3

Did you make it home okay?
This is Edward, by the way.

Waking up to his text takes the sting out of my nine o'clock alarm and sends a giddy buzz through my system. Checking up on my safety—so deliciously old-school.

It kind of killed Edward last night when I told him I'd be taking the bus home after my shift, but what was he going to do, stick around till 2 a.m.? I can't help but smile, remembering the reluctant look on his face when he left just before midnight.

Best not keep the man in limbo.

Yes thx. All is well.

I save his number to my contacts. First name: Edward. Last name: O'School. Two seconds later, a smile emoji pops up on my phone, and I know it matches my own expression. I set my phone down on the kitchen counter in case Edward texts again while my coffee brews.

My accounting textbook mocks me from the coffee table. I can barely lift the damn thing, let alone absorb its contents. Cost Accounting is kicking my ass. How did I get two weeks behind already? It's only October first.

I push away the voices in my head that threaten to bring me down: Should've stayed in school the first time and graduated like your brothers. You're not smart enough. You still have seventy-four credits to go. Stick with bartending—your tits'll make you more than droning away at some accounting firm.

Coffee.
Crack open the book.
Push through it...

My phone buzzes again. How is it possible only ten minutes have passed?

What are you doing later? I get off at 11. I'll get you off by 11:30. ;)

Good ol' James McBooty Call. Guy's not half bad in the sack, and the flesh-on-flesh is nice once in a while. Then again, Roger Rabbit satisfies every time, and I don't have to kick his pale ass out of my bed afterwards.

My new job makes for an easy excuse: Sorry – working.

Next time :)

Knowing James, he's already moved on to the next girl on his list. In a way, it's comforting to know what to expect from him—nothing. Back to the grind.

Fixed costs, variable costs, mixed costs...
"He's been looking for you..."

Contribution margin ratio...
"You don't know what you're missing..."

Break-even point...
"Maybe I should just keep you guessing..."

Dammit, Edward is distracting! The attraction is undeniable, but so is the age difference. Sugar daddy. The stereotype doesn't flatter either of us.

"Yuck. Okay, back to the books!"

Compute the marginal cost of 2,000 widgets...

.

.

.

My unplanned nap is interrupted by the blare of my phone. Oh, she's a brick... house...

I peel my cheek off the page that put me to sleep. Hopefully, some accounting concepts seeped in by osmosis while I was sleeping.

She's mighty, mighty... just lettin' it all hang out!

"Hold on!" I yell at my phone while I stretch for it. Edward O'School calling... "Shit!"

My heart is pounding into my ears. I bolt upright on the couch and clear my throat before attempting to answer. "Hello?"

"Hi, Bella. I hope I'm not disturbing you." If I close my eyes, I can see him as plain as day.

"Oh... no, I was just studying."

"Oh yeah? What are you studying?"

"Cost accounting. Joy of joys."

He chuckles into the phone. I can practically feel his breath on my ear. "You don't sound like a fan."

"Is anyone?"

"I really couldn't say," he answers, his gentle tones wrapping themselves around me. "I shouldn't keep you from your books."

"No, it's fine." I nestle the phone against my cheek. "So, what's up?"

"Oh, uh... nothing, really."

Silence.

He saves me by cutting into the deathly abyss. "I was just calling to chat."

"Oh."

"Is this weird?"

It is now. "Maybe a little unusual."

"Ah," he says. "I'm being old-school again, aren't I?"

Crap. "I guess I'm just not used to chit-chatting on the phone."

He chuckles but there's none of his usual delight in it. "Oh boy. This is going well."

"It's fine," I offer, but honestly, it's awkward as hell. "Well, look, I guess I really should hit the books. Thanks for calling."

"Sure, Bella. You have a good evening." He sounds both relieved and miserable, which is exactly how I'm feeling.

"Yep, you too. Bye." I end the call before the goodbye gets long and torturous as well.

.

.

.

TGIF was a walk in the park compared to Saturday night. We're jammed starting at Happy Hour. The ten-cent buffalo wings fly out of the kitchen, the five-dollar Jager bombs hot on their heels. By 10:30, the bar patrons are elbow-to-elbow, with more customers jammed behind. I'm working my ass off, so I don't think about his absence—until he suddenly appears.

My heart skitters when my eyes meet his—intense, laser-focused, so damn blue. He doesn't push his way up front like the others to order a drink, but I pour him one anyway. A classic margarita: tequila, fresh lime juice, agave syrup, and salt. His eyebrows pop when I spear the lime garnish with a bright green umbrella, and his lips form the beautiful smile my memory could not quite reproduce.

"Better start a tab," he says, passing his Amex between two customers before snapping up his drink.

He carves out a space among the crowd standing behind the seats. Every time I sneak a peek, he's watching me. I go about my business, lubricating and entertaining the customers. Do I lean in a little closer, laugh a little louder, swish my orange-clad ass a little harder than I did before? Yes, I most certainly do.

A stool opens up, and Edward nabs it, smooth as silk but with authority, surprising the young buck who had been hovering with one eye on the bar seats and the other on his girlfriend's tits. I bite my lip so I don't smile too hard while tossing a fresh napkin in front of Edward.

"You made it."

"So it seems," he says, scooting his stool up to the bar.

"Can I hit you with another margarita?"

An impish grin crosses his face so briefly I might have imagined it. "Actually, could you just set it down in front of me?"

"Let's see how the night goes."

I'm rewarded with a glint of amusement in his steely eyes. "Fair enough."

"Would you like to see a menu?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."

My attention is partly on the margarita I'm mixing but mostly on Edward. I set down his drink and lean in so the whole place can't hear us. "So, I guess you've figured out I'm a better listener than talker?"

"I can work with that," he answers with a gentle smile. "In fact, I came in here to—"

"Oh, I can definitely work with those!" The loudmouth on the barstool beside Edward points a meaty finger toward my chest.

After downing a 20-piece platter of Three Mile Island wings and a pitcher of Bud, the man has lost his volume control along with any filter he might have brought in with him. I have done my best to avoid this fool's advances all night, but that now seems impossible.

"Hey, babe, I lost my phone number. Can I have yours?" His finger is poised over his phone, waiting for me to recite my digits. As if.

"Really wish I could, but management frowns upon us giving out personal information."

His easy-going, booze-infested demeanor changes on a dime. The hairs on the back of my neck snap to attention. Time to call in the troops. I take a calm step backwards, and that's when Edward stands and places his hand on the man's shoulder. Damn, and I really liked his nicely-arranged face.

Beer-for-brains turns with a start and glares at Edward. "What do you want?"

He deflects the insult without flinching. "I want to help you save your dignity before it's too late, and you are perilously close to 'too late.'"

"What's your damage? Ohhh, I get it. You've got the hots for this chick!"

"What I have for this… young lady… is called respect."

"Pshhh!" He sprays the bar with saliva. "Did you miss the 'Hooters' painted across her chest?"

Edward's focus stays locked on the creepy dude, who turns to leer at me. I fold my arms across my chest and stand my ground.

"Sir," Edward says, "I'd be happy to debate this point with you when you're sober. Perhaps you'd like my number…?"

"No, thanks, pops. I'm not really into older guys."

Emmett appears at my side, all puffed up and ready to bust someone's head. "Everything okay over here, gentlemen?"

"Yes," Edward answers. "I was just about to tell this gentleman I'll happily settle his bill if he'll allow me to walk him to the door."

Drunk guy grins like he's just found a buyer for the Brooklyn Bridge. "Really? I had about a millllion wings. And I was planning a verrrry big tip." His attempt to wink at me turns my stomach. "Might cut into your Viagra budget."

"Don't you worry about me, Prince Charming. I'll take care of the lady." Edward's promise sends aftershocks through my body.

"Deal." Drunk guy tumbles off the chair, miraculously landing on his feet. "'Night, sweetheart."

Emmett nods at Edward. "I'll meet you at the door. Thanks." Watching Edward disappear into the crowd, I have to admit I am seriously crushing.

He returns a few minutes later, sinking onto his stool with a heavy sigh. "On behalf of my gender, I'd like to apologize for that man's hideous behavior."

"Umbrella Man saves the day again!"

He gives me a sheepish grin. "I couldn't let that drunken boor speak to you like that."

"Goes against your grain?" I tease.

"Don't tell me, I was being old-school again?"

"Absolutely. That was sweet of you to stand up for my virtue. Thanks."

He takes in my appreciative smile. "Emmett seems like a good guy."

"Yeah, he's a great boss."

"Good. Because despite evidence to the contrary, I'm not planning to show up here every day you're working."

"No?"

"I only meant to stop in briefly tonight, to ask you on a date, in person, because I'd botched it so horribly on the phone." God, he's really, really adorable.

"Oh, that's what you were trying to do?"

He shakes his head and chuckles. "Way to kick a man when he's down."

"So, are you gonna ask me out or what?"

###


Author's Note: *Spoiler alert* He is. :)

So what do you think, whippersnappers? Do you have long, small-talk phone conversations like we used to, back in the day? I remember one summer in particular, the first one Mr H and I were separated after nine months of almost constantly being together. One of us would call (after 11 pm on the Trimline phone), we'd talk for a while, and then just kind of hang out together because neither of us could hang up first (barf). Mom and Dad were paying for all that breathing, so what did it matter to us?

By the way, a few have asked how old these two are, and while I haven't explicitly stated their ages anywhere (and the issue will come up in later chapters) it won't spoil anything for me to tell you that I picture Bella in her very late twenties and Edward in his early-mid-forties. Even though he's too young to be a silver fox, I do have some compelling photos I'll be sharing in the patch. *grins*

Happy New Year to all you lovely ladies! (If any gents are reading this, I sure haven't met you yet!) Wishing you all a new year filled with love, peace, beauty, joy, laughter, good health, and friendship. Much love for all your support and encouragement. You keep me writing...and smiling.

And on a very, very sad note, our fandom lost a beautiful soul today, Theresa Lewis Bakergirl. Her words and spirit are scattered all over my stories as well as many, many others. No matter what she wrote in a review, she always signed off with blessings for peace and lots of x's. I miss her already. :(

XXX ~BOH