Chapter Thirteen
I think he knows
When we get all alone
I'll make myself at home
And he'll want me to stay
~ Taylor Swift, I Think He Knows
EPOV
It was hard to explain, but I knew if someone had me walk through a dozen apartments in this city, I'd be able to tell you without a doubt this one was hers. You could even take away the awards littering nearly every surface and the copious amount of instruments that were a dead giveaway a musician lived here.
Everything screamed Bella.
The warm wooden floors and the crisp white kitchen with marble countertops. The soft brown leather couch situated in front of a television whose size rivaled my own home theater system, a bowl of a candle larger than my helmet sitting on the coffee table in front of it. The chandeliers throughout the place left a soft, warm light floating through the apartment.
The entire place smelled like a mixture of vanilla and fresh baked goods and something fruity I couldn't put my finger on.
I ran my fingers through my hair, half expecting to see Sam waiting around the corner as I wandered into the kitchen. The whole arrangement was new for me and I wasn't sure how close he constantly kept to Bella – even in her apartment.
Thankfully the kitchen was empty. I wasn't necessarily sure Sam would have appreciated the sounds that had been coming out of Bella's bedroom the last few hours.
I smiled to myself, finding the glasses easily and filling them both with some ice water. Swallowing back a full glass, I let my eyes wander more of the apartment.
There was a dog bed in the corner that looked brand new. I found a pack of half-used flashcards in one of the drawers when I was looking for the straw Bella requested for her water, half asleep and probably not even aware she said it. As I was carrying out waters back to her bedroom, I noticed a bag of familiar shaped dog treats sitting on one of the side tables by the kitchen.
As I made my way back to her bedroom, saw her sitting up in the middle of the bed with an oversized Seahawks t-shirt on after freshening herself up, I realized Isabella Swan was, without a doubt, the woman of my dreams.
She checked every fucking box on a list I never knew I had for who I wanted. She was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that took my fucking breath away every time I saw her. She had this fantastic, sarcastic, playful sense of humor and a dry wit but still managed to blush at every slightly dirty joke I sent her way. She had more talent in her pinky finger than anybody would ever truly realize. And she was, without a doubt, the most supportive and encouraging and all around good person I had ever met.
Long story short, Bella Swan had me wrapped around her finger from just about the moment I met her. And there wasn't anywhere else I'd rather be.
She shot me a lazy smile as I handed her a glass of water, happily sipping from the straw as if the addition surprised her. She watched me with hazy eyes as I discarded my sweatpants and got back into bed beside her.
"I wasn't sure if Sam would be waiting around the corner," I told her, lying down in bed and pulling her into me.
Her smile faltered. "Does it bother you? All the security and–"
"Absolutely not," I interrupted. "I just didn't think Sam needed to see me wandering around your apartment naked, should he stop by."
Was it intense? Yes. I watched the way her security detail constantly mirrored her every movement and I hadn't been able to truly ask for the extent of her protection. Or why she needed it exactly.
The average celebrity might have one or two guards at any given time, especially these days, but I'd counted no fewer than half a dozen men with her at any given outing.
It didn't bother me for the reasons she seemed to think it should; that it was an intrusion or a hassle. It fucking terrified me to know Bella of all people had enough people threatening her on a daily basis to warrant the security.
Bella huffed out a laugh, setting her water down and molding herself into my side.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Did you buy Daisy a dog bed for your kitchen?"
She nodded against my chest. "Well, if she ever visits, I wanted her to be comfortable."
"And did you bake her about a six month supply of treats?"
"You said she didn't like store bought ones anymore."
Woman of my fucking dreams.
I laid back against her pillow, fingers twirling the frizzy curls of her hair as she rested against my chest. The idea of casual dating had lost its appeal the last few years. I had plenty of fun in college and my first few years in the NFL, but I also always knew I wanted to settle down. I was playing the field, looking for the perfect person who didn't seem to exist from what I had found so far.
I dated Charlotte my junior and senior years of college. She was beautiful and smart; pre-med with her pick of medical school acceptances to choose from. She was also very easy to say goodbye to as soon as I got drafted to Seattle. There was no intense longing when we were apart, but I enjoyed her company when we were together.
There was Mia, a Seahawks cheerleader I met after one of my rookie games. She went on to dabble in the modeling world and while she was a nice woman, she let an ounce of success get to her head. Turned into a plastic, frozen, walking follower count of a woman. Thankfully it was less than a year of a relationship by the time we (I) ended things.
I'd gone on other dates throughout the years, had a few women I actually called up again for a few months after a first date, but there was never any fire. No longing. No one gave me the rush of adrenaline I got every night when I stepped out on the field.
It had gotten to the point where I was starting to think my expectations were too high. It was stupid to expect a woman to give me the same feeling as my sport, but football was the only comparison to love I had.
I never told Charlotte I loved her. Certainly never said the words to Mia or any of the other women I dated. I could openly talk to a press room about my love of the sport, my deep admiration for the team and people who played and everything that went on in the world of the NFL. And I had a set of parents who were open and honest about what it took to love someone else.
I wasn't emotionally closed off.
I knew what I wanted. And what I didn't.
Bella stretched herself out across my chest, and I had to fight against the instinct to tell her I loved her. To ask her for everything.
—How You Get The Girl—
"How do they know you're going to leave?"
"They don't."
"But there are like… at least a hundred of them."
"Yeah."
She stared at me from across the en suite of her bedroom as if I was somehow missing the giant press release that had said the one and only Bella Swan would be taking five steps to a car outside of her apartment imminently.
I knew it was the culture these days. A picture of her could probably pay the average mortgage, but living it was a completely different experience. And I was suddenly worried maybe she didn't have enough security.
Bella was completely unfazed by the small mob currently forming outside of her apartment. Some were obviously paparazzi, and others fans. The paparazzi seemed surprisingly more patient than the uninvited mob. The paparazzi were equally uninvited, but less rabid.
She rolled her lips together and I was momentarily distracted by the fresh pale pink gloss that had them looking good enough to do a dozen different indecent things to. Leaning against the marble counter in her ensuite, she turned to eye me in the doorway. "We can stay in if it bothers you."
As she stood there, dressed in a little black dress which would look stunning on the floor later, black tights that somehow made her legs look miles longer than they already were, and her hair in short messy curls barely brushing her shoulders, I knew what she was expecting from me. Knew the men before me liked to hide her away and keep her to themselves.
I understood it. She was a force to be reckoned with, had an energy that surrounded her that drew people into her. Quite the contrast to the plethora of security she had around her at any given moment, but it was a delicate balance. One I imagined many men liked to keep behind locked doors for themselves. Liked to hide away because they were threatened by it.
I walked over toward her, grabbed her hand, and smiled down at her as I got her to do a quick twirl for me. "It would be a goddamn shame for that dress to go to waste."
Bella beamed up at me.
I kept a firm grip on her hand as Sam opened the door an hour later to a street equally as packed as her own had been. More camera flashes than I had ever seen in my entire life lit up the already bright city street. In my peripheral vision, I watched how efficient Sam and his team were at keeping her surrounded but not crowding her. Letting her have one ounce of independence as she walked into the restaurant.
I wasn't sure I took a single breath from the car to the table. Even inside, phones were quickly pulled out, conversations hushed as we walked by, and then a little girl with bright blonde hair and a birthday cake on the table between her and her family waved excitedly at Bella.
"Hi Bella!"
She dropped my hand, kneeling beside the girls table without a second thought.
"You'll get better at telling them apart," Sam muttered beside me. "The good from the bad."
I didn't know exactly what he meant. Wasn't sure I wanted to as I watched Bella chat with the young girl, who would probably be retelling this exact moment to her grandkids one day.
It was a quick conversation, and Bella came back to my side as if she didn't just make a girl's future best memories list. I vaguely heard her lean into Sam and mutter something about a bill, and it took my brain an embarrassingly long time to piece together that she was also paying the birthday girl's whole bill.
I wasn't completely out of the loop. Before the show, I knew of her. Had heard her on the radio and listened to the news when people were either praising her songwriting or tearing her apart for going on a date. Admittedly, the first thought I tended to have when she was brought up was somewhere along the lines of how attractive she was, and it was about there where most of my interest died out. I didn't know her, only what I had heard.
What I knew now far surpassed any kind of expectation I could have had.
She was good. Kind. Sweet. Beautiful. Sarcastic. Energetic. Supportive.
I'd always trusted my gut. I trusted it every night on the field when I had to make a split second decision to change a play, and I trusted it when I first saw Seth across the box at Bella's show months ago. So when I sat across from her in a booth hidden in the back corner of a restaurant she told me had the best pasta in town, I trusted it as it told me I'd be a goddamn idiot to ever let her slip out of my hands.
She was oblivious to my epiphany, as she expertly ignored both the dozens of phones pointed at her and the poorly concealed whispered gossip surrounding our table.
"What are your opinions on garlic bread?" she asked, eyes roaming the menu in front of her.
I watched her all night. Studied the smart, witty, beautiful gem of a woman I had quickly fallen for and tried to figure out how she survived in this world of hers; one where phones were constantly pointed in her direction, conversations not-so-subtly whispered about her behind her back, waiters flustered as she tried to order garlic bread.
She was unfazed by it all. Handled everything with a smile on her face. She would catch people looking in her direction sometimes, and if it was someone she seemed to like they would get a wink or a wave. No one approached the table, but I was sure that was mostly because of Sam and his men.
She had achieved unimaginable success before I ever crossed her path, but a surge of pride settled in my chest for her. There was a delicate balance she had to walk, being Bella Swan and being Bella Swan. It was one that I knew a majority of people had crossed, fumbled promising careers or wasted their talent on drugs or alcohol to cope with the stress of it all.
Bella handled everything with grace. Usually in heels. Heels I knew, thanks to Alice, could cost more than the average mortgage. And I was pretty damn impressed.
It had already been solidified in my mind for a while, consciously or subconsciously, it didn't matter. But halfway through dinner, when she excitedly pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of her with a child before the game yesterday wearing a bedazzled Cullen jersey, I was done for. So hopelessly in love with Bella Swan that I was speechless for a few minutes as she sat back and looked at the picture again.
"I want one."
I blinked. "What?"
"A sparkly jersey. I want one."
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this one!
Beta'd by Wendy aka CullensCherries aka my own personal 'that' eraser
