A door opens and a tall, somewhat attractive guy that looks to be my age, steps out.
He has three-toned, unruly, whisky-colored hair that sticks out in every direction. He turns my way, his pale skin spilling out of his rolled up sleeves.
Not only does he look pissed, with his eyebrows raised above his shades, but he's dressed like a pretentious prep.
Through my windshield, he stares me down as he walks toward me.
My heart rate picks up.
I can't see his eyes for the sunglasses, but he has a stern look on his face as he stops at the rear of his truck and glances away from me, down to his bumper… assessing the damage. I can't even move. I'm still in shock that I've just hit someone from behind.
Aaaaaaaaand shit. He's walking to my car now.
Fumbling quickly, I grab my purse and lean my head out the window towards him, "I am so so sorry."
I'm a total idiot, it's spelled out on his face.
He's so close I can smell his clean white oxford that's half tucked in, half hanging out of grey khakis. He brings his hand to rest on top of the car and looks down through the window. His black belt distracts me momentarily.
"What's your name," he asks.
"Bella. Um, Bella Swan."
A big watch cuffs his wrist as he reaches to adjust himself quickly. In my face. Because that's where his crotch is. In my face.
Seated in my car, his five second movement plays out in slow motion as he adjusts. This isn't your normal grab-the-boys-and-move-them adjustment. No... he's making a statement here. By grabbing his belt buckle and tugging upward on it... lifting what looks to be a heavy load. Every muscle from my inner thighs out, tighten and my teeth clench as he lowers that belt buckle, settling himself back into position.
He leans down to me, coming closer.
"You didn't notice the huge white vehicle right in front of you, Bella?" He speaks to me like I'm a child with his hand raised in the direction of his license plate.
I'm torn from my lusty thoughts and with embarrassment, I look away to open my purse. With shaky fingers, I thumb through my wallet for my card.
"I… I've got insurance," I say as I hand him my card.
"Perfect... " He has a fake smile as he finishes, "now we just need to drop what we're doing so we can wait all afternoon for the cops. You wanna call or should I?" Sarcasm drips off of him.
"How bad is it?" I peek over my wheel to see a few scratches on his bumper, his hitch is a little lopsided, but other than that it's fine. I mean, it's not that bad in the grand scheme of things.
What's his fucking problem, is what I really want to ask him. But for some reason I'm compliant.
He lets out a long breath, shakes his head and stands there, shooting daggers at me.
And then it hits me.
A rush of adrenaline spreads through me as that heavy feeling of dread drops down like a cement block.
That word he said, cops, flashes brightly through my mind as each frame of the montage of the drinks I had plays through my head and hits me like a TKO.
I reach for my phone to call Charlie.
Instantly, a tear springs and that hard-to-swallow feeling forms in my throat, as I'm reminded that he's no longer able to pick up the phone. Charlie could've gotten me out of this.
"Slide over." His voice is stern. Demanding.
"What?" I say confused.
I see him pull two fingers to his mouth, letting out a loud whistle towards his SUV.
"I said slide over." He looks back down to me, this time holding his sunglasses up so that I can see his amber eyes under a veil of long lashes. There's nothing in those eyes that say he's kidding either. They're hard, demanding and completely serious.
He takes his hand off the top of the car and starts to open my door. When his passenger doesn't respond to the whistle right away, he yells, "Jasper!"
Driver guy is standing right beside me now... no more door separating us. As he waits for his friend, I study the way his pockets flare out and come back down to meet at the peak of a tall mound which lays tight around his zipper.
The khakis fit him like a glove.
His cologne wafts into my car and the smell is more than delicious. It's an instant turn on despite the chaos.
His friend gets out of the truck and walks this way. Passenger doesn't have the same "look" about him. He's much shorter than the driver, has a clean shave, wearing skinny jeans, a tank top with the sides cut out and has his head shaved on both sides… his long hair molded into a pristine man-bun on top.
"Follow me, I'm gonna take this one home," he says and I can't see his face but I know he's referring to me.
His friend looks at him in question, eyeballs me, and Driver speaks quietly to him, "We're good."
His friend says nothing, just nods and turns to get in the huge white vehicle right in front of me as Driver called it.
He looks back down to me and notices that I still haven't moved.
"I don't have time for this. Move over, or I'll move you myself."
Who does he think he is? I don't even know his name.
Almost as if he's read my mind, he speaks.
"Edward Cullen. Fourth grade and I knew your father. Now move over."
I remember his name vaguely... but it's a moot point as I'd rather put my life in the hands of this handsome stranger than the cops right now.
So I make my way to the passenger seat and he folds himself into my car, but not without resistance.
The seat slides all the way back, "Jesus, can you get any closer to the wheel?"
He's clearly pissed off and I'm basically at his mercy. So I apologize again as he pulls around his truck to lead the way.
I look out the window feeling embarrassed, "I really am sorry... can't believe this happened."
His sunglasses are back on and he's picking up speed... quick.
His long legs push his knees almost to the to the steering wheel as he races down the road.
He's one of those jock types. Probably played football, probably got a full ride to some prestigious, expensive college and probably fratted himself all the way back to good old San An. I can read him like a book.
He makes a small sound... like he's amused by something.
I cut through the awkward silence, "Thank you."
I don't really know what else to say.
"Don't thank me yet... you haven't seen the front of your car."
I grab my forehead and true regret sets in as the force of the speed pushes me back into the seat.
He's flying— hugging curves like he owns this car and not only that, like he knows where he's going.
"I live about..."
He cuts me off, "I know where you live."
What is even happening.
He slows to make a sharp right.
"Why are you doing this?"
He cuts his eyes to me, "Your daddy can't exactly bail you out of this one, can he?" He looks back to the road. I say nothing. The sting of his words make me want to punch his pretty face.
He continues, "And my dad owns the dealership. So, I'll get mine fixed... but you?" He turns to me once again, "You've had at least four drinks by the way you smell... I would've been on the side of the road waiting all damn day after all the bullshit protocol and the sobriety tests."
I'm stunned silent. He's exactly right.
I watch as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other clutching the gear shift. His watch clinks against the laminate each time we go over a bump.
I don't speak and he doesn't either... it's just awkward.
Minutes later, he pulls into my driveway and I turn to him as he grabs his handle to get out.
The fact that he knows exactly where I live isn't even a concern.
I reach over to stall him... touch his leg. He looks at his watch before eyeing me.
"Seriously, thank you." I say.
"Don't thank me... I didn't do you any favors that I'm not doing myself. You're lucky that I'm in a rush."
"I still appreciate it… I owe you."
"Look, I'm not your hero, so don't go falling in love." He steps out, but not without walking around to my door to help me out.
Whatever. Is he serious? He's cute and all, but falling in love? No worries there.
I mean… he's good-looking at best. Okay, he's extremely attractive. The way he just pushed his sleeves up to reveal his strong forearms while grabbing my door might have just sent a flutter downstairs but… come on.
His voice is like honey, when he speaks, "Think you can make it inside without crashing into something else, kid?" He pulls the door wide for me.
"We're the same age," I snap back at him, cutting my eyes up to his. Jerk.
"At least one of us acts like it." He gestures to my house with his head, "Get inside, sober up and don't even think of getting behind the wheel like that again."
He's got these big, beautiful hands that reach in, taking my own, as he gives me my keys and helps me out of the car to stand. I pull away from him immediately after I'm on my feet, but not before eyeing his bulge.
Because I've had drinks. Not because I'm falling in love.
He hangs his shades in the collar of his shirt and digs in his back pocket. While he digs, my eyes are drawn like heat seeking missiles, straight to his crotch again. I can almost see the outline of it and I'm betting he's got at least six in there… so he's just become much more appealing.
He looks up, and I'm too slow, he's seen me. I'm completely okay with it. I mean, at this point, what else could go wrong.
He smiles the most sarcastic, fake smile… "See something you like?" And reaches for my hand, tucking a business card into my palm.
"Call that number tomorrow," his apple butter eyes give me a once over, "when you no longer reek of booze." He puts his shades back on and says with a smirk, "I'll set up a time for you to bring it in."
He turns to the sound of his friend pulling in behind us and starts walking toward the center of the drive, where his truck stops.
Running a hand through his hair, he takes long strides away from me. I watch as his friend jumps out and he slides in. He doesn't even look back this way.
"Okay?" I say, entirely confused, but completely thankful at the same time.
I walk up the three green cement steps and sit down when I reach the top one... right where the paint is chipping off to reveal the grey cement beneath.
I turn the card over in my hand and read;
Cullen Automotive
GMC Buick Chevrolet
Edward Cullen
Area Manager
555-213-6870
Well that makes sense.
His truck leaves a dust trail as he peels out of the drive, and out of my vision as quickly as he came in, just fifteen minutes ago.
I look to the front of my car and see that my bumper is nearly hanging off the front, and there are several scratches on the hood that give way to one helluva dent.
And instantly I want to go right back to The Clubhouse.
I am Jack's completely ignorant frame of mind.
.
.
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A/N: So now that you've met these guys, I'm excited to jump into the story. A big thank you to Nicffwhisperer. It appears that she whispered to quite a few about this story. Thanks to all who've reviewed. I really appreciate the time you've spent to tap that button to leave your feedback :0)