Chapter 18

It was euphoric sitting there with them, listening to them debate and argue, laugh and reminisce. My mind was blown that me, Bella Swan, got to be here with these gods of music and just be a part of it. A fraction, maybe. A footnote.

Cool nonetheless.

The beer was getting to me, but I felt good, felt light and high with just the right amount of confidence. I wasn't sitting there, uninvited. A hanger-on. An outsider. I saw a different side to all of them. Yorkie wasn't such a jerk, I'd decided, when he told the story about how he met that fangirl dying of cancer at a show and teared up when she gave him a stuffed bear she'd embroidered his name on.

Jasper had been the friendliest to me all along, but it was nice to have him tell me about his girlfriend and their puppy he couldn't wait to meet. They'd named it Oreo, Alice's favorite snack.

Jake was still kind of a jerk but when he asked me a question about me and seemed interested when I answered, he gained a point or two in my book.

I didn't say much, just soaked it in. But the whole time, I was completely aware. Shotgun focused and trained on the deity sitting right next to me.

He was like a magnet that kept flipping its polarity. He would arch towards me, drawing me in, my body angling closer and closer until he suddenly shifted away, spell broken and I'd lean back, unaware I'd been so close.

I couldn't decide if he was actually listening when I spoke or not, but if he was, he never said anything snarky or viscous. Didn't talk over me. Didn't look at me like he was confused and wondering why I was there. Didn't make me that baby baby baby.

Maybe I was seeing a different side of him, too.

After Guinness number five, Edward laughed at something Jake said he found particularly funny. I don't know if it was his own beer-high or what, but I was happy he seemed happy. I tried to remember if I'd ever heard him laugh like that. A true amused haha laugh, not one following an insult, not one full of belittlement.

I couldn't help but be drawn to that sound. I watched him with wonder as he joked and relaxed back into his seat.

I swayed a bit, smiling at him. Listening to him. THE Edward Cullen.

Edward Cullen, lead singer.

Edward Cullen, soulful poet.

Edward Cullen, mystery and fantasy.

Edward Cullen.

Edward.

Finger on my neck Edward. Ghost lips on mine Edward.

Gah.

When he turned towards me and our eyes met over the rim of his beer, I didn't look away. He held my gaze, lowered his glass, and smiled back.

"Are you having fun?" he asked, and I truly felt like he really wanted to know.

"I am." Still smiling.

"Are you sure?"

"I am." Less sure, more waiting for the flip of the magnet.

"I'm glad I came. Thank you for coming with me."

His knee tapped mine quickly, before his name got called across the table and he was gone from the bubble.

I knew it was probably all me, only me, but there was something there in that brief exchange and the almost interlude on the bus. Something that gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, he was affected by me.

The mood on the bus the day after was decidedly different.

Could've been the hangovers, but since I was the one with the least hangover, I assumed the vibe I was picking up on was accurate.

Edward was moody. Not that that in itself was different, but after seeing him join the guys and experience him actually bond with them off stage I sort of assumed things had maybe changed. I'd hoped that he'd relaxed, eased up, loosened up and lightened up.

Hoped that chip he carried with them and towards them that infected the bus had maybe been knocked off.

I don't think I was the only one. The guys looked at Edward with open eyes that morning, tried to talk and be friendly only to have him shut them down, zone out with his coffee and earbuds in place.

Sitting in the corner of his bench with the leg shaking under the table.

I hoped it was just that he was tired, head hurting, stomach questionable, and would come around as the day wore on. But when he stayed that way for the entirety of miles upon miles we crossed, the bus as a whole went back to its dysfunctional normal.

The guys joking and sleeping, Carlisle working, Edward sullen and giving the finger when approached.

Not for the first time, I wondered if maybe he was agitated about what I'd overheard in the hotel room.

Sighing, I thought of the almost kiss. The electricity that lit up the bus. But I also thought of the warm smile we shared at the bar. I had felt it, felt it right through my bones. It had been a no-agenda smile. His eyes were bright, focused on me as he smiled back and said a few, kind words.

I took that one, real moment and held it close. Hoping all day.

He didn't look at me once.