Chapter Twelve

A/N: another disclaimer that I know absolutely nothing about football or teams or rivalries or fan bases. Any mention of a team or history or fans is purely made up for the purposes of the story. Please don't take offense if you're a X fan and I say they have horrible fans. It's purely made up for the purpose of the story, I promise.

But if I'm all dressed up

They might as well be looking at us

And if they call me a slut

You know it might be worth it for once

~ Taylor Swift, "Slut!"

BPOV

"And what are you doing here, Jane Lucas?" I asked, as calmly as possible, ignoring her hand and taking a seat at the head of the table.

I had been in this business since I was a teenager. I knew how things worked, had spent the last year and a half learning from the best to not let people walk all over me. Jane Lucas showing up to this private meeting which had absolutely nothing to do with my personal life was a giant, annoyingly perfect eyeliner wearing, walking red flag.

Her eyes narrowed as she returned to her seat. She slid a manila file folder across the table toward me.

I watched every member of my team eye it with curiosity, so I knew none of them knew what she was up to either.

There were a few photos stacked on top, blurry captures of what seemed to be a college party in a frat house. I recognized a splash of copper hair and fought against the smile it immediately brought to my face.

The pictures were harmless. A young Edward at a college party. Not the end of the world.

Then came the article with the lovely title of Bella Swan's New Man Failed a Drug Test In College And Bought His Way Back On The Team.

I didn't bother reading further.

I closed the folder and handed it to Carmen. "Is it true?"

"Technically. They were in the process of relaxing the rule the next year, and his parents talked to the board and got the suspension taken off the table — while donating a fair amount of money to the school."

I chewed on my bottom lip. "It wasn't already public knowledge?"

Jane shook her head.

My stomach twisted into a knot.

"That information was sent to me by Jacob Black's team."

That knot went up into flames.

Carmen broke the silence. "Black has been trying to dig himself out of a hole since the Kinsley incident. Doesn't like that more people are on your side now than his."

I kept the string of expletives that ran through my head to myself.

"Edward's a good guy. He's got a pristine career. And I'm sorry–I'm sure you're a lovely girl– but I can't have you dragging him down with you. He doesn't deserve to have his name dragged through the mud like this."

"Nobody deserves it," I snapped, years of pent up aggression at headlines and tabloids and exposés boiling to the surface.

Once Jacob and I were over, I became public enemy number one. If I was seen smiling at a restaurant I was an emotionless bitch who never loved him in the first place, and if I was seen frowning as I walked into my apartment I was a lovesick idiot who was still pining after country music's golden boy.

There was no winning.

"When?" I asked.

"Tomorrow."

Carmen cleared her throat. "Are you here to ask her to end her private and personal relationship with your client, or are you here because you need our help handling the most intense media scrutiny he's ever been under?"

Jane's eyes tensed. "Whichever you'll agree to."

At least she was honest.

—How You Get The Girl—

Jane was on a flight back to Seattle by mid-afternoon. I spent the rest of my day in that stuffy office, going over schedules and interviews and rehearsals and setlists. Mentally, I was drained to the point where I settled for a nice bowl of cereal for dinner and curled up on my couch ready to cry myself to sleep.

This was the part of the job I hated. The one I wished I could figure out how to cut off at the neck.

I liked writing songs. I liked putting on sparkly dresses and singing them with as many people as possible. I wanted to do that without every single person in the world thinking they had free rein to comment on my relationship or weight or lipstick choice. And the idea that I was a public punching bag just carried over to anyone associated with me. Seth had some seriously shitty things said about him in the past, the few friends I had were constantly hounded for information about me.

It made it hard to feel like a person, sometimes.

My phone rang, a photo I took of the stadium standing and cheering for a touchdown Edward had made last weekend popping up on the screen.

Edward made me feel like a person. Like a real human being and not an object or profit. But, as usual, the photographers and 'journalists' and press were going to ruin everything. Reduce my life to nothing more than entertainment for the masses at my own expense

"Hi," I sighed, taking a small bite of cereal.

His voice was calm, quiet, and gentle as he said, "It's okay, Bella."

A tear slid down my cheek. "No, it's not."

"Okay, it's a shitty situation, but it's not the end of the world."

"I'm really sorry," I gasped out, my throat closing up involuntarily. That panic I was so familiar with flooding my veins and reminding me of just how much of everything was out of my control. That at any moment, the next headline could be his breaking point and I'd be all alone again and–

"You did nothing to apologize for, Bella. Nothing."

"That article is coming out because of me."

"No. From what Jane told me, Black is just looking for trouble. And if he wants to take a shot at me, I'm okay with it. It was a long time ago and I was at the wrong party at the wrong time. That's on me. People will talk shit for a while, and I'm fine with it. I walk into boo'ing stadiums on a regular basis for away games, princess. I can handle it."

"Oh, God," I groaned. "I've had nightmares like that."

Edward chuckled over the phone.

I rolled my lips together. "You're not mad?"

"No," he said confidently. "I'm not mad."

I sighed, taking a soggy bite of cereal. "Do the crowds really boo you at away games?"

"Some crowds are worse than others. You'll see Sunday in Boston. They're always very… bitter. Haven't beaten us since I joined the team.."

Despite it all, I smiled to myself, picturing the crooked and cocky smirk I knew would be on his face.

I would see him again in just a handful of days, just a few hours away in Boston. I always knew arenas and stadiums were my happy place; the place I could always go to feel like myself in the madness of everything. I just never thought a stadium full of football fans would feel that same way.

—How You Get The Girl—

I curled up on the couch of the hotel suite, carefully keeping the robe covering the most important bits of skin as I grabbed my phone. Edward answered on the first ring.

"Morning, princess," he said, slightly out of breath from what I now knew would be his morning run.

I smiled to myself. "Morning, hotshot."

Edward chuckled.

The last few days had been a bit of a shit show. Every half hour there was a new photo of me at the game last week being analyzed, there were exposés written about Edward's minor drug bust in college, but most of them focused on how I needed to make up for it somehow.

Because it was my fault. Obviously.

But I was keeping to myself, enjoying my work and looking forward to this exact moment. Because in about three hours I would be sitting in the Empire State Building, surrounded by a hundred fans, announcing Is It Over Now?.

While I hated the lack of privacy and the way the tabloids shamelessly printed the most outrageously false stories about me or my life or my friends, I loved being able to tell my side of things. Writing has always been my favorite thing, and being able to use it to tell my own story and prove ninety-nine percent of what they wrote as false always felt pretty goddamn good.

And getting to see the way fans' faces lit up when they heard a new song for the first time was a rush of adrenaline I had never been able to find anywhere else.

They were the reason I was where I was today. They bought my albums and streamed my music and came to shows and showed me I wasn't alone on a daily basis. There were a few bad apples in the bunch; the ones who said they were fans but then managed to pick apart every single thing I did, but the majority were good. Kind. They meant everything to me.

The first time someone walked up to me and said they liked my music was forever ingrained in my memory. I was seventeen and had just released my first single, Our Song. I was walking down the street with Angela window shopping on a sunny summer afternoon when I noticed a girl our age do a double take. She gave me a big smile, said she loved it, and asked for a picture.

I had Angela take a picture of us, too. So I'd have it. It was framed in my cozy little Nashville apartment that I was rarely ever at these days.

Any day I knew would be spent sitting with them, watching them listen to a song for the first time, talking to them about their lives, I knew it was going to be a good day.

It also didn't hurt my mood that we were dangerously close to Sunday.

"I have a bone to pick with you," he said, his voice playful enough for me to know it wasn't an actual bone.

"What's that?"

"You've spoiled my dog to the point where she refuses to eat store-bought dog treats."

I smiled. "She deserves homemade treats."

"And now she knows it. She spits out anything less."

I chuckled. "If it weren't so cute, I'd apologize." The dog treats were easy to make, and her little eyes lit up every time she saw them. How was I supposed to not give them to her whenever she wanted? I made a mental note to bake an extra large batch tonight for Edward to take back to Seattle with him. "I–oh, hold on."

There was a soft knock at my bedroom door. I shuffled over to the door only to be met with a plethora of white roses.

"These are for you," Angela murmured, hidden behind the flowers as she stumbled in and placed them on the table. She left with a not-so-subtle wink.

"Wow," I whispered to myself, forgetting I still had the phone up to my ear as I pulled at the card in the center of the arrangement. It had to be at least a hundred roses. All so perfectly white I was almost scared to touch them for fear of tainting them. "Sorry. I…"

"I never saw you coming

And I'll never be the same."

Good luck today, princess.

Xo Edward

My heart clenched, suddenly beating in overdrive.

I spent my life putting together pretty words I wished someone would one day say to me. The card was beautifully embossed with those very words I had written alone in my bedroom, the rest of the note handwritten in Edward's perfect script.

I leaned down to take a sniff of the flowers. "Thank you. They're–they're beautiful."

"I'm glad you like them."

"I love them," I clarified.

I love you.

The words nearly popped out of my mouth.

"I've got to go. I'll call you tonight. Do me a favor and look up the meaning of white roses, okay?"

"Um, okay," I murmured, only half paying attention as I gently brushed the soft petals of a rose. "Thank you, Edward."

"Anytime, princess."

He hung up.

I pulled a single rose out and carried it over to the couch before unlocking my phone again to do as he asked.

I typed in my search. My heart felt like the Grinch's the moment it grew three sizes as I read the first result.

Young love, eternal loyalty, and new beginnings are commonly attributed to white roses.

—How You Get The Girl—

B: It's a stupid rule.

B: You're not children.

B: How irresponsible could the average NFL player be?

E: Incredibly irresponsible.

B: Give me names and I'll take care of it.

E: Are you going to tell them you're just upset because I can't fuck that pretty little mouth of yours until after the game?

I took an unfortunately timed sip of water and promptly choked on it as I read his message.

"What the fuck, Bella?" Seth grunted, flicking some unlucky splatters of water off of his hand as he glared at me.

I could feel my cheeks burning. "Sorry."

Seth gave me that she's crazy look that little brothers knew so well before turning back to his tablet.

In my defense, it was a stupid rule. That the players had to always spend the night in a hotel before a game, home or away. And guests were not allowed.

I typed and retyped half a dozen different responses before settling on one.

B: Do you think that would work?

E: Sunday night, princess. I promise.

—How You Get The Girl—

I flew into Boston Sunday afternoon. Because the NFL was trying to kill me and didn't allow players much freedom in the city they were playing in the night before. It was a quick flight from New York City, barely an hour. And I smiled to myself as I got off the plane, imagining the teasing I was going to endure when Edward and I boarded it after the game.

I told him I had a hotel in the city for the night, but if I was within range of my own bed, I was going to happily make the late flight back home.

With Edward in tow, that crooked smile teasing me for my private plane.

Seth was with me this time, chuckling at my cozy new Seahawks windbreaker. He had some friends in the area and was staying in the city for a few days. After coming to the game with me.

I smiled at the sight of the stadium. Gillette. It was the first stadium I had ever headlined on my own, years ago. The memory sent a rush of adrenaline through my veins as I pictured the tour I was currently in the middle of planning. An all stadium tour.

"I can't wait to see what my birthday present is this year," Seth mused from beside me. "You're welcome, by the way."

I rolled my eyes.

He was insufferable. Every time I smiled he took credit for it. The most frustrating part of the whole thing was he was right.

"Maybe I'll send you on a month-long vacation just to get you out of my hair for a while."

"I'll take it."

The main crowd had already come and gone at the stadium, but there were a few people who stopped and stared at the convoy of cars that drove us to a back entrance. Mostly frowns from people in Patriots apparel.

Every night before bed I went through a stack of flashcards of team names and their stadiums. I knew where a majority of the big stadiums were in the country, which made it easier to try and match them with a team.

Gillette: Patriots.

Once I got those down I was going to ask Edward to help me make flashcards for whatever football terms I needed to know. I was still mostly clueless watching games, but I was great at memorizing lyrics. Football rules couldn't be that much harder to commit to memory. I did enjoy keeping my eyes on number 13.

My thumb rubbed over the tiny little 13 I had on my wrist.

Seth kept pace with me, Sam and his crew of three different men always in my peripheral vision. Until something sparkly caught my eye and I noticed a girl, no older than ten, in a bedazzled Cullen 13 jersey on the way into the suite.

"Oh, my God," I gasped, stopping cold and beelining for the girl.

As the years went on, it got easier to ignore the gasps and phones and wide eyes whenever I walked toward a group.

I knelt down and held a hand out for a high-five. "I love your jersey."

"Thank you!" she beamed.

"Can we get a picture together?"

She nodded furiously as I tilted my head down to rest on top of her curly blonde hair. A couple I had to assume were her parents pulled out a set of phones and snapped half a dozen pictures.

The mother mouthed thank you to me as I gave her daughter another high five.

Seth was chuckling the rest of the way to the suite.

"What?" I asked, frowning over at him.

"I just think it's pretty fucking funny that you of all people got so excited over a football jersey," he said with a shake of his head, pulling out his phone and showing me a picture he snapped of the girl and I.

I shrugged.

It was a cute jersey.

—How You Get The Girl—

I forced Seth into the aisle seat after I'd had to stand up for the fifth time for him to get more food. My left side was empty most of the time with him gone, but I had Carlisle, Esme, and Rosalie all gathered along my right.

Carlisle and Esme were both in Cullen jerseys (unfortunately with no sparkles), and Rosalie was in a cute navy dress. The first thing each of them said was congratulations on my album announcement, telling me they had pre-ordered it and loved the second single. And somehow, they each were able to make it seem like the most natural conversation in the world. As if they were congratulating me on a promotion at an office job.

It was a sense of normalcy that I hadn't felt in a long, long time.

The sound of the crowd as the Seahawks came out was straight out of my nightmares, though. The boo'ing and the name calling and the anger directed at them was far more extreme than what I was expecting.

After the first quarter, I watched Edward remove his helmet as he stalked toward the sidelines and grin up at the crowd.

The way he dripped confidence while he was down there had my stomach fluttering. He was mine. I got to call him whenever I wanted and wear his clothes and taste his skin and for the next twenty-four hours, nothing else mattered.

I was forced out of my lovestruck haze as I flinched with the force a Patriots player took Edward down with. It was hard to tell the extent of the interaction, but I watched as the opposing player spent a few seconds too long righting himself and turned toward Edward.

Then Edward was in his face, helmet to helmet and everything went to hell.

Edward was suddenly surrounded by his teammates, while the other side was as well. Refs were trying to break up whatever little fights they could, and in the middle of it all I could still see Edward trying his damndest to get to the first guy who must have said something to set him off.

"Shit," I gasped, trying to figure out who was where and what was going on.

Esme sighed beside me. "It's why we put him into sports in the first place," she leaned over to tell me. "He can have a bit of a temper when he's passionate about something. With sports, he put all that into his performance. It's been a while since he's lost it like that in the middle of a game."

I nodded absentmindedly, watching as Emmett managed to disengage Edward from the group.

There was part of me that was mentally replaying the whole thing, even minutes later as the game resumed, and realizing it was far more attractive than it should have been to watch Edward shove the other guy back as if he weighed nothing. And the other part realized how likely the whole thing was to be my fault.

Only further proof when, by the end of the game, the Patriots fans couldn't walk by our box without muttering insults under their breath at me.

I had come to terms with the fact people I would never know would always have preconceived notions about me a long time ago. As frustrating as it was, it was how my life worked. Maybe the people walking by hated my music so passionately they felt the need to shout it in my face, or thought I was a horrible person for writing songs about my life and putting the men who hurt me on display for their manipulation, or maybe they were bitter that the Seahawks were absolutely obliterating their team.

Who knows.

Carlisle was quick to close the window after the first one, but it didn't change anything.

Everything was always my fault.

—How You Get The Girl—

"You good?" Seth asked, nudging me with his shoulder as we waited down the hall from the locker room for Edward.

"I'm good."

I was. People looking at me and muttering slut under their breath was hardly a new experience for me. I didn't love it, but I wasn't going to let it ruin my one night this week with Edward.

"You don't have to wait with me, you know," I told my brother.

He had friends waiting for a late dinner with him, but he hadn't left my side all night. "I know. I need to meet the guy, first."

I rolled my eyes. "You have met him."

He shook his head. "Not as your boyfriend, though. I need to adequately intimidate him. It's my job."

"He's a good six inches taller than you and probably has fifty pounds of muscle on you."

"Oh, he could squish me like a bug. But he needs to know if he hurts you I'll have Sam do some serious damage."

I snorted out a laugh as Emmett and Rosalie wandered by.

Emmett held out a large hand for a high-five. Rosalie rolled her eyes playfully. "See you next week!" they both shouted over their shoulders.

I waved. Then the squeak of the door opening caught my attention.

Edward wrapped his free arm around my waist and lifted me easily, his duffle not faltering on his other shoulder as I buried my head against him.

Neither of us said anything, not as Seth cleared his throat behind me.

"Edward," he said, jokingly firmly for a guy who didn't have a serious bone in his body.

"Seth, good to see you, man." Edward loosened his grip on me, but didn't let me go as he reached his free hand out to shake Seth's.

"Edward," he nodded, brows tense as he tried to stand straighter to give him any more height.

I snorted out a laugh.

Seth sent me a frown before turning back to Edward again. Some unspoken guy code must have gone between them because Seth said nothing before walking away.

Edward pressed his lips to my temple. "I missed you."

I melted into his side and waited until we were seated in the back of a blacked out SUV before asking, "What did he say?"

Edward rolled his neck, jaw tensing. "Nothing I'm going to repeat."

I chewed on my bottom lip. "It was about me."

"Yes."

My first thought was to apologize. But I knew I would get told it wasn't my fault as soon as his eyes met mine in the dark car. Because my second thought was that I could count on one hand the number of people in the world (that I personally knew) who would protect me as fiercely.

"Thank you," I whispered, thankful for the dim lighting in the car as I swallowed back my emotions. "For defending me."

His fingers were gentle but firm as they lifted my chin. He kissed me until I forgot what we were talking about.

Eventually the car slowed and Edward frowned out the window. "Where are we?"

I smiled over at him, pressing one last kiss to his cheek. "We're only an hour away from New York City. I thought you'd like to spend the night at my place instead of a hotel."

Our door was slowly opened, my jet sitting just a few feet away with the stairs waiting for us.

Edward shook his head with a laugh. "Lead the way, princess."

I pulled him with me when he tried to get his luggage out of the car, smiling and saying hello to the small crew that we passed on our way to the main cabin.

Outside of any of my apartments, I probably spent more time in this plane than anywhere else. It was all customized, the creamy interior and leather seats and bedroom in the back completely renovated from the plane I first had.

But it was cozy. For a plane.

Edward let out a low whistle. "Impressive."

I shrugged, sitting down at one of four seats surrounding a table. "I'm sure it's not the first private plane you've been on."

He shook his head, taking a seat beside me. "No, but it's the first not owned by a multi-million dollar corporation."

I shrugged again.

Edward sent me a smirk as the pilot let us know we'd be taking off soon.

It felt like the shortest flight of my life with him by my side, asking about the plane and poking fun at the bedroom and chasing away every worry I had let seep into my brain after the fight earlier.

—How You Get The Girl—

Edward had his duffle slung over one shoulder as he leaned against the back wall of the elevator. He kept his hand in mine as he looked around.

"I don't own the elevator," I admitted.

"And here I was just starting to get impressed."

I chuckled, pulling him through the door as soon as it opened.

My apartment in the city was my sanctuary. My escape from Nashville and Jacob. A fresh start for me.

The kitchen was my dream, every kind of baking tool I could ever need right at my fingertips. Sparkly granite countertops and cabinets with vintage glass cutouts showcasing the wide variety of colorful kitchenware I had. The main living room had a baby grand piano in the corner, a few scribbles of pages of lyrics littered on top of it.

"My bedroom is this way, you can set your bag down," I said, wandering down the hall toward my room.

The walls of my room were painted a vibrant forest green. The wood of the furniture blending in like trunks of a tree. My bed took up the center of the room, large and fluffy and covered in the softest tan comforter in existence covering the king sized bed. There was a guitar settled in the corner beside a large, cushioned chair that I spent most of my evenings in and a television—that was one of ESPN's newest subscribers—hung across the bed.

Edward set his bag on the bench at the foot of the bed before taking a lap around the room. He stopped at the display of pictures I had on a chest, smiling as he looked them over. I had double checked before I left that there wasn't anything too embarrassing littering about.

"Do you want a tour?" I asked, turning and watching him wander through the room until he ended up beside me at the door again.

He pulled me into his chest, pushing the door shut gently behind me. "Later," he murmured, lips brushing against my cheek as he pressed me into the door. "Much later."

Warm fingers brushed through my hair. A firm hand squeezed my hip. And he leaned down to kiss me until I felt like a puddle of goo against the door.

This, I reminded myself. This was worth it.

"I've never been so attracted to a fucking windbreaker in my entire life," he grunted against my lips, shoving the jacket down my shoulders.

I bit his bottom lip, pulling at it until he groaned. "I never knew how sexy football could be. We're all adjusting."

Edward coughed out a laugh as I tossed his t-shirt out of my way.

My mouth watered at the sight. The toned skin and muscled arms and delicious V of his hips that disappeared beneath his jeans.

"There were some promises made," I breathed out against the center of his chest. Kissing across the warm skin and letting my tongue dart out for a taste now and then as I made my way down his abdomen. "About the weekend plans."

His fingers knotted in my hair before I could get to the waistband of his jeans, tilting my head up to face him. "And what promises would those be, princess?"
He knew. I knew he did. Because he had taunted me about it relentlessly all week.

My cheeks were on fire, even as I pressed another kiss to the center of his chest.

His fingers tilted my chin up again. "I have this theory," he started. "About you."

My head cocked to the side. "Okay?"

Didn't seem like the best time for theories, but I was curious. Especially when that cocky, crooked smile tugged at his lips as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. "That everyone in your life treats you like you're made of glass. Like you're a delicate princess who can't take care of herself."

My stomach twisted in a knot.

"But you… fuck, you're my kind of girl, Bella Swan. Because you can make love until the sun comes up but you're also ready to get on your knees and take my cock down your throat until you're covered in my come, aren't you?"

I rubbed my thighs together. Nodded against his hold on my chin and started unbuttoning his jeans as I sank to my knees.

I took a moment to appreciate the naked body before me, the thighs that tensed and the cock that was begging for my attention and the man who made me feel things I didn't even know were possible.

My tongue darted out to take a taste of his length.

He smiled down at me. "That's my girl."

Last weekend had, apparently, been a warm up for him. We spent days wrapped up in each other in his room, but I supposed that was the making love portion. Now I squeezed my thighs together as he knotted his fingers in my hair and fucked my throat until I could hardly breathe.

Oxygen was overrated anyway.

So unnecessary when you had a man as beautiful as Edward Cullen stroking himself to completion right in front of your eyes. Nearly on your eyes.

He lifted me to my unsteady feet, glazed eyes roaming my face. He ran a finger along my cheek, collecting a smudge of his release on the pad of his finger. I popped his finger in my mouth before he could do anything else.

"My kind of girl, Bella Swan," he groaned, leaning down to kiss me until I couldn't think anymore.

A/N: ;)