All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

Word Prompt: Accurate

Audio-Visual Challenge—Musical Mastery: "Fever" by Peggy Lee

"So, Edward's staying after all. In town, I mean. He's getting his own place, though" Rose says, blowing her hair from her face. "Thankfully."

"You said he was an easy guest." I pass her another olive from my salad. We're at her favorite Italian bistro, on a rare, kid-free lunch date.

"He is. But it's still nice when you have your house to yourself, you know?" She shrugs, popping the olive into her mouth. "And anyway, Embry thinks he's getting a tattoo now which is like...so not happening."

"You said Edward's tattoos were sexy."

"Yes, Edward's tattoos are sexy on Edward."

"Does Em know?" I waggle my eyebrows.

"What, that I think his friend's tattoos are sexy? I said it in front of him."

"You're too much." Grinning, I push another olive onto Rose's plate.

She spears it immediately. "Why don't you just ask them for no olives?"

"I always forget."

"Hm. Anyway, don't act like you don't like them." She eyes me, somewhat coyly, and suddenly I just know she and Emmett have been discussing me and my spotty love life.

"Olives or tattoos?"

Rose rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, I...they're actually very cool. On him. It's very, you know. Famous."

Rose snorts into her seltzer. "You're such a lame liar."

"I'm not lying," I laugh, buttering a piece of bread. "He looks the part. You know?"

"Yeah." She nods slowly, looking down at her plate. "He's way more than that, though. You know that, right?"

Guilt prickles through me, because I have to admit I've judged him from day one. On one hand, he's so good looking it's surreal. He's sharp relief against the grey of other human beings, and that's just his face. Forget his FIFA perfect body or the designs covering his skin. I mean, all of that - yes - obviously it plays into his appeal.

But on the other hand, it's difficult to relate to a guy like that. He's rich. He's used to a certain way of life. He's used to Europe, for God's sake. He doesn't have kids, which is no big deal - I probably would've waited a little longer in a perfect world - but still, he doesn't get what I go through on a regular basis, especially as a single mom.

"You of all people, Bella?"

Rose frank tone yanks me back to reality. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're usually the first one to give people a chance."

"What...what are we even talking about, Rose? You want me to like...what...get with Edward?" It's so preposterous that I bark out a laugh, earning a glance from the table beside ours. "Please. He's a bit out of my league, no pun intended."

"Ha, she's a funny one," Rose says, stealing the last olive from my plate. "I didn't say 'get with' him. I just...I think he thinks you don't like him."

Puzzled, I think back over the interactions we've had. Except for the very first time we met, we're always around Em, Rose, and a herd of children. "But we've hardly spoken."

"Exactly."

"Oh, please. He's been here for like two weeks -"

"Three, actually. Thank God he found a place."

Our server pops up, smiling. "Dessert?"

Considering my winter weight, I shake my head reluctantly. Very reluctantly. "Ah, no thank you."

"Yes, please," Rose says at the same time. She looks at me like I've lost it. "You're saying no to dessert?"

"I'm getting a gut," I whisper harshly.

"Shut up. Just come to yoga with me."

"I don't do yoga -"

"That's why you're getting a gut." Rose smiles serenely up at the server. "The cannoli, please. And a tiramisu. We're sharing."

"You're a pushy bitch." I sigh. "But I really do want dessert."

"I know you do, babe. I know."

"So, did Edward say something about me? That made you think..."

"Well, first he wanted to know if you were always that serious, and then he asked if he'd offended you somehow. "

"When was this?" I ask slowly, hoping it's not what I think it is.

"The other day, when you came to get Charlie and he was doing laundry and you kind of just rushed past him and left."

"Oh." Biting my lip, I look down. "Yeah."

"Let me guess. He was shirtless. And you had some major feelings, and freaked out, and ran away."

"Okay, fine."

The desserts come. I take a huge bite of tiramisu, grateful for the sugary, emotional healing it provides.

"You totally want him," Rose cackles, licking whipped cream from her finger.

"I do. I'd hit it, Rose."

"Yes. Finally."

"Why are you aiding and abetting in my corruption?" I groan.

"Hardly, hardly, Saint Isabella. I just want you to have fun. Edward is a lot of fun - and I mean that in a totally non-sexual way. He's funny when he wants to be, and likes adventures. He tells great stories."

"I can imagine." I really can, too. He's done so much.

"I think...he knows how close you and Em are, and he's probably used to girls throwing themselves at him, and then you come along and you're just so..."

"Frigid."

"Laid back. And I think he's...curious about you."

"Did Emmett say something?" I ask on a hunch. Rose has way too much insight, here.

"He sees Edward checking you out. Like every time."

I blink, shocked at this news, but she barrels on ahead. "I had to..." Pausing, she shakes her head. "I had to tell him to stop being a dick because he was getting a little over protective, which at this age, is ridiculous. He loves Edward, but he loves you more, and he knows you barely make time to date. He doesn't want you getting hurt."

And just like that, I'm eleven years old and my older brother is telling me not to do something.

It just makes me want to do it all the more.

"You did not give me accurate information," I huff. "You said yoga, and you do yoga at home."

"Yeah, but Em bought me a membership to LA Fitness, remember?" She shoves a water bottle and little towel into her gym bag. "So I go there now. They've even got child care. I swear I've told you all this."

Maybe she has. Who knows. "But there are people there. Watching."

"No one watches, weirdo."

"Fine. But...I can just go as your guest?"

"For a couple times, yeah. Come on; I don't want to be late."

We hustle the kids into her truck and head over to the gym, which is gigantic and flashy and sort of reminds me of the movie Dodgeball.

I look around as Rose signs me in. There are two floors, a substantial cardio section, and an area for weights in the middle that extends toward the back. Apparently the classes are in the back, too, which is good. I'm hoping no one can see me when I'm in there, all spread eagle or ass up or whatever yoga will have me doing.

We get the kids situated, and then Rose leads me through the gym, jabbering about the fantastic options here, like the Olympic sized swimming pool and racquetball courts.

"I didn't know you played racquetball."

"I don't. But still. If I wanted to."

She's gushing about the sauna when a familiar design catches my eye.

Edward's doing weights over by a mirrored wall. Of course he'd be here. Bodies like that don't keep themselves. He's doing it real slow, facing his reflection, working his biceps. Pumping iron. Whatever; he's not wearing a shirt, which is why I recognized his tattooed back. Everything slows down. We're still walking, and Rose is still talking, but it's like we're underwater; her words fade until there's nothing, no sounds, nothing, but Edward Cullen, lifting, body glistening with sweat.

This is better than the fireman calendars my grandmother keeps in her home office. Way better. It's mesmerizing, in a vaguely porny sort of way.

I don't even care anymore. Judgment goes out the window. Having Rose call me out yesterday was enough to shake me out of my self-righteous cloud of bs anyway.

My thoughts must be screaming, because his gaze drifts my way. We make eye contact in the mirror, and he falters for a second.

Oh, sweet Lord. Let me be the one.

Rose yanks me into a room full of yoga mats.

quick note:

not everyone finds tattoos attractive. it doesn't matter if, by today's standards, they're no longer "exotic". different women find different looks appealing, and automatically assuming that all women must find them hot is generalizing. we like what we like. *shrugs* i have some readers that are not so into tattoos, others that adore them. i didn't want to write a Bella who was so bowled over by the innate hotness of edward's tattoos she had trouble keeping her legs closed. i actually love stories like that, personally, but they've been written.

not being snarky here, just honest. i appreciate you guys so, so much.

thanks for reading!

xoxo