer in his jacket pocket. "The club owner called me a week ago and said I needed to make an appearance." He took a deep breath, as if he were going over some important plan in his head, then said, "Your dress will be fine for the restaurant AND the club. But there's no way in hell I'm staying in this when I dance. I'll leave you with a body guard when I change."
"A body guard?" she laughed, finally pulling her eyes away from the window. "I think I can handle myself."
"I'm responsible for you, woman. You're getting a guard whether you like it or not."
"And what, you have body guards follow you EVERYWHERE?"
"Pretty much," he scoffed. "There's one waiting right outside the bus right now to escort us inside. Three of them came in a car behind us."
"That's ridiculous. You guys didn't have any body guards at the bar this weekend."
"You're sure about that?"
"But—"
"Look. Let's just get this over with, ok? We're on the road at 9:00 tomorrow."
"You're a damn yo-yo, did you know that?"
"Yes," he huffed sarcastically, wrapping his arm around her waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And she realized, rather jealously, though she hated to admit it, that that was probably the truth; he was so used to wining and dining girls that when he put his arm around her he barely changed his manner. "The owner knows I'm coming tonight," he informed her. "So there's going to be paperotsy. Just—" He reached for the doorknob and gave it a quick turn. Bulma figured it was a signal to the guard outside. "—stay close to me, ok?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes suddenly fixed on all the flashing cameras and eager reporters that crowded around the tour bus. A young blonde woman in a tight gray pinstriped suit came crashing through the others and forced a microphone and video camera in Vegeta's face. He only snarled viciously at her and pushed the hunky piece of equipment aside, pulling Bulma to come with him off the bus steps.
"Vegeta!" the blonde called after him, hissing as her cameraman couldn't keep up. "Vegeta! Can you tell me who this lovely girl is you are with? Is she another fling? Or are you finally settling down?"
"What a stupid question," Bulma mumbled under her breath, unaware that the microphone picked up her voice.
"Good Kami!" another reporter suddenly gasped, shoving right into the blonde and nearly toppling her over. "You're Bulma Briefs, heiress of Capsule Corp., aren't you!"
Bulma barely had time to glare at the annoying reporters as Vegeta yanked her away and practically ran into the building, the first body guard leading the way and the other two bringing up the rear. If they had shut the door two seconds sooner, the nasty reporter's camera would have been ruined.
"Great," one of the guards huffed, leaning against the door, though didn't for more than a second, seeing as hundreds of angry fists were banging on the other side. "Your agent is gonna blow her stack when she reads the tabloids tomorrow."
"Everything's under control, Bobbo," Vegeta insisted, his arm still firmly holding onto Bulma. She almost blushed, though quickly remembered what a jerk he'd been to her. "'The Boss' knows that I'm with her. And she knows how retarded the press gets. So stop blubbering and get us a decent table." The guard only grumbled at his duty and began walking away. "And make sure we're not around a lot of people!" he called after him.
"His name's Bobbo?" Bulma asked, a hint of laughter behind her voice, as they waited to be seated.
"No," he said shortly. "But it suits him."
Moments later "Bobbo" came back, a sullen look etched in his features, and mumbled that their table would be ready in a few minutes and that they should wait at the bar.
As they entered the lavishly decorated restaurant, Bulma found that she couldn't keep her mouth closed or her eyes from darting in all directions so not to miss a single piece of artwork or fancy table setting. The walls were a rich vermilion, scattered with sweeping golden designs that seemed to burst from the walls in their magnificence. All the doorways were draped with the same red color, the heavy fabric being pulled back and held in place by fancy gold ropes. In the four corners of the massive dining hall, there stood four distinctly different, but very similar, marble statues of Greek gods and goddesses. And when Bulma happened to glance down as they walked to the bar, she noticed the floor was the same beautiful white marble.
"I'm in love," she whispered as she slid onto a bar stool, her eyes still on the room behind her, though she only saw half of it through the open doorway. She'd always had a passion of Greek and/or Roman decorating styles. She vowed that when she had her own place she'd dedicate an entire wing to Greek and Roman; marble floors and statures, water fountains, giant vases with real-looking wax flowers, and anything else she could think of that would look Greek or Roman.
"You're happy then?" Vegeta asked, waving the bartender over.
"Yeah. This'll work."
"Good. Then I don't have to hear about it from Jun."
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked as he approached them, his face drawn and almost angry.
"Scotch neat," Vegeta said, reaching into his pocket, then grumbling.
"And for the lady?"
"Bourbon, please."
Vegeta looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a small smile on his lips. At least she wasn't a wuss and ordered his dates' usual Shirley Temple.
Maybe 18 and Jun were right. Maybe this was just what he needed.
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17 and 18 had to practically drag Goku out of the car and up the driveway, with him trying to escape the entire time. On their way over, he'd chickened out and wanted to turn back around. Though, unfortunately for him, 18 was driving, and wouldn't allow him to be a coward.
"She's expecting you," 17 said, avoiding Goku's wild legs as they kicked out. "And you don't want to let her down, do you? Then she'll never want to get to know you."
"Besides," 18 cut in. "She likes you too. It's obvious."
At this Goku finally relaxed and shrugged off his friends' hands.
"Alright," he sighed, stepping up onto the porch and ringing the doorbell, surprising them both. They'd expected him to stand there for several moments and wait for them to ring the bell.
"Hey Goku," Chi-Chi said, shoving aside her usual shyness. She wanted so desperately for him to like her as much as she did. "17, 18."
"Hey there!" the twins said in unison, gently pushing past her and into the house. She didn't care though, her eyes and mind completely focused on the incredibly attractive man that stood before her.
"You look great," Goku finally said, know that a fierce blush was rising in his cheeks.
"Thanks," she murmured, though she was only wearing a tee shirt and jeans. She'd taken Bulma's little "slut" speech to heart and decided to dress more conservatively. "So, where're we going?"
"Bowling," he said, his lips curling into a smile, as he was finally feeling comfortable.
"Really!" she all but squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I'm so completely addicted to bowling!"
"Me too," he said quietly, his arms wrapped around her tiny waist, thinking that he'd never been happier.
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---Chapter 7!! Ok, so not a lot of dramatic stuff happened, but I'm still easing into this thing. I happen to like how things are going, you know? Hopefully you do ^_^ I mean, I did get them on their dates and semi-comfortable with one another, so that's a start, right? I'm not one for jumping ahead. I like to take my fics slowly.
REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Reviews=More Chapters)
Next time: The rest of the gang's dates…
Note: My beta-reader is on vacation, so no one but me read through this. Hopefully not TOO much is wrong with it.