1A sensation of the weight beside me shifting wakes me up, before I open my eyes, flashes of last night curl up from my subconscious…another night with him…his muscles straining..his brow furrowing as he buries himself in me and groans…the heat…my raspy pleas…whispering how I love it when I finally have him right where I want him.
"Uh… I'm heading out, Bella."
I stretch and drag an eye open, "'kay, I'll see you next time then."
"Uh.. yeah, about that…" He sighs heavily and I am unwillingly forced to open my eyes properly to see what's causing that 'we need to talk' tone. God, he's always so dramatic.
"Look, I can't let myself get into anything serious right now, you're great and all, but, what you said last night…" He rambles on, I zone in and out wondering why my sometimes fuck buddy definitely not boyfriend giving me the break up speech like he's hurting my feelings? It is too early for this shit.
"... I thought you understood things were just a bit of fun…that's just not where I am right now…" Is he done yet? I have to turn into my pillow and bite back a laugh as the realisation dawns on me that he thinks he thinks I said I loved him last night. I said I love 'it', meaning him finally locating my clitoris, not him. Jacob's hot and all, but he is really not the best at picking up on non verbal cues, the man practically needs GPS for fuck's sake.
"So…um, I'll see you round I guess."
"You've obviously given this decision some serious thought. Take care, Jake." I say. Honestly it's easier just to play along and get him out of the apartment before he changes his mind at this point. He's just handed me a get out of jail free card and I'm taking it. I'm already drifting off again, stretching out in the warm spot he left by the time the door clicks and his motorbike wheels are spinning on the pavement outside.
I wake up later feeling cold and wondering why the hell Jacob Black thinks I would fall in love with someone I've slept with more times than I've had conversations with. Do I come off as being shallow enough to think this was the fire I've been yearning for? Or is his ego just that big? I should be enjoying my late start, maybe catching up with some reading, instead, I end up blasting punk and rage scrubbing my shower tiles.
By the time my shift starts at the bar I'm seriously contemplating revisiting things with Riley and seeing if he wants to fuck me over the the back office desk just to feel thoroughly rid of the residual stank of Jacob's audacity. I don't though, because this evening's band starts hauling in their drum kit and Edward's appeared from out of nowhere behind the mixing desk for soundcheck. He's so quiet you could swear he was a ghost sometimes.
Every time I glance over through the evening Edward's giving me his trademark judgemental scowl. You and me both buddy! Jacob Black- ugh! What was I thinking?! Then, as if I summoned her by the mere thought of banging Riley, the ghost-of-bad-decisions-present herself, Victoria, turns up. Within minutes she's tonsil deep into him and they're fumbling at the emergency exit into the alley. Bleurgh. I'm reminded of how shallow Riley is and realise Victoria's doing me a favour. Guess I'm working solo for the rest of the night then.
The bar finally empties out, I wave the band off and lock up the front doors behind them. I'm just getting the broom and when I turn around someone makes me jump out of my skin. Edward.
"Sorry..is it ok if I…?" he mumbles, gesturing at the bar.
"Sure, help yourself." I smile at him. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he skulks to grab a Heineken. Edward's hot as all get out, and has finally stopped scowling at me. Nope. I spoke too soon, he's back at it, watching me in the bar mirror with a look that could melt paint off walls as I sweep up the evening's grime. At least he has the good manners to glance away when I catch him this time.
Next Friday rolls around and Edward is back behind the mixing desk, looking fresh as fuck in a black t shirt and ripped jeans, hair wet from the downpour outside and two day stubble shading his jaw. Tonight's band's pretty good, which sucks as the rain has kept the bar pretty empty. At least I get the chance to grab a beer and watch them a while I guess.
After the show I hand Edward a beer and am just about to ask him what he thought of the band, when Victoria waltzes in and demands some annoyingly complicated cocktail, before prowling into the back office in search of Riley. I catch Edward's eye and raise an eyebrow at him. He smirks, then takes a long pull on his Heineken. I try not to ogle the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows, or how his long, elegant fingers spin the bottle cap on the bar.
Tonight Edward manages not to make me jump, but is exceptionally quiet as he lends a hand closing up. I've never really gotten what his deal is, he's always quiet and looks super intense. I think back to our first meeting, he'd helped throw out some handsy asshole, then stayed back to walk me to my car. When he said goodnight he paused and I caught his eyes lingering on my mouth. I thought for a moment he was going to kiss me, but he slunk back to his car without making any kind of move.
He's a good guy I guess, moody, but at least he keeps his hands to himself and it's not like he doesn't have a ton of girls batting their falsies at him and shaking their asses right in front of him every show.
The rain has somehow gotten even worse by the time Riley and Victoria emerge from the back office giggling like teenagers. They peel out of the parking lot like they're fleeing a crime scene and as I dash to my truck I hear black 70s Road Runner making a strangled churning sound. By the time I've wrung out my hair and blasted the heater to clear the windows it is obvious Edward is having some serious engine trouble. I watch him start trudging through the rain towards the street, so I pull up and swing the passenger side door open, "Get in. I'll give you a ride"
He looks like he's searching for an excuse to refuse, but the rain is so bad that he eventually clambers in.
"Um, I live over the record store on Sixth. Thanks. Sorry."
"Hey, no need to apologise." I chuckle at him, "God! We look like drowned rats!"
He nods and sighs heavily. On the short drive I make small talk about tonight's band. I'm surprised when he invites me up for a beer to say thanks, but I jump at the chance to get a glimpse into his apartment. Maybe whatever is making him frown so much is lurking somewhere in there.
His place is compact, the living room is filled with records, I mean filled, more than an entire long wall, there are these huge teak 1970s speakers hooked up to an old style stacked stereo system, an amp and electric guitar, shelves full of cables and music gear, and the walls are plastered with setlists, flyers, gig tickets and backstage passes. He has this sprawling vintage black leather couch that I sink into luxuriously.
Edward grabs me a beer, and I watch him in the glow of the refrigerator as he stretches, and cracks his neck. His still-soaked t-shirt clings to his biceps and when it rides up a little, I am lit on fire by the spark of pale stomach it reveals. I realise I'm in very deep trouble indeed. I kind of want to be.
He hands me my beer and our fingers brush as he slips the neck of the bottle into mine. At this point I'm positive he has never touched me before, because I absolutely would've remembered whatever the hell kind of hot sparks he just sent shooting up and down my spine. His eyes flicker to mine and then fall away. I'm left contemplating this as he puts a record on and mumbles something about grabbing a shirt, then disappears silently down the hallway.
I close my eyes and melt into the couch, sipping my beer and listening to the blues record. The seat beside me sinks and I realise he's reappeared like some kind of ninja in a band t-shirt, he hands me a towel for my hair and holds out a t-shirt, "You're soaked, I thought you might want to…it's clean, I promise."
"Thanks, that's really thoughtful." I smile at him and this time, this time he smiles back. How have I never have seen him smile properly before? I swear the lights just got brighter in here. My stomach does a little flippy thing and I'm blushing like a teenager, so I scurry off to change in the bathroom, hoping he didn't notice.
His worn, soft shirt smells of something incredible which wraps around me while I return and set to snooping through his records. He's watching me, I feel the heat from his gaze on me the entire time. I feel drawn closer, so I settle back into my seat. It's oddly peaceful here with him, just listening to records and not talking.
Eventually I ask "What's got you so quiet Edward?"
He fingers the neck of his beer bottle then starts to speak, but stops himself, and half smiles. I assure him, I'm actually enjoying the silence for a change and he relaxes slightly. Somewhere between the bathroom and the couch I've realised he isn't moody at all, he's just exceptionally shy. I guess still waters run deep and all that.
"So tell me, what do you do when you're not breaking hearts from behind the mixing desk?" He looks a little taken aback and chuckles, and I really like the sound of it.
"Actually, I'm playing a set tomorrow, at the Green Lounge."
"Is that an invitation, Edward Cullen?"
He nods.
"Then I wouldn't miss it." I try to hold his gaze, but it's hard, his eyes are stormy green and have an intensity that leaves me feeling naked.
"And just whose heart am I supposed to have broken? I'd like to think I wouldn't be so careless."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure half the girls at the bar would quite like you to be careless with them. Hell they'd spend the whole show facing the mixing booth if they could get away with it."
He frowns, "I don't think that would be optimal, acoustically speaking."
I laugh and he shoots me that megawatt smile again. I almost choke on the last mouthful of my beer. I am in so much trouble.
Next evening I rock up to the Green Lounge just in time to greet Edward before he has to go set up. I lean against the bar, watching him take the stage, all long legs, strong arms and scruffy jaw to die for. He's up there alone with the black telecaster I saw at his place last night, mumbling something into the mic about this song being about a girl at a bar he knows. Then somehow I just know, before he's ever even kissed me, that whatever this is, it's way more than just some passing thing for either of us. It's what I've waited for. I feel fire in my chest, in my mouth, in my mind and in my soul, and my every nerve ignites as his voice starts to sing and he looks me dead in the eyes.
A/N Thanks for reading, voting and to Frannie Walsh for hosting. This contest was so fun to take part in and perfect for an inexperienced writer like me. Each time the host picks a song, this time it was Fire by Sara Bareilles and entrants write a Twilight oneshot of 2000 words interpreting the lyrics.
Please follow the Song To Story Contest page and read the other wonderful entries!