FFn is a hater lately, but I didn't want to wait another month to post this soooo here we are. Sheeeesh. Some people are PM'ing me their reviews since FFn won't post them, but there's always the option of signing out and leaving the review as a guest if you're so inclined!

Thanks for being patient! I have lots more written for this story, just trying to find the balance of posting and writing this and Who's Afraid.

Mwah~

chapter eight
valentine

Bella: A goodbye would've been nice this morning.

I text that to Edward when I get to work, and I don't care if I sound salty—it sucked waking up alone without any indication of where he was or when he left.

Hours later, when I'm on a break, I find multiple replies from him.

Edward: Shit, I know.

Edward: I'm sorry.

Edward: I got in my head after opening up last night.

I thought that might be the case, and I can feel the honesty of his words, which surprises the hell out of me.

When I first met him, he was abrasive and overly confident. Sexy, yeah, but unattainable and guarded.

Last night, I saw a different side of him. He was slightly vulnerable and gave me more insight into his life. And he stayed even though nothing sexual happened with us.

Bella: What time did you leave? I sleep hard, so I didn't hear you get up.

Edward: Four.

Bella: Yikes.

Edward: I should've said bye but didn't want to wake you.

Bella: I would've liked that, though. At least just to know you weren't upset or anything.

Edward: I don't usually tell people about my life or situation. I'm figuring all this out as I go—unchartered waters with you.

I send him a gif of a person in a life vest struggling to swim in the ocean.

Bella: I found actual footage of you fighting for your life.

Edward: Too accurate. And maybe a little embarrassing?

I smile at my screen, but something nags at me; I'm unsure what it is.

I'm still curious about him. Still highly attracted to him. Maybe even more so now.

I'm not worried about getting hurt because I'm not looking for anything serious. I know he can't be either, given his situation. He's separated but still married. So, I firmly decide to keep this thing between us spicy and easy.

Bella: Don't be embarrassed or in your head. I liked talking to you and hearing everything. And I'm pretty fond of lazy morning sex, so you missed out by sneaking out of bed.

I added the last part just to mess with him, although maybe I would've given in to him this morning. I guess now we'll never know.

Edward: You're such a tease.

Bella: lol I know.

Edward: But I deserve that.

Bella: Not really. I'm not playing fair.

Edward: I want to see you later. Can I take you out?

Bella: I would love that, but I'm going to Portland tonight. I have a yoga retreat tomorrow and Sunday, but I'll be back on Monday.

Edward: Fun.

Bella: Yes and no. I'm hosting it, so it's work, but it should be chill.

I get an urge to do something bold, and before I can talk myself out of it like the overthinker I am, I type another message.

Bella: Do you want to come with me?

Edward: I've been trying to do that since the day I met you.

It takes me a minute to catch his innuendo, and I laugh out loud when I do. Thankfully, I'm alone in the staff lounge and don't receive any curious glances.

Bella: Dirty man. Do you want to come with me to Portland?

For an entire minute, his texts stall.

But then he calls me.

"Hey," I answer.

"Just checking that this is you and not someone who stole your phone," he jokes.

"What? Why?"

"Because you're not playing hard to get right now. I'm not sure how to react."

"Oh, right, right. Should I feign indifference to keep you interested?"

"For what it's worth, it's not about the chase for me," he clarifies. "I thought we established that."

"Well, we haven't had sex yet, so I can neither confirm nor deny that," I say breezily. "Anyway. Portland."

"You want me to attend your yoga retreat?"

"Yeah? Why not? We could use more men in the audience."

He hums like he's not convinced. "Even if I work out, I'm not super flexible, so this could end badly."

I laugh. "If you pull something, I'll mend you back to life. I give excellent massages," I taunt. "But no, I meant come to Portland, not the retreat. I don't need to be distracted by your sexy ass in the crowd while I'm essentially trying to work. And the other guests don't need the distraction, either. That would probably end in a lot of injuries."

"Whatever," he chuckles into the line. "Jokes aside, are you being serious? You want me to go with you?"

"You sound surprised that I'd invite you."

"You've been kind of hot and cold," he says honestly and accurately.

"Consider this a reward for you opening up to me last night. You should do it more often and not get in your head."

He exhales a laugh. "Yeah, no promises there, but…"

I tap my nails on the table. "You can say no to Portland. If you're not free, I get it. It's super last minute. And if you don't want to go—"

"No, I'm free, and I want to. My brother Emmett lives there, so I can probably meet up with him while you're busy. And if he's not around for whatever reason, I have another buddy I can hit up."

Something inside of me feels alarmed.

"A fuck buddy?" I ask, not even hiding the slight jealousy in my tone.

"Uh, no?" he says, amused. "Not a fuck buddy. A guy I went to college with."

Still, I'm uneasy. "Yeah, okay. Cool."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Hot and cold. You want to rescind my invite already?" he asks, and for a moment, I swear he sounds disappointed.

"It's not that. I just… maybe this isn't a conversation for now—or ever—but it makes me uncomfortable that you could be out there pursuing other women when you're with me," I say in a rush. "Not that you're with me with me. I know nothing is defined, and I don't want or need that, or even expect it, but…"

"But what?"

"I'm not sleeping with anyone else. And I know I'm not even sleeping with you, either," I say with an annoyed laugh because what the fuck am I doing? "Just... FYI or whatever." I pause, then continue rambling. "And I don't share. So. Yeah. If you thought you'd come with me and hook up with other women, that's not my idea of fun."

He's quiet. Too quiet. I worry I offended him. I worry I tried to make too many boundaries he's not used to or wants. His wife didn't even tie the man down, so I sure as fuck know he wouldn't want to be tied down by me.

And that's not even what I'm asking for.

I don't know what I'm asking for, and if he hung up on me, I'd get it.

On second thought, I should hang up first. "I should go—"

"No," he says. "Don't."

"I know I have no right to tell you what to do. But I also have enough self-respect to know what I'm okay with and not okay with. Okay?"

"Good," he finally says. "I like that about you. Keep doing that."

"What? Bossing you around?"

"No," he clarifies. "Being honest and telling me what you want."

Well, now I'm greedy.

"Tomorrow is Valentine's Day," I tell him.

He sounds amused when he says, "Is it?"

"Yes. And fair warning, I am a romantic girlie at heart. So if you're serious about going with me and we're together in Portland, then we're celebrating." He laughs, and I say, "And if you think it's cheesy, then I'm blocking you."

"Not again," he groan-laughs. "My heart can't fucking take it if you blocked me a second time."

I smile. "Well?"

"I don't think your Valentine's request is cheesy. It's kind of cute. I'm into it."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I'm surprised," I admit. "I figured our romantic expectations might be on a different playing field."

"Mmm, I don't think they are," he says lowly. "When are we leaving for Portland today? I gotta finish up at work and grab some stuff from home."

"Does four work? Traffic is going to suck, but it is what it is."

"Okay, I'll pick you up?"

"Sure."

"See you soon," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Okay," I say, the strangest excitement bubbling in my chest. "See you."

XXX

On my drive home from work, Kate calls.

"How was getting dicked down last night by a Greek God?" she instantly asks, her voice loud over the car speakers.

I laugh. "I wouldn't know. He stayed the night, but we didn't do anything."

"What!" she screeches. "How did you not?"

"He still had his ring on when he showed up, so I felt weird."

"Should've sucked his finger into your mouth and pulled the band off with your teeth. That'll show him."

I take the exit for my house and say, "You need therapy."

"I get therapized once a week, thank you very much. And don't act like you don't enjoy me being the little devil on your shoulder, ensuring you experience life to the fullest. Like getting dicked down by a Greek God," she clarifies.

I roll my eyes even though she can't see. "Noted."

But she's right. That's precisely why I confided in her about Edward last night at the wine bar. I knew she'd be on board and push me to go for it. And maybe if she has a hand in getting me to pursue whatever the fuck it is that Edward and I are doing, then when it all goes to shit, it won't all be on me and my choices.

"Wanna grab dinner tonight?" she asks.

"I'm going to Portland, remember? Also, I invited Edward to go with me."

"To your yoga thing?"

"Well, he won't attend that, but he'll just be there so we can hang out after."

She snorts. "And you say I need therapy."

I frown. "What's the problem?"

"I thought your issue was that things felt tangled and messy. Now you're not sleeping with him and inviting him on a work trip," she points out. "That's less situationship and more relationship."

I turn onto my street. "And?"

"And nothing. I'm just making sure you know what you're doing."

"Of course, I don't know what I'm doing," I say with a clipped laugh. "But who does? That's why fake it till you make it is a saying."

"As long as you have fun while raw dogging life," she offers. "That's all that matters."

"Wonderful advice."

"I know. I should start charging you hourly," she jokes.

I laugh, pulling into my driveway. "Just got home."

"Have fun in Portland, and keep me updated on how things progress with the Greek God."

"I will. Byeeee," I sing.

"Byeeee," she mimics.

Instead of heading inside, I sit in my car with it running and finally Google Edward Cullen.

Previously, I'd told myself I didn't want to look him up because it required effort I wasn't willing to give. Now I wonder if I just didn't want to see something I didn't like—like his real life.

I easily find his LinkedIn and architectural articles about projects he's worked on around the city. He's esteemed in what he does, but I wouldn't expect any less.

I also find his Facebook and open it, even though all I have access to is his profile picture—a candid shot of him and his family from five years ago.

He said he had a beautiful life, and he was right. Seeing the four of them together, casually walking through a field with fall foliage surrounding them, is a gut punch.

I dissect the photo to an unhealthy degree. Rosalie, with her long, glossy chestnut hair. She's holding their young son's hand, and her other is clasped in Edward's. He's staring adoringly at her, with his daughter propped up high in his arm.

The love radiating from this photo is palpable, and it churns something hot and ugly in my stomach. It's the same irrational feeling I had when he mentioned his beautiful life last night in bed.

I go further down the rabbit hole and Google Rosalie Cullen next for no reason other than I'm a goddamn masochist.

She's a realtor, and her website's "about me" page provides other details about her life. She's from Seattle but received a bachelor's degree in communication with a minor in business management from Washington State University. She loves to travel, garden, hike, and cook, but Sundays are for relaxing with her twins and husband.

Nothing juicy stands out. From the outside, she seems like a woman who has it all.

Five more indulgent minutes of cyberstalking land me on a local photographer's website from ten years ago, showcasing their wedding photos.

I must be sick, but I can't stop myself from looking.

Edward's in a fitted tux. Rosalie's in a timeless, simple ballgown, her hair in a chic chignon.

She's gorgeous. And together, they're an understatedly stunning couple.

I see what must be their first kiss as man and wife.

First dance.

Their glittering sparkler exit before they leave in a vintage Rolls-Royce.

When I reach the end of the photos, I wish there were more, but I'm also glad there are not.

My envy is confusingly mixed with remorse because knowing he no longer has this life briefly soothes my jealousy, but it also leaves guilt. It's irritating to want someone but feel bad for what they've lost.

I turn off my car and toss my phone in the passenger seat, annoyed that the device allowed me to see so much. But I can't regret digging because being ignorant that he's lived a whole life before now will do me no good.

Before me, there was her.

Before us, there was them.

And after me… I have no idea.