All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer.
Just a tip: When you go to see a concert at the Emerald Queen Casino, you have to be at least 21-years-old and over. Also, I'm not sure if they have seats during concerts, or if people just stand.
Daughtry (my #1 FAVORITE band—I own all three of their albums—) played at the Paramount Theater in Seattle, NOT the EQC; I changed that tidbit. :)
"Oh, uh, I called Seth—Dr. Gerandy—this morning, and made you an appointment to meet with him," I tell Edward as we walk into the Emerald Queen Casino.
He nods and we find our seats.
"You call him by his first name?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.
I shrug. "It's like a tactic—helps break the ice, you know?"
He nods in understanding and his leg bounces at a rapid pace; he's nervous.
"When's the appointment?" he asks.
"Um . . . Tuesday at 3:00," I say.
He doesn't respond, instead he focuses on the stage up ahead.
"Hey, you didn't say anything about Hinder opening up for Daughtry," I say.
He smirks. "Surprise."
His eyes scan the surrounding area and his leg continues its rapid bouncing. I reach over and put my hand on it, trying to calm him down.
"Hey, you're fine. Relax before somebody thinks you're a junkie who hasn't had a hit in a day," I say.
"Oh, but I am," he says, and looks at me with a sardonic grin.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to control snapping at him.
"Not now, Edward, please? I'm sorry. Let's just enjoy the concert."
He nods. "I'm sorry."
I don't say anything, I just lean back in the comfortable seat.
He laces our fingers together.
"I'm sorry; I'm just nervous," he says into my ear.
I nod. "I know; it's alright." I give his fingers a good squeeze.
Hinder comes on stage and plays Lips Of An Angel, Better Than Me, and Without You. While I enjoy Hinder's music, I really came to see Daughtry. Finally, the band comes out and everyone, including myself, cheers. They open with Renegade.
"This is the song that got me my record deal," the lead singer says.
We all cheer and shout when he sings Home.
The last encore song is It's Not Over.
.
.
.
"Thanks for taking me; I had so much fun," I tell Edward when we get home.
He nods at me, grinning. It's Saturday night and there's not much to do. I can think of a few things I'd like to do, but all of those concern Edward and I getting into bed—and truth be told, he hasn't touched me like that in . . . years. We live together, we're back to being closer than close friends like we were once upon a time, but damn it he still hasn't touched me. Oh okay, he's touched me all right; he just won't fuck me or love me even with all his jokes about how he works just fine. I'm not sure what his problem is, but I made myself an appointment with Seth for the same day as Edward, and I plan on bringing this up—it could get awkward, though, if Edward were to ever find out that Seth and I . . . never mind, he's not going to.
I'm changing out of today's clothes when Edward walks in.
"Hey," I say, discarding my jeans to the floor.
I dig out a pair of cerulean cotton short-shorts and put them on, along with its matching t-shirt.
"You just gonna watch me all night?" I joke, brushing my hair.
He shrugs and lies down on the bed, taking off his shirt and jeans; leaving himself in just boxers. I go over him once I'm done and climb on, straddling him. I sit on his lower half, careful not to hurt him; my palms rest on the mattress. I smirk down at him; I grind myself into him slowly, and although he definitely tries to hide it with his facial expressions, I can feel him poking me. I continue my grinding dance until he grabs my hips and tries to still me; I grab his hands, lift them above his head, and keep them there with mine, stretching my torso down along his. I've never been very comfortable like this, but right now I want it—it's almost as though I need, and maybe even crave it.
He doesn't stop me when I do this. I lay still on him, enjoying the soothing rhythm of his heartbeats. I release his hands and move mine down to hold onto his sides near his ribcage for a moment; I take a deep breath and inhale his scent. The smooth feel of his skin in my hands is nice, and I still have a hard time believing that he's really here. Sue me, but he was gone for almost four years; it's still a bit unbelievable that he's back, and trusts me this much. I would never bring this up with him though; it's bound to upset him, and I don't want that at all. Tonight's been good to us; why ruin it?
"Thank you," I say softly, into his skin.
"For what?" he asks quietly, running his fingers through my hair.
"For trusting me enough to let me back into your life after . . . all that went on. I pushed you into hanging out just to see what would happen; you didn't have to, but you did—thank you," I say, kissing his chest.
He sighs long, and I feel his belly connect with mine for a moment.
"I'm the one who should be doing the thanking, not you, goofy girl," he says.
I chance it and look up at him; there's sincerity and a little sadness, maybe some regret too, in his brown eyes.
"Huh?" I say.
He clears his throat. I move up a little and put my head in the crook of his neck; it's warm.
"You didn't have to trust me—in fact, you had absolutely no reason to even want me back in your life; not after what I continued to do to you and Emma, too. You tolerated a lot—too much, more than you should've—and I still don't fully get why," he explains.
I'm about to say something when he continues, so I quickly close my mouth.
"All I knew two years ago was that I still loved you and when I saw you in the bookstore, I didn't know what the hell to do. When you called later that night with the letters, I was happy—can you believe that? Although you were in tears because of me, I was still happy that you'd called and didn't just take off with the letters. When you kept insisting and asking if we'd ever talk again or see each other after that, I knew what I should've done—I 'should've' told you no, and stuck with it that answer. But, I couldn't sweetheart. I still loved you, and I felt horrible—I still do—about staying away for four years when really I'd been back for two, and could've seen you whenever during that time," he finishes.
I lift my head and maneuver so that I'm right above his face; I look him in the eyes.
"So, then you do understand," I say, my mouth inches away from his.
He looks confused, so I reiterate.
"You love me, right?" He nods. "And you didn't say 'no' because, well, there's no other way to put this, you wanted me and didn't say 'no' for your own selfish reasons?" I ask.
He nods sheepishly.
I nod as well.
"Well, there you have it, your answer that is."
"You stayed with me because you loved me?" he asks.
I nod yes.
"Yeah—selfish reasons, mostly," I say, smirking.
He rolls his eyes and tackles me, surprising me, and sends me flip-flopping onto my back; I squeal.
"I really don't deserve you at all," he tells me, lying down on top of me.
I roll my eyes and pull him to me, kissing him.
At a ripe seven in the morning the next day, my phone is ringing. Edward answers it while I hide underneath the covers, pretending to be asleep.
"Here," he says sleepily, and almost knocks my head with the house phone.
"Hmm?" I mumble from beneath my cotton cave.
"It's the Sports I IQ," he says, picking up and tossing the comforter away me.
I groan.
"I thought you loved me!" I hiss at him.
"While that's true, it's also way too fuckin' early for me to deal with the frigid SIQI."
"The who?" I ask, taking the phone from him.
"Sports Illustrated Ice Queen," he answers and rolls over away from me.
Now awake, I put the phone to my ear.
"Hello," I say.
"I hope he knows I caught all of that," Rose snaps as her own greeting.
I roll my eyes.
"What're you gonna do, chain him to your lair?" I joke.
"No! However, I could make his life hell by a few simple phone calls—although, that may already be on the rise as of 1am this morning," she tells me.
"Rose, what are you talking about?" I ask, becoming worried.
"I shouldn't be handling this, but Angela is on vacation and phoned me to let me know, so I told her I'd tell you myself," she says.
"Tell me what?" I ask.
It's extremely unlike Rosalie Hale not to cut to the bottom line of shit, even at the expense of others. Therefore, when she hesitates this way, you can bet your whole bank account and life that it isn't good.
She sighs.
"Somebody took pictures of you and Dopey last night at that concert; they're flooding Twitter as of 1am, and probably just about every other social media network there is."