Usual Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the creation of Ms. Meyer.

"The Pac-12's most delicious collegiate bad boy returns this year with some pretty impressive stats.

Height: 6'4". Weight: 234lbs. Hand size: 9 1/8in. Sigh-worthy, ladies!"

~ The Pink Cleats Football Blog

~:~Edward~:~

"Last, but certainly not least, and a tremendous asset to the Huskies' locker room, Edward Cullen returns as starting quarterback!"

I crossed the stage, pausing at the center while tonight's emcee, Kevin Randall, called out my name and number just as he had the rest of the team starters. Tonight it was all about the new season, and as I made my way to stand front and center with Coach, Mr. Volturi and Randall, the applause was deafening. I soaked it in, nodding to a few familiar faces in the audience, posing for the cameras and camera phones flashing like this was some fucking Hollywood premiere.

"Take a look, ladies and gentlemen, at your very own Washington Huskies!" Randall pumped up the crowd while the hired DJ poured a heavy bass beat into the room as accompaniment. Brilliant purple and gold banners and balloons decorated the shiny new athletic complex. Despite our finish last year, expectations for the coming season had skyrocketed with each practice, every scrimmage video, and all of Coach's perfectly delivered interviews. The room was packed with alumni, boosters, local news media, faculty and students. Earlier, heads of the athletic department and university officials had toured everyone through the recently constructed buildings, showing off everything from the modern showers and locker rooms to Coach's contemporary office overlooking the stadium, the recruitment sky box, even the weight room. But the real excitement was for this, the rally "introducing" the players, which would soon transition into a school-sanctioned party.

Last year, I'd stepped up after the first game. Senior Demaris Marin took a season-ending sack in the middle of the third quarter, out for the year with an ACL tear. The coaches had been grooming me to step up the next season, letting Marin finish out his mediocre senior year and giving me time to gain a little "maturity." But when he limped off the field and I launched onto it, it was game on. A switch was flicked. I was suddenly vibrantly alive.

Tonight adrenaline pumped through my veins with a familiar buzz. Not the same as when I took the field, more like a tingling just under the skin, an awareness of good times to come. Tomorrow, I'd be home again, back in the huddle where everything felt familiar and easy.

Yeah, easy. Football came easy to me. Maybe that explained why I ended up a little too over-fuckin'-confident last year.

My eyes turned to Coach, to Kevin Randall hovering like a damn overprotective parent at his side. Randall nodded, and I moved to follow the procession down the stairs and into the crowd. As the school's media liaison and public relations manager, Randall orchestrated our every move at these bullshit events.

Dutiful boy that I was, I followed Coach at the head of the long line of players winding through the audience. I shook every hand thrust in my direction and accepted that this was part of the game surrounding the true sport. Football wasn't just played between the goal posts anymore. I'd sure as hell learned that the hard way these last few months.

But the only time I felt real was when I had a ball in my hand. If that meant I had to play all these other stupid ass games, I'd play along, do whatever I had to do. The feeling of being at the center of something, part of a team, leading a charge in a sanctioned, fierce brawl…it fed the animal in me, while perfecting the strategies of being quarterback provided a mental challenge unlike any other. The quarterback was the motivator, the leader, the alpha of a pack of animalistic men determined to carve out that next down, the next touchdown, the next championship.

When Demaris left the field during the season opener, we'd been holding our own, a respectable 17-14 lead. After my first successful pass to Clearwater, the rhythm of the game changed. We all felt the shift. I completed that pass and followed it up with a series of firebombs resulting in a touchdown my first two minutes in the game. The momentum carried through the rest of the third quarter and into the fourth. We won, 35-17.

By the second game, I was officially the starting QB, and no one looked back. We plowed through our opponents the next seven games. No sportscast was complete without a mention of the Huskies' meteoric rise to the top of the conference and Edward Cullen's exceptional stats, and I soaked up the attention like it was my due. Consciously breaking every rule, seeing limits as challenges both on the field and off. In my mind, with each completion, every touchdown, with the ever-increasing roar of the stadium crowd, I earned a free pass.

Coach and Mr. Volturi reached the end of the designated path, and I brought my focus back to the moment at hand. I stood with them at the end of the room, posed with other students as Randall closed up the organized part of the rally. Within minutes, these images would flood Facebook, Twitter and every other fucking waste of time social media. And the legit local media. And since the shitfest last year, plenty of entertainment sports blogs were paying attention to my every move, too. Fucking Flavor of the Week. Thanks, T. Owens, for that tagline.

Observing like a fucking lord of the manor from his post across the room, Sam Uley stood in a circle of well-dressed boosters, but his attention wasn't on their conversation. No, his gaze was fixed on me. I couldn't help but arch a brow in my trademark smirk. I have another thirty-six hours, fucker, before I hand over my balls. I settled my hand low on the hip of the girl currently posing beside me while her friend giggled and snapped away with her camera phone.

"Can't wait to see what the sisters say when they see these!"

Just to fuck with Uley, I gave the girls my best smile. Let him stew about my next "flavor." "You girls going to make it to the game?"

The blonde attached to my side looked up, a familiar avaricious light in her blue eyes. "Along with every other girl, Edward."

I laughed, looking up to see Uley's brows draw together, his eyes narrowed, and somehow I knew he was reading my mind. I dipped my head down to whisper a few wasted words in the girl's ear just for show as her friend squealed and snapped another picture.

Yeah, I thought. Tweet away.

Wednesday night Uley had mentioned Twitter, and a better man than me might have been ashamed of the content of those particular posts.

But no, that wasn't what shamed me. Rather, completing only thirty-five percent of my attempted passes during the game the day after the party made notorious by those pictures—that's what had me hanging my head in the locker room long after the rest of the team went home. Looking back, I recognized that shitty game as the turning point, the launch of the downward spiral that started with frat parties and ended with headlines of underage drinking, a totaled Z and an ER visit for me and my passenger.

The blonde pressed in a little closer. "I have to go serve drinks. I'll save one for you."

I nodded noncommittally before moving on to the next group of fan photographs, feeling Coach's ever-present scrutiny, the challenging censure of Uley, all of it fueling my irritation.

My gaze snapped to Uley again and I idly wondered how much influence he had on this little photo-op scenario. How much influence he wielded in general. Significant, I knew, or Coach wouldn't have sent me to him. When a group of sorority girls surrounded me, I grinned unrepentantly. His gaze shifted somewhere behind me, and the next thing I knew, Randall was breaking things up and moving the girls along.

Yeah, Uley ran this dog and pony show. Controlling freak. I stared hard at the older man.

He said I needed to give him my decision Sunday, enjoy having my feet on the field one more time to remind me of why I would cave to his demands. But the way I figured it, I needed to play my ass off tomorrow to remind him—and every other doubting fucker out there—why I was the best man for this job. Why they were damn lucky to have me at the head of this team.

Seemingly unfazed by my look, Uley shifted, breaking our staring contest. Prick.

Emmett knocked his huge shoulder against mine, subtle as an elephant as he sidled up beside me. "Don't be a dick."

I turned my what-the-fuck look on my oldest friend and teammate, but he was immune, just rolled his eyes. "You're the star of the Huskies show, man. All eyes on you, yeah? Keep it all bunnies and rainbows. No sneering at the president of the boosters."

Coach dismissed us moments later with instructions to circulate for another half hour and a reminder that the game time curfews were now in effect. We were to be sociable and pump up the guests, students, press and alumni about the upcoming season. I made my way to one of the tables lining the edges of the huge room and accepted a drink from the picture-happy blonde passing the purple and gold cups out.

"Couldn't stay away?" She winked, letting her fingers flutter against mine as she passed the drink.

I'd always had a thing for blondes. Never met one who didn't strive to live up to the "Blondes Have More Fun" mandate. This one looked like she'd just stepped off a California beach—all tanned, teasing and temptation. She met my look with an invitation in her eyes I decided instantly to accept.

It was stupid, borderline asinine. But that was probably why I wouldn't be turning away from the sexual promise in her eyes. Coach and Uley wanted to control me. Fuck, they wanted to dictate my every move, including who I fucked. The need to assert myself was impossible to ignore.

I twisted my wrist to check the time, saw I still had a while before I could legitimately ditch this bullshit production. The room seemed to be filling up with every passing minute, people flowing by me as they made their way to the area designated for dancing up by the stage. I looked toward California, ready to take her on a private tour of the new facility that ended with her riding my dick, when I felt someone smash into my back. Felt a feminine hand push against my back as she steadied herself. The crush of people kept rolling forward, and a soft female form pressed up against me from behind. Her hand grasped my jersey for balance, and I reached back to catch her before she was swept under the rush of oblivious partiers. She latched onto my forearm and I swung her around in front of me, letting the wave of people flow past. Laughing, the girl looked up, her hair parting to reveal her grinning face, and I realized I was holding Derby Girl in my arms.

The laughter faded, but a smile lingered at the corners of her lips. Her big brown eyes rounded as she stared up at me, tiny flecks of gold glinting with humor as I was introduced to yet another side of this strange girl. She tightened her hold on my forearm, her fingertips pressing in for a minute, the sensation so distinct, so completely unfamiliar, I almost broke eye contact to check my skin. The flesh beneath her fingers burned, a sort of sizzling sensation not unlike the lingering burn of a tattoo artist's needle vibrating along my skin.

After what seemed like a million minutes, she pulled away, that almost-smile still tilting her lips and her eyes bright and shining happily up at me. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, but disappeared again in a flash. The motion drew my attention to her mouth, though, and it fixed there. I watched her full, pink lips move, understood she was forming words, but it still took a moment before I processed what she said.

"Good luck tomorrow, Edward."

She'd released my arm, flowing back into the crowd until all I could see was the bounce of her brown ponytail, before my brain could formulate a response.

What the fuck had just happened?

Coming home from Uley's Wednesday night in my mother's borrowed and battered Volvo, I'd been in the worst mood I could remember.

Between Uley, his ultimatum, missing my perfect Z, and knowing this was all rank shit of my own making, my mood loitered right near the sewer. Then, the icing on the cake—the fucking Volvo dying on the side of the street—left me struggling to wrap my head around the shit storm of my life. What had once seemed like a little harmless fun now had me feeling completely out of control.

When the girls had picked me up, I'd been relieved not to have to call Emmett. And fucking with the obviously freaky-nervous Bella had seemed like a great way to let off steam, the perfect distraction. She made it fucking easy by acting so jumpy and defensive.

Since I'd been old enough to understand why God had made girls, I'd been able to work those girls to my liking. There were two kinds, essentially. Females like California who openly wanted my dick, and the ones who were oblivious to the fact that I had a dick. Usually, girls didn't respond to my assholery like I probably deserved. They either faked a laugh until the subject was changed, didn't understand what was being said, or were simply too distracted at the prospect of a picture or a fuck to give a damn.

But not only had Bella called me on my bullshit in the car, she'd literally stood between me and that dumbfuck, Mike. Wouldn't study group be fun come Monday?

Reconciling the blushing, tongue-tied girl with the ballsy one would be interesting. The twist of the laughing girl tonight frustrated me. I didn't like that she didn't fit into my nice little girl-molds. And with everything going on, the last thing I needed was to spend all this fucking time wondering why Derby Girl did the shit she did. Or why I noticed the gold flecks in her eyes, or how pink her tongue was when she let it slip out to moisten the sweet curve of her lower lip.

I moved away from the beverage table and idly registered that California scooted out from behind her station to follow me. I moved, not letting the crowd obscure my sight line on Derby Girl. At that moment, she trailed behind her friend through the dancing people to the DJ at the bottom center of the stage. Through the shifting throng of dancers, my gaze bounced along the rounded curve of her ass, down the length of those long, fuck-sexy legs, to the strappy heels tied above her ankles. At this distance, I couldn't really see the tattoo as more than a dark blob snaking around her ankle, but it fascinated me as much tonight as it had the first time I'd seen it under the table.

Bella leaned up closer to the DJ, ignoring her friend as she motioned wildly nearby. He wore a bulky headset, one side shoved off his ear. He angled his head down toward Bella as she spoke, and then he nodded. The three of them cuddled up a little longer, laughing, talking, taking much longer than necessary to simply request a song. One of the girls wanted him, obviously, but which one?

California tugged on my arm again, and even though a little while ago I'd fully intended to fuck the blonde in one of the vacant inner rooms of the complex, at that moment, I couldn't drag my attention away from Bella and her friend flirting with the DJ long enough to even brush her aside.

Finally, Bella grasped her friend's hand and tugged her into the throng of dancers. They found a spot and started moving to the music. Just then, her face lifted and she scanned the crowd. She was looking for me. I knew it the instant her gaze stopped, meeting mine. The flesh between my shoulder blades tingled and I rolled my shoulders to dispel the sensation, even as I held her gaze. Her eyes widened when she realized I'd caught her, but surprisingly, she didn't look away. No, she cocked her head to the side, a weird little quirk at the corner of her mouth.

I watched, ignoring the clinging California, but Bella finally broke our staring contest to flick her gaze to the blonde pressing her tits against my side. And that was when I had no trouble identifying the weird little twist to her lips.

Bella fucking Swan smirked at me. As comprehension dawned, my muscles tensed as though in preparation. For what, I had no fucking clue.

Emmett planted himself just to my left, silent but watchful in his usual unnerving way. I looked down toward California. "Babe, you're gonna need to take off, yeah?"

A little V puckered her forehead, but I turned my attention to Emmett before she could voice a protest at the dismissal.

The gyrating sea of bodies filled the dance floor, but my gaze found Bella easily. She moved with the grace of a true dancer, the music transforming her motions into a work of art. She wore some sort of loose flowy shirt, and when she shimmied in time to the beat, the material slid off her shoulder, revealing a bright blue bra strap in sharp contrast with her pale skin. The flash of color, like her tattoo, fixed my attention, the revelation unexpected, sexy.

She had long, sleekly muscled legs that had me licking my lips, but eying her brown ponytail, pale skin…I still considered her pretty plain. At least when compared to my usual taste of big tits, lots of flash and plenty of skin. But somehow the glimpse of color, the tattoo, her standing up to me, holding my gaze when most would look away—these hinted at character, personality. More personality than her boring brown facade implied. Bella Swan was quickly turning into an enigma.

"Those two," I finally said to my oldest friend. "The two girls dancing in front of the DJ."

Em hummed an acknowledgment that I sensed more than heard, the connection of a shared childhood inherent. I waited for him to say something more. In all the years we'd known each other, we'd never stood and pow-wowed about fucking girls, so Em's continued silence shouldn't have surprised me. "Fucker, don't make me kick your ass."

Emmett huffed his version of a laugh. "The brown-haired one is Bella Swan. Don't know the other one."

But he did know Bella? How the fuck did he know Bella? Yeah, I'd asked, but I didn't fucking expect him to actually have an answer.

I watched the girls, letting the silence extend. I wanted to know more, but fuck it if I was going to give Em the satisfaction of my curiosity. It fucking annoyed the hell out of me that he knew Bella while I'd just discovered her.

And why the hell was I so curious, anyway?

Bella refused to be categorized, and I was man enough to admit I was freaking curious about any girl branded with a Smashing Pumpkins riff.

The fucking hot as shit tattoo somehow symbolized everything I was coming to know about Bella fucking Swan.

"Looks like Jake's gonna stay frustrated."

I slanted a sideways glance at Em. "What?"

"Jake's been after her since last year. Runs the Ocean Trail with her a couple times a week. Says she's oblivious."

Jake was Jacob Black, captain of the soccer team. People wondered why he still played collegiate instead of taking off for one of the Euro clubs. He was a me wannabe. "Why d'you say that?"

Em did a chin thrust toward the front of the room. "Seems like Bella has a thing for the DJ."

I narrowed my gaze on the skinny, shaggy-haired dude, then Bella, and even Alice. Yeah, more than a few looks getting shared there, but from this distance, I couldn't tell what the exact dynamic of it was, too far away to draw any conclusions about who was after whom.

Smashing Pumpkins' Rhinoceros started playing then, taking things down a notch.

The Smashing Pumpkins…

Bella gifted the DJ with a wide, delighted smile that transformed her face, and as I watched, mystified, she fucking blew him a kiss. He sent her a wink in return. I shifted forward, took a step, then stopped at a motion from Emmett.

Em tipped his chin toward something behind me. "Looks like Coach wants a word."

I darted a glance toward Coach, saw him standing with Uley and a girl I didn't recognize. Gritting my teeth, I returned my gaze the dance floor and a certain brunette. She swayed with Billy Corgan's languid croon, hands over her head twisting and turning in a sexy rhythm. What the hell was it about this girl that had me so distracted? I didn't need to antagonize Coach by delaying, but something about her pulled at me, like a puzzle I couldn't quite figure out. An offensive formation without rhythm. A fucking mystery.

Emmett tapped my shoulder and I nodded, turning on my heel and making my way through the crowd.

~:~ FotW ~:~

The girl, Leah, was Uley's niece. The one he'd offered up Wednesday night as my perfect girlfriend. Naturally. My throat constricted, each syllable I shoved through an accomplishment. Her hair fell past her shoulder in a shiny blue-black waterfall. As her uncle introduced us, her dark eyes coasted over me with an air of propriety that had my spine stiffening in an instant.

Not happening. No. Fucking. Way.

I struggled with my temper, while a venomous sense of powerlessness left a foul taste in my mouth. I never struggled to make decisions. I took in a situation, made a judgment and followed through. It's what made me a great quarterback, and the practice had served me well so far. Why the fuck I couldn't come up with a concrete plan to counter Uley's ultimatums, I had no idea.

When Uley suggested we dance, I didn't deny him as my first preference insisted. My gaze flitted past Leah's left shoulder, zeroing with unnerving accuracy on Bella. She was still dancing with Alice, front and center of the DJ. She shifted, turning until she faced me, though her attention was fixed on her friend, her lips spread wide with her smile. A real smile, not the weird one she'd sent my way earlier. What had that look earlier been about? Why had she smirked at me, and why had I instantly dismissed California?

The DJ was good, and as one song morphed into the next, more and more people filled the dance floor. As the music switched to an up-tempo beat, I guided Leah into the center of the mob. Through the undulating crowd, I caught fleeting glimpses of Bella's body. Of her long, toned legs as her skirt swished and flipped. Toned in a way that I knew had to come from her derby skating. Strong and supple and sleek. Those legs were quickly turning into an obsession.

Leah gripped my shoulder, her nails clawing through my shirt, drawing my attention. I stared down at her, recognized that she was hot, but nothing about her attracted me. All I saw when I looked at her was another noose around my neck.

"My uncle thinks I should make a move on you," she said.

My step faltered for an instant before I swung her into a turn and put my back to Bella. Seemed I needed to concentrate. "Yeah?"

"Well, he didn't say that exactly, of course." She peeked up at me through dark lashes, but her brown eyes left me unaffected. I distinctly noticed the lack of golden flecks.

I didn't think Coach would like even Mr. Uley spreading the word about our potential arrangement, but I couldn't be sure. "What did he say, exactly?"

"Just that he was a huge fan of yours. That he would love to see you 'go places.' Thinks your future would be perfect if only you had a 'good woman' to settle your 'wild ways.'" She hurried through the little speech, complete with air quotes. Then returned her hands to my shoulders, slipping even closer, despite the music's fast rhythm. I ignored how she slid her body along mine and thought about her words. Another warning, delivered all unknowing.

"I like my 'wild ways,' babe." My brow kicked up, and I softened the blow with a grin. "And any place I go, I'll get there with my skills, not by being 'settled.'"

I shifted us again, done with the conversation and the attempts at control. We continued dancing, and I could hear her commenting every so often about the game tomorrow, about people she knew in the crowd, whatever stupid shit apparently entered her brain, but I tuned her out.

With faultless timing, Bella came into view again, the pale curve of one shoulder on display as her shirt slid down her arm. I was close enough to see the blue strip of her bra strap, and the sight lit a desire in me to see the rest. To see if she coordinated the bright colors, see if she carried that bit of hidden personality deeper. Somehow, I thought she did. The idea filled me with unexpected images of blue panties, of long legs wrapped around my waist, waves of silky brown hair teasing across my chest, brown eyes meeting mine in sensual challenge.

The images had the skin between my shoulder blades tingling again, and it was everything I could do not to shove away from Leah. I thought of everything I knew about Bella, which was really quite a lot considering I hadn't even known of her existence four days ago. From dumbfuck Mike, I knew she was smart—above average smart. She was somehow linked to one of the most popular sororities on campus, seeing as they'd parked there Wednesday night. I thought about the fact that Jake Black, a guy who had a solid reputation with girls, made a point of running with her a couple times a week.

And then, just like that, the frustration that had been gnawing a hole in my gut since Uley had laid down his ultimatums evaporated.

The song ended and I guided Leah back toward her uncle, not giving her a chance to force us into another dance. I wanted to speak with Uley and Coach immediately, unwilling to wait another minute.

I had a way now. A way to satisfy my bizarre curiosity about the brown-haired Bella. A way to hold my own against Uley. Confidence surging, I stopped close enough to the pair to be heard over the pulsing bass. "Got a minute, Mr. Uley? Coach?"

A/N: Thanks so much to PTB and the oh so lovely betas, Jennej and kitchmill for their thorough purging of commas, ellipses, finding my awkward spots and overall fine-tuning this chapter. And once again, thank you so much, jayhawkbb, for reading and hand-holding and tweaking. You guys boost my confidence and I'm just so dang grateful!

And speaking of confidence...Tarbecca, thank you for the boost last month when you deemed FotW worth mention over on your Diving Deep for Fan Fic Treasures post at A Different Forest. What a great group of encouraging, enthusiastic readers! It gave me a special thrill to be mentioned, and I hope this story continues to hold everyone's interest. Promise to do my best :)