Disclaimer: Twilight Character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. No copying, reproduction, or translation of this story is permitted.
A/N: There is nothing I can say to express how thankful I am for everyone involved in making this story happen. This story wouldn't exist without Charity and the fact that she made this banner is just the icing on the cake.
I am also lucky enough to have MariahajilE and Layathomemom on my side again with this one, and I'm thrilled to add LaMomo and Serenshadow into the mix to have their hands in this as well. Without them, you would surely be reading a mess of the crazy shit that goes on in my head. Thank you ladies for all that you do.
Without further delay, I am so excited to share with you:
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Bright Eyes
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"Come on, Bella," Emmett complained. "You have to come. It's Jasper's going away party. You can't miss that!"
I smiled at my brother's enthusiasm. He was a walking ball of endless energy, ready to throw a party at the first hint of a reason, even something as inconsequential as his roommate moving across town. Admittedly, he could be exhausting at times, but I found his gusto for life charming. Even though he had a few years on me, I felt a sense of protectiveness over his childlike effervescence.
But that didn't mean I wanted to go.
"I don't know, Em. I'm kinda beat."
"Don't be a pussy, Bella. I'm old compared to you, and I'm not tired at all."
Sitting on my new bedroom floor amongst a bunch of moving boxes, Emmett flashed me a toothy grin. We'd been moving all day, but you wouldn't have known it by looking at him. Bright-eyed and beaming, he looked completely fresh.
Even as his sister, I could appreciate Emmett's looks. Tall with a naturally solid frame, the hours he put in at the gym every day had catapulted him to a level that impressed. Women gawked at him when he walked by, but I guess that was the point. The time he spent on his body was an investment in his career. Emmett called it exotic dancing; I called it selling his goods to horny housewives on girls' nights.
"I'm not a pussy. I'm just not used to this humidity," I countered.
"Don't say 'pussy.'"
"But you just said 'pussy.'"
"I'm not somebody's baby sister."
I rolled my eyes. Emmett cursed like a sailor, but he would reprimand me every single time I said 'crap.'
I loved him for that.
"Look, I have things to do, anyway. I have to go to that bar, the one Jasper told me about, to see about a job."
"So we'll go get drinks there then."
He stared at me expectantly, blinking, and I couldn't help but laugh. His gaze looked like that of an eager child. His eyes always seemed to have a sparkle of youth and freshness. We were opposites in that way. I'd been told that my eyes, though the same exact color of his, reflected an old soul.
"We can't go get sloshed there if I'm hoping to land a job, Emmett."
He opened his mouth to respond, but I continued before he had a chance. "Look, it's not like he's actually leaving the city. He's just moving out. And you guys should be with your friends, anyway. You don't need me tagging along. Let's just do something chill with him tomorrow night, okay?"
It couldn't even really be considered a party, just drinks. And really, Jasper had already moved out. They used that as an excuse for them to party, not that I could blame them for wanting to commemorate the three years they'd lived together. Jasper first moved into Emmett's house as a stranger. They were parting ways as best friends. Brothers, they said. It was definitely something to celebrate. Despite that, I knew Jasper wouldn't miss my presence. We weren't exactly friends. I was his best friend's little sister. Still, he'd been cool to me when I would visit Emmett and quick to help me consider job placements when I first started thinking about moving in. He'd given me my lead on the bar, the only lead that had what I was looking for.
It felt nice to be invited. Jasper's reason for leaving, moving in with his fiancée, made for a happy reason for everyone to get together.
But Houston's humidity and mugginess had my focus solely on taking a shower and going to find a job.
"Okay?" I asked again when I still hadn't received a response from him.
My brother stared me down with slightly narrowed eyes.
Really, Emmett was only my half-brother. Really, I'd only known him for less than half my life.
And really, I loved him as if he were made out of my own soul.
"Deal," he conceded eventually. "We're meeting with potential roommates in the afternoon, but we can hang out with Jasper later. I can cook!"
My room had been vacant for months, waiting for me, but now that I'd arrived, Jasper's room needed an occupant. Emmett wanted to find another roommate to help out with the bills, and we had three people lined up to come over the next day to scope it out.
"Oh, um..." My brother seemed to think he belonged on the Food Network, and I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. "Awesome. Can't wait."
He beamed up at me, thrilled, and that made the lie worth it.
Then, I dismissed him from my room so I could change out of my yoga pants and into something a little more appropriate for job hunting. I only wanted to bartend, but I still wanted to make a good first impression.
After a quick shower and an even quicker wardrobe change, I hurried out of the house to avoid any further discussion with Emmett about attending Jasper's gathering that evening. When I stepped outside, the thick Houston air enveloped me, the scent and sounds around me igniting a sense of adventure somewhere deep inside of me. This would be my second time starting over in life, and this time, I felt determined to make it even better than the last.
Houston seemed nothing like where I'd come from but too much like a place I'd been. The humidity reminded me of the place I'd lived the first fourteen years of my life: New York. Or Hell, as I liked to call it.
At fourteen, I'd been shipped off to California to live with my dad, the parent I shared with Emmett. The dryness there provided a reprieve from the mugginess of New York, and I had access to pretty beaches. Now I'd picked up and moved my whole life a second time, 1,500 miles away from the first place that had ever felt like home: Blythe, California.
"Hey, Bella," I heard on my way out to the driveway. "Did you get all moved in?"
I'd met Jerry, a middle-aged man who lived next door to Emmett, earlier that day while hauling boxes. He owned a local flooring company, and I knew he had to do well for himself to live in that neighborhood. Emmett afforded all the nice things he had from his success stripping and a roommate to share the bills with, but poor Jerry did not have good looks on his side. He had a receding hairline, outdated glasses with big lenses, and a goofy smile. He had a sweet disposition, though.
"Hardly," I scoffed. "My room is packed with boxes."
"You taking a break?"
"Off to apply for a job. Can you tell me how to get to Washington Avenue? I know we're super close, but I'm not sure which direction."
I felt fortunate Emmett owned a house in the heart of downtown because of our close proximity to so many places. Life and activity bustled everywhere around us, adding to the adventurous feeling bubbling in my gut.
"Oh, we're real close to Washington," Jerry assured me. "Go straight east until you get to the first stop sign. Turn right, and Washington is only two lights down."
"Perfect! Thanks!"
I grimaced when I slipped in behind the wheel of my Jetta and heat swallowed me. Because of the sun beating down on it all day, a scorching heat filled the car. I felt my skin starting to get clammy immediately, so I quickly started the engine to get the air conditioner on.
I enjoyed the drive down streets lined with big oak trees and colorful flowers. Joggers, strollers, and people dressed in business attire looking hurried filled the sidewalks. The atmosphere differed greatly from that of California. I definitely felt like an outsider, but at the same time, I felt like I could fit in here easily. It might take some time, but I had a feeling I'd be able to find my footing just fine.
I found my way to the bar easily but soon realized that parking is a problem in Houston. For a city with such little public transportation, I couldn't wrap my mind around where they expected all the damn cars to go. I had to circle the block three times until I spotted a car pulling away from the curb, where it'd been parallel parked. I bit my lip hard as I waited anxiously for the car to get out of my way. Traffic backed up behind me, and I was on the verge of an anxiety attack when impatient people started honking. Some brave people ‒ the real Houstonians, I guess ‒ simply went around me, weaving in and out of traffic with a comfort I balked at.
Once I'd finally managed to squeeze into the spot along the curb, I sighed with relief. Apparently, I was more of a fish out of water than I'd realized.
I spotted a cute little coffee shop called The Brewhouse right next door to the bar. As a serious coffee junkie, this delighted me. If I did in fact land a job at the bar, the close proximity of a coffee shop would be a major bonus. As far as the job thing went, I didn't feel nervous about walking in to ask for one. Jasper told me about that bar specifically, because he had a buddy who immigrated illegally and used to work there. The owner had let him slide by with no social security card or I.D., and that made the bar exactly the kind of place I needed to be, exactly the kind of place I knew. I'd been working in bars like that since the day I'd turned eighteen.
That wasn't what I wanted to do, but that's how it had to be.
Unwilling to get worked up thinking about the reasons why, I pushed the thought to the very back of my mind, as I so often did. I returned my attention to The Brewhouse and sidestepped an older woman coming out of the door. We exchanged friendly nods as I passed her. A bell at the top of the door signaled my entry and prompted the barista to look up with a bright smile.
"Hi, welcome to The Brewhouse!" she greeted me cheerfully.
I paused to take in her striking beauty, momentarily dazed. Jet black hair, long and straight as a board, hung from a ponytail tied up high on her head. Deeply tanned mocha-colored skin made her dark green eyes stand out so they appeared a little lighter. She had perfectly straight white teeth behind plump, pink lips. She looked like she belonged on a photoshoot, not behind the counter of a coffee shop. She had the kind of looks that turned other girls into bitches in the name of envy.
But me? I didn't care about that shit. The less I stood out, the better.
"Hey, thanks," I answered, returning her smile.
She held my gaze just long enough to decide I wasn't ready to order and went back to wiping down the counter. I took a step forward, inhaling the beloved aroma of coffee beans. A couple of patrons sat at a small wrought iron table in the corner, but they were the only ones around. I hoped that could be attributed to the time of day and not taken as a sign that they sold shitty coffee.
The barista looked up at me again when I stepped up to the counter. My head tipped back to scan over the chalkboard menus posted up high.
"Can I help you?" she asked warmly.
"Um, yeah." I felt her eyes on me as I inspected the menu in search of something familiar. "Sorry, I've never been here before. I've got the Starbucks menu memorized, so I'm really not used to putting any thought into this."
"Ahh. A Starbucks girl," she smiled knowingly. "What's your drink there?"
"Um, hazelnut macchiato."
"Hot or cold?"
"Cold."
"No problem. Size?"
"Uh…" My eyes scanned the counter again, this time looking for some indication to their sizing system. "Venti?"
She smirked as she reached for the biggest cup.
"You can say large, babydoll. It's okay. We go by English sizes here, not Italian numbers."
I quirked an eyebrow at her.
"You got some kinda grudge against Starbucks?"
She shrugged.
"They sell overpriced, shitty coffee."
"I'm anxious to try yours then."
"It's gonna be $3.08"
"Wow, you're cheaper."
"For Starbucks prices, I would expect that coffee to come with some Kahlua."
I laughed softly, reaching into my bag to fish out my wallet. I handed her four dollar bills, and she gave me back a handful of change, which I deposited into the tip jar. She winked at me before walking off to make my coffee, swinging her hips and ponytail back and forth as she moved to the rhythm of Lana Del Rey playing over the speakers.
"Do you have a bathroom?" I asked.
She looked back at me over her shoulder.
"Yeah, right around this corner," she told me, nodding towards the other end of the counter.
"Thanks. I'll be right back."
I didn't have to use the restroom, but I wanted to make sure that I looked okay before going in to the bar. I slipped through the door and stepped towards the sink, digging my compact out of my purse. The fluorescent lighting in the bathroom was harsh on my skin but useful when it came to re-touching my makeup. I added some lip gloss and eyeliner, not wanting to look totally plain Jane. I leaned close to the mirror to apply my eyeliner, staring into my honey-colored eyes, the lightest of the hazel variety. To others, I was sure my eyes would appear tragically ordinary, but I adored them. They were my dad's eyes, Emmett's eyes, and the first connection I ever felt to them.
I didn't grow up knowing my dad and Emmett. At a young age, common sense taught me I did in fact have a dad, but until I went to live with him, I never knew I had a brother. My parents had been engaged once upon a time, but my mother ran off when she found out she was pregnant. I never knew why. I always assumed that my dad must've been an asshole or something, and my mom never talked about him. When I went to live with him, though, he turned out to be the nicest man I'd ever met. He put up with all of my bullshit with nothing but patience and empathy. Regretfully, my mom was dead by then, and I never had the chance to ask her why she kept me from him.
I took a deep breath, stowing my makeup away and pulling out my hairbrush. I combed through my chocolate brown hair, hoping to put some bounce into it. I would need to color it again soon. Naturally, my hair was somewhere on the border of dirty blonde and the lightest shade of sandy brown. At twelve, my mom let me start highlighting it to play up the blonde in it. Blonde, the color I preferred on myself, worked well with my complexion, but I would continue to color it dark. As long as he remained out there, I would have dark hair.
I stared at myself in the mirror, and the eyes that looked back at me were full of hope and anticipation, a look that I wasn't accustomed to seeing on myself. If I looked hard enough, though, I knew I would see uneasiness. Restlessness and fear always lingered there, under the surface, and above all of that remained alertness.
I sighed, bringing my hand up to reach for my necklace, my mother's, sliding the pendant back and forth between my fingers.
"Watch over me here, mom," I whispered.
A knock on the door startled me. I jumped, dropping my necklace so it dangled back down on my chest.
"You okay in there, babydoll?" the barista asked me through the door.
I must've been in there longer than I thought.
"Yeah," I called back. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be right out."
By the time I left the bathroom, she was behind the counter again, leaning over it with her head resting in her hands. Her eyes followed me as I made my way over to her, watching me intently. As I approached, she slid my drink towards me, nodding at it.
"Go ahead. Try it."
I snatched up a straw and peeled away the wrapper before stabbing it through the plastic lid. I took a sip and found myself pleased by the perfectly blended, rich beverage that filled my mouth.
"Mmm… It's good," I admitted. "Really good."
"Told you."
"You were right. In my defense, though, I never challenged you."
"You doubted me. I'm good at reading people. Anyway, this means you have to come back and see me now."
"I'll be back," I assured her.
"Looking forward to it."
"Have a good day."
"You, too, Starbucks Girl."
I laughed, shaking my head and turning away, headed for the door. I stepped back out into the humidity and sound of car horns and indecipherable chatter from the crowded sidewalk in front of me. As I went to take another sip of my coffee, I noticed two people ahead walking way too fast. A mousy-looking woman collided with a man distracted by his cell phone. He hit her hard with his shoulder, hard enough to knock her purse off her arm and onto the sidewalk, where the contents spilled about all over. Although it happened unintentionally, the prick didn't have the decency to mutter an apology.
"Hey!" I called after him. "A fucking 'sorry' would've been nice, asshole!"
I looked down at the woman who gazed up at me with wide, surprised eyes.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"I couldn't help myself." I shrugged. "What a dick."
I really couldn't help myself. After years of working in bars, it found it impossible to take bullshit from people without speaking up.
"Yeah," she sighed, starting to collect all of her items.
I hurried over to help her, snatching up various items and trying not to get my fingers stepped on by more assholes walking by without a second glance. One of them came dangerously close to smashing my hand, and I looked upwards, opening my mouth to yell at them.
But then, something else caught my attention: a man standing several feet away, watching us intently. Whomever had been about to get an earful of sass from me walked on without hearing a word of it, as I now found myself inexplicably and wholly captivated by this other stranger. He wore sadly plain clothing: black jeans and a dark grey zip-up hoodie. But the tall, commanding figure that filled them literally made him stand out in a crowd.
Despite that, though, something else held my attention so entrancingly. His face... A face that made all of the air leave my body in a single exhale.
Oh, my God.
His eyes locked on mine, the world around us moving in an apparent slow motion. His whole presence exuded masculinity. This was the kind of man that commanded all the attention in a room. The kind of man that made knees weaken, hearts flutter, and stomachs flip flop.
I couldn't look away from his face. He was beautiful. He had skin of caramel-colored perfection that glowed. His features, sharp and defined, boasted all angles and lines that couldn't have been chiseled that spectacularly from marble. Black scruff from a day or two without shaving covered his chin and cheeks, the same color as the inky black mess of hair that covered his head. Every single inch of him looked hard, except for his lips. His lips, pink pillows of edible-looking flesh, appeared baby soft even from far away.
And the eyes… My God, the eyes.
He had the brightest eyes I'd ever seen, nothing like the barista's deep green eyes. These eyes shined with a vibrant color; a cross somewhere between aqua and mint. They had to be colored contacts. Surely that color couldn't be natural. They were too beautiful. And the way they stared into mine made me feel like they looked right into my soul, like they could read every thought and every fear I'd ever had. They were magnificently unnerving.
Not until I felt a tap on my shoulder did my sense of hearing return to me.
"Um, ma'am? Ma'am? Did you hear me?"
I snapped out of my trance, my head whipping back towards the lady who'd dropped her purse.
"What? Um, no. No, sorry."
"I said, can I have my comb back?"
I looked at her for a moment, confused, before I remembered picking up her things off the sidewalk. I realized that I held her comb in my hand, and I blinked at her as I handed it out to her.
"Here," I breathed, still feeling dazed.
"Um, thanks." She looked at me like I had three heads. "And thanks again for the help."
"Sure."
She stood up. I looked over toward the beautiful man, desperate for another glimpse of him, but Bright Eyes was nowhere to be seen. My heart ached.
I stood up on unsteady legs and took a deep breath, stumbling away from The Brewhouse and toward the bar.
"Get a fucking grip, Bella," I scolded myself, shaking my head at my own ridiculousness.
I lingered outside the bar for a while, leaning back against the cool glass of the windows while I sipped my coffee and gathered my bearings. He was just a man. With every second that passed, I felt sillier and sillier for having such a reaction to him. He dripped masculinity and allure. So what?
There went Bright Eyes. Out of sight, out of mind.
I finished my coffee and tossed it into the trashcan before I entered the bar. Early enough still for a slow flow of patrons, I'd managed the perfect timing for an impromptu interview.
I walked up to the bar, where a young woman was whistling while wiping down beer mugs. She had black and purple hair, a nose ring, and wore vibrant red lipstick that stood out dramatically against her pale skin. As a headband, she wore a red handkerchief that matched the lipstick perfectly.
"Hey, there." She smiled at me, approaching her. "What can I do you for?"
"I'm actually here to apply for a job. Is the owner around?"
Her eyes scanned me up and down, but not in a catty way. She was evaluating whether I would fit in there. I got it. It was a bartender thing.
"He's looking for someone to work days. What's your availability?"
I noticed that she hadn't directly answered my question but found solace in the fact she found me worthy of inquiring my availability.
"Any time, day or night. I live, like, two minutes away."
"You got experience?"
"I've been behind a bar for the last five years."
"Yeah? Around here?"
"No. California. I just moved here. Like, literally today," I answered with a laugh.
She held my gaze for a moment, possibly looking for a sign of weakness or self-doubt, before she smiled.
"All right. Let me go grab Sam. He interviewed some skanky blonde this morning, but she didn't have much experience."
I beamed at her.
"Awesome. Thank you."
"Wait here. I'll be right back."
I waited patiently, drumming my fingers on the bar top as she slipped to the back. My eyes passed slowly over the different bottles of liquor lined up behind the bar. I noticed a menu sitting on the bar and reached out to slide it towards me. They served typical pub food: fish and chips and such. The fact they served food meant bigger tips, and that was another bonus for me. I knew working there, a small and simple place, would be a piece of cake.
The door to the back swung open, and I looked up. The girl reappeared with a man by her side. Tall and slender with dusty blond hair and a beard, he appeared quite average. He wore a plaid button-down shirt and faded jeans. Rugged-looking, he possessed all the typical features of a guy in the business of getting people drunk. The girl gestured to me, and his eyes shifted in my direction. I smiled the friendliest smile I could, and he gave me a nod in return as he came toward me.
"Hey," he acknowledged, giving me second nod. "You're lookin' for work?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am." I straightened my top and stood a little taller. "I'm Bella."
"Sam," he answered, holding his hand out to me.
I shook his calloused hand, making eye contact with him.
"It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise," he responded with a soft smile, releasing my hand. "What kinda hours you lookin' for?"
"Any hours you have. I live just around the corner, and my availability is wide open."
"And you just moved here?"
"From California."
"What brings you to Houston?"
"Just, you know… Fresh start, I guess."
He reached up to rub at his wiry beard, just under his chapped lips.
"Hmmm. That's unusual."
"What's unusual?"
"Usually people make the journey from Texas to California for a fresh start. It's not very often you hear of it working the other way around."
"Oh. Well, I have a free place to stay for a while, so Houston it is."
"You got any experience bartending?"
"Five years."
"Just to be clear, I'm not talking working the bar at Chili's," he said with a slight smile.
"Neither am I."
"Good. I'm looking for a seasoned bartender."
"I'm your girl." I chewed on my lip nervously before I continued. "There's a catch, though."
"A catch?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
"I came to apply specifically at this bar, because I have a friend who has a buddy who used to work here."
"Who?"
"I don't remember his name. He worked in the kitchen. My point is he was an immigrant without papers, but you took him."
He looked at me for a moment.
"You an immigrant without papers?" he asked with humor in his tone.
"Not an immigrant, but I don't have papers either."
"Meaning?"
"I have no social and no I.D."
I had both, but I wasn't about to give them to him.
"And why's that?" he asked, watching me inquisitively.
"I left home when I was fourteen. I didn't take my social security card or my birth certificate."
"You're a runaway?"
The look on his face wasn't good.
"No. I was a runaway. I'm 23 years old. I don't think I can be classified as a runaway anymore."
He stared at me.
"You got a last name, Bella?"
"Swan."
That was actually my dad's last name, not mine, but the only one Sam was going to get.
"How am I supposed to pay you?"
"Cash. Under the table, like I'm assuming you did for your illegal kitchen worker."
"I don't know, Swan. I don't make a habit of doing shady business."
"Please. I'm a hard worker. I bust my ass behind the bar. I don't mess around, and I don't deal with any bullshit. I'll be here to do the job, and I'll do it well. I swear. Just give me a chance."
He looked at me for a long time until I started to get anxious.
"I'll tell you what," he finally said. "I'll start you out on a trial basis."
Perfect.
"Thank you!"
"Show me what you can do behind the bar, and I'll consider bringing you on permanently."
"That's perfect. Thank you. I promise you won't regret it."
"Good."
"When do you want me to start?"
"Monday. Be here at 11:00 AM."
"Sounds great. I'll be here."
"I still need you to fill out an application with your phone number and address and all that."
"Okay."
"I'll have Ang bring it out."
"Okay. Thanks, Sam!"
He knocked once on the bar top before walking away and slipping into the back once more. I hopped up onto a barstool while I waited, excited that I'd landed a job so quickly. So far, Houston was a success.
When the girl returned from the back, she looked at me with a wide, genuine smile.
"Congrats!" she said happily as she placed the application down in front of me with a pen. "I'm really glad you came in, dude. I was dreading having that skanky blonde around."
"I'm glad I came in, too," I agreed. "Before he'd already hired her."
She laughed as she held a hand out to me.
"I'm Angela, by the way."
I shook it happily.
"Bella," I answered.
"So, you just moved here today?"
"Yup. All of my stuff is still in boxes at home."
"You sure got on the prowl for a job quick."
"I'll sleep easier tonight knowing I have a source of income."
"A woman with ambition; I can dig that."
"Do you live around here?"
"Yeah, a condo not too far from here."
"How long have you worked here?"
"About a year now. It's crazy. Doesn't feel like that long."
"Time flies," I agreed.
"So I guess it's safe to say you don't know anyone here yet."
"Nope. Just my brother."
"Well, maybe I can take you out sometime, show you around the city."
"That would be awesome!" I agreed, warmed at the thought of making my first friend so quickly.
"It'll be cool to have you around here. You'll be the only other girl."
"Oh, really? Guess we'll have to stick together."
"Guess so." She laughed.
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I slept in late the next day, apparently more exhausted from moving than I'd realized. I woke disheartened to remember I'd fallen asleep in a room full of boxes, and I had a busy day ahead of me. I spent hours unpacking, trying to find places in that little room for every possession I had. When I realized I'd have to share a bathroom with whichever roommate we selected, I felt a little bummed. Emmett had his own in the master bedroom, and there was a half-bathroom off the hall, but the two remaining bedrooms shared a Jack and Jill-style bathroom with separate toilets and one shower. I tried to find the silver lining in my own toilet.
I only took a break for lunch. Emmett ordered pizza, and we ate it on the couch, watching South Park. We shared an appreciation for that show, something that had bonded us when we'd first met as teenagers, and it brought back sweet memories to watch it with him while I moved in. It was exciting to embark on the adventure of living with my brother. I'd never lived with him before. When I first moved in with my dad, Emmett lived with his mom, Sue. She only lived a couple miles away from our dad, but it wasn't the same as living with him.
It was ironic the way that my dad's relationships with our moms had worked out. Sue and my dad, Charlie, were never even in a relationship. Their one-night stand resulted in Emmett. After he was born, though, they managed to become really good friends. They co-parented perfectly; a child-psychologist's dream. And I would know, because I'd been to plenty of them.
My parents each pretended the other didn't exist, and Emmett's were best friends. Go figure.
After our little pizza party, I only had a couple more hours to spend unpacking before our first potential roommate was set to come over to meet with us. By the time he showed up, I was red-faced and sweating, with my hair piled on my head, and the sleeves of my t-shirt were rolled up under my armpits. I'm sure I made a stunning impression. It turned out to be fine, though, as we didn't like him anyway. He talked like a robot and smelled like mothballs. We had a hard time holding our laughter in long enough for him to leave.
We were still laughing about potential roommate number one when potential roommate number two arrived, this one a female. She actually turned out to be pretty cool, but she had a cat. I was allergic, and I got onto Emmett for not thinking to ask and letting her waste her time coming over.
Potential roommate number three was a half hour late, so I went back to unpacking. I was lining up my shoes on the floor of my closet when I heard Emmett yelling at me from the living room.
"Bella!" His booming voice rang through the whole house. "He's here!"
"This one better be worth fucking talking to…" I muttered to myself, getting up from kneeling on the closet floor.
I huffed and shoved some fallen hair out of my face, tromping out of my bedroom and down the hall. I rounded the corner ready for disappointment.
But then there, in my new living room, stood Bright Eyes.
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A/N: Please take a moment to share your thoughts with me! For my Trophy Wife readers, this story will alternate Sunday updates with TW until TW completes, and then this will update every Sunday.
You can find me on Twitter JennaRayFF or Facebook at J Ray Fanfiction
Thanks for reading!