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A/N:Strae beta'd and prompted, show her some love!
How to Turn a Straight Guy Gay
Part 2
The night after I met Edward, I go to Rogue's again, but this time I'm not scouting for a fuck. This time I'm waiting to see if my Mr. Right shows up again. I get myself a small table close to the stage and wait. I sip my beer slowly, enjoying the live music.
Occasionally, someone tries to take the seat that I've deemed as Edward's, but I tell them to fuck off. Thank God, Emmett isn't here to fuck with me. I nearly cream myself when I see Edward pulling out the chair and wearing a smirk that matches his v-neck tee and well-fit jeans perfectly.
"Thanks for saving me a seat. How's the set tonight?"
Oh, sweet fuck, his voice is even sexier than I remember it. I stumble over my thoughts and try to gather my bearings as he raises his eyebrows at me, obviously waiting for an answer.
"Are you with someone? Did I take their chair?" he asks confusedly.
Son of a fuck, Jasper, get it together.
"No, sorry, I just wasn't expecting you. Set's good tonight."
Edward cocks a provocative eyebrow and I find myself wanting to lick him more than ever. I grab my beer and quickly swallow everything the bottle has to give. I'm usually not nervous, but Edward affects me like a prom queen affects a nerdy freshman—I'm sadly the freshman. I really need to get my shit straight and get back to being the prom queen I know I am.
I wave my empty bottle towards one of the waitresses and she stalks over like she is pussy on a platter and we're going to eat up. I'm incredibly annoyed by her meager swagger, I can strut better than that with a dick up my ass.
"What can I get you, boys?" she asks in a deep, throaty voice and I find myself staring at her legs, wondering if she's a tranny. I can usually tell. Her thighs do seem awfully large for her slender build.
"Tall vodka on the rocks," Edward mutters off.
"Another beer," I say, handing her my bottle.
She winks and saunters away, I can't help but laugh. "That is a dude," I say seriously, through laughs.
Edward tilts his head to the side and scratches the back of his head while he stares at her—his—ass. "Really?" he asks.
"Yes, really, her bulge was bigger than yours."
Edward's face turns very serious while I continue to laugh. My laughter dies off the instant he grabs his goods through his jeans. "Never insult the package, Jasper, never." He gives the package a final squeeze for emphasis and I try not to stare too long or hard, but I can't help it.
Thankfully there is a commotion on stage and my attention is diverted before he can notice that I'm drooling over his bulge, which I can now really see, since he shifted it into a prime position for ogling.
"Oh, shit," Edward laughs and I snap my head back towards the stage. I really need to get some control.
There is a drunk chick up on stage, tripping over the band's electrical equipment while she tries to take her shirt off. She looks young and attractive and Edward wolf whistles loudly to encourage her. I bristle, pissed that these drunk, horny college girls can't keep it in their pants, or shirts, while I'm trying to work. Security shows up before the twins can come out to play, thank God, and Edward joins the crowd in booing. To be a good sport, I halfheartedly yell a crude word at the security man as he walks by, dragging the drunk girl, and Edward laughs.
Our drinks arrive and our waitress-slash-waiter flutters his, or her, eyes in what I assume is suppose to be an attractive way. "Can I get you two sexy fellas anything else?"
We both quickly shake our heads to the negative. I try to disguise my laugh by taking a drink from my fresh bottle. We are both silent for a while, both of us enjoying the band, or perhaps just the awkward silence.
There is a break in music and I ask, "So, how was your work day, hotshot?"
He shrugs and sips his vodka. "Fine. What do you do?"
A thrill of excitement shoots down my spine as he asks the question about me. I chew my lip nervously, not sure how he'll take my admission. I honestly don't think he'll take me seriously.
"I, uh, I'm an artist," I say, a bit self-consciously. I'm not usually insecure about my career of choice, but once again, Edward seems to have the upper hand and I can't help but feel raw.
"That's cool," he says, but I swear I see him hiding a smirk behind his glass when he takes a drink.
"Thanks," I say back, a bit coldly.
"What kind of art?" he asks.
I don't know if he's patronizing me or honestly curious, I can't tell by his expression either way. He's staring towards the stage while talking to me. I don't know if I bore him or if he's uncomfortable or socially awkward, but it's really kind of rude.
"I draw," I say simply.
He nods. "Anything?"
"No, not anything. I'm not great at landscape or animals, but people generally interest me and the occasional freeform design."
He purses his lips and nods. His eyes don't move from the new band that is setting up and I sigh to myself and lean back in my chair. So much for conversation.
"So can you do tattoos?" he asks, interrupting my internal dialog about how good looks truly trump all.
I turn to give him a dirty look and I'm surprised to find that he is actually facing me. "Did I say anything about being a fucking tattoo artist?" I ask rather curtly.
Edward smirks. "Have beef with tattoo artists, do you?"
I did have beef with a tattoo artist once, and by beef of course I mean... never mind. "No, but I do have beef with ignorant assholes."
His smirk doesn't falter as he leans back into his chair. "So now I'm an ignorant asshole?"
"There a big difference between a tattoo 'artist' and an actual artist. So yes, to answer your question, you are an ignorant asshole. You've offended me."
He snorts and rolls his eyes at me. "Don't be such a girl. If you would pull that tampon out of your vagina, you'd realize that I actually was complimenting you."
"I didn't once hear anything remotely sounding like a compliment," I scoff.
"Maybe you should let me explain."
"Maybe you should just spit it out already."
"Maybe you should stop being such a girl."
"Maybe you should stop being such an asshole."
"You do realize you are arguing with a lawyer, right? I can do this all night, Jasper."
I wonder what else he could do all night, probably a lot things. His assholey behavior is really kind of pissing me off and turning me on at the same time, and that's not looking like a good combination. I can't exactly have angry sex with him and it sure as hell looks like we won't literally be kissing and making up anytime soon. Unfortunately for my cock, which is currently rather pissed off at me. Unfortunately for his cock too, because I am one hell of a lay.
"Are you going to come the fuck out with it or what?" I ask defensively. I honestly think he's mocking me, I really don't like being mocked. If he wasn't so fucking excruciatingly cock-exciting, I'd leave his ass to pay for my drinks and find someone who didn't have a stick up their ass—no pun intended.
"Don't be like that," Edward says, he sounds sort of desperate. "I'm sorry," he sighs, and he actually sounds like he is.
I peek over at him from the corner of my eye, and that's when I realize I've pretty much completely turned myself away from him. How I managed to hunch my shoulders up to my ears without even realizing it is beyond me. I guess he was getting to me more than I realized.
"You're a little... intimidating," I admit, dumbfounded. I'm rarely intimidated by anything. I turn in my seat to face Edward again and he remains facing me, for once. Maybe we're actually going to have a conversation?
Edward snorts and throws his deliciously muscled arms over his delectably muscled chest. "Don't be too intimidated, Jasper, I'm not even a real lawyer." He smiles crookedly and I'm pretty sure my boner hits astronomical limits. Gone are the intimidated feelings, replaced with ones lustfully driven. "Yet," Edward adds, seemingly as an after thought. I barely catch on.
I swallow thickly trying to clear my throat in an inconspicuous manner. "I want to hear my compliment now."
Edward rolls his eyes, keeping his arms crossed over his chest. He leans further back into his chair. "Well, I was going to ask a small favor, which was the compliment, but I changed my mind."
His hand darts up to his hair in a movement that I don't see coming, it's quick and jerky, and his eyes dart away and I get the feeling that he's nervous.
I don't get much time to think about that, or to inquire why he changed his mind. A ridiculously loud and tall blonde chooses that very moment to give him a free lap dance. I'm more disturbed when there is a tiny hand reaching deep into my hair and fisting the roots. I gulp, thinking someone has come to kick my ass, but instead, this freakishly small girl—woman?—squeezes herself between myself and the table, pressing her bony ass right into the semi I'm still rocking. My almost-but-not-quite woody disappears faster than my uncle Aro when an episode of America's Most Wanted comes on.
The tiny freak in my lap moans like she's in a porno or something than grabs onto my shoulder to add more oomph to her horrid grinding. Seriously, what the fuck is going on?
"Oh, my God," breathes the bony-assed bitch and she half turns her body, giving her blonde friend that's working Edward over a thumbs up.
She apparently approves of what I'm packing. All I can think about is how good it would feel to have Edward's much, much nicer ass pressed against my groin right this fucking moment. Oh my God, I want to dirty dance with him like it's still 1987.
Thinking about Edward's fuckhot ass rubbing all over my dick is not a good thing right now, though. The harder I get, the more it encourages bony ass, and the more painful it becomes.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore and I shove her petite little self right the fuck off of my goods. "Seriously, your ass is bonier than a fucking skeleton. Go give someone else your bone and grind."
Her mouth is hanging open and she looks shocked with me. Oh shit, did I just blow my cover? Do I even care?
No, I don't. That is until obnoxiously loud and tall pipes up from her post on my—Edward's—cock. "I told you he was gay."
I try to remain calm, though what I really want to do is bitch slap both of them and tell them I fucked their boyfriends. I realize, of course, that I can't do that because that would give them a better shot at my potential boyfriend's—if only for a night—cock.
I don't respond to them at all, instead I just grab my drink. That doesn't work out to well since my hand is obviously shaking and I down half of it in one go.
"Listen, I'm sorry but I can't, I have to work in the morning, but you enjoy the rest of your night," Edward says and I nearly choke on my drink.
Despite how polite Edward surprisingly is, the blonde gets pissed. "Fuck you faggots," she hisses, loudly, and stomps away, dragging her miniscule friend behind her.
I bristle. The word 'faggot' is touchy for me. When used lovingly, I very much appreciate the word, because amongst homosexuals, it's almost an amusing endearment. But used maliciously, it makes me nauseous, it ruins it completely and makes me hate myself for ever using it in an affectionate way.
I want to grab the blonde by her hair and smash her pretty face in. But I don't, because I know that fucking Edward is much better revenge than anything else.
"That was harsh," Edward says, interrupting my thoughts.
I'm shocked we're in agreement. "Yeah, well, I'll get over it," I mutter.
Edward looks confused momentarily, and it clicks for both of us. He wasn't talking about the faggot comment. "I meant you comparing that girl to a skeleton."
"Oh," I say awkwardly, only adding to it with an even more awkward laugh. "I think her ass bruised my privateers."
Edward doesn't laugh, though I snicker at quoting him. "Probably not as much as you bruised her ego."
I want to say something about how the blonde was the one who said the most hurtful shit of the night, but I don't.
I'm surprised when Edward talks again. "You know, I've been called gay before too, never really bothered me. I don't go out to get laid, chicks don't like being rejected, but now I'm curious. Why is it that you were bothered so much by her calling us faggots, and why didn't you seem interested at all in the girl on your lap?"
All I heard was that he was paying attention to me while the blonde gave him a lap dance. Okay, so that's not all I heard, but that's all my dick heard. My head was busy panicking. He isn't supposed to be so goddamn observant, I don't want him to know that I am gay yet.
I try to shrug nonchalantly. "It's a hurtful word, and haven't I already explained her ass was jabbing me? I was in fucking pain!"
He doesn't look like he believes a damn thing I said, but he drops it anyway.
I'm used to taking it slow, straight men don't respond to dick-charms with a snap of your fingers. The whole key is moving at an easy pace. You have to be a friend first. Get them in your pocket, then get inside of theirs. Nice and slow.
From what little time I've spent with Edward, I can already tell I'm going to need to take it even slower than usual. He's suspicious, too observant for my good—he is going to make one fucking hell of a lawyer.
The only way I can see myself getting into Edward's pants is if I keep my secret for as long as possible. Call it deceptive or immoral or whatever, but I'm not going to pretend that I actually care about the guy. It's actually an inconvenience that I have to play nice for so fucking long before I reap any benefits. My whole intention is to fuck, I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting there making friends with him if I didn't know what I had coming to me once I broke the barrier of friendship to more. When it comes down to it, I want to fuck him more than I want to be his friend, but I can't fuck him unless I become his friend first. I do what I have to do.
– – –
I spend a good part of the night just sipping on beer, while Edward and I continue not talking. I don't even try, it's pointless now. Conversation is clearly up to him.
He leaves the bar with basically the same departure line as the night before. I go home and spank my monkey in the shower, and I'm tired as fuck after and thankfully I can get right to sleep.
I'm a nervous mess when the following night rolls around. Will Edward show? Has Edward labeled me as a 'faggot' in his own mind? I'm ready to shit a damn brick by the time he finally shows. He's late, but he takes the seat at our table with a casual greeting.
The rest of the week seems to follow on schedule. Edward shows every night and sits with me, and Emmett stays the hell away, though at times I spot him watching from a distance like the total creep he is. Finally, I pick up my balls that seemed to have fallen off and put them back in place. I don't go to Rogue's at all for the next three nights.
I think I piss myself I get so excited when Edward texts me the third night. I'm not going to lie. If he wouldn't have reached out to me, I would have started from the beginning and just decided we weren't quite there yet. But he fucking texted me.
Squee!
Edward's message reads: Dude, are you alive?
I respond with a simple, short: Yes, busy.
He replies: Ok. Have fun with that.
I snicker, and maybe dance around a little and squee some more, whilst I'm naked. He's so much fun. He's so fucking interested it's not even funny, even if he doesn't know what he's interested in quite yet.
About fifteen minutes later—I forced myself not to text again too soon—I shoot him another message: Hey Hotshot, gonna be a Rogue's tomorrow night? I think I'll finally be free then! ~J
His response comes back pretty quickly, I don't even have a chance to put my phone down. Alright, so maybe I had the death grip on that sucker waiting for his reply.
J - I'll be at Rogue's around 9. Save me a seat. Set's good tonight, too bad you can't make it. ~E
Call me an optimist, but I'm positive he's going to be a sure thing—and a fucking pistol in bed to boot. Taking into account the difference between his demeanor in public and through text, I start to wonder if maybe he is in fact a little socially inept.
I still need to hear his story.
But that could wait for now, because I totally just scored my first real date with Mr. Cullen, and he really doesn't have a clue what he's gotten himself into.
– – –
Knowing that Edward wasn't going to be at the bar until around nine o'clock, I waited until just shortly before then to show up. I didn't mind the extra primping time in the least. My closet was now a fucking disaster zone, but I look hot as all fucking hell. I want to fuck me—and yeah, I probably just jinxed the fuck out of myself, I likely would be fucking myself later.
There is no bouncer at Rogue's, which is really a blessing most of the time, because we all know those bastards are prejudiced against straight men. Tonight, no bouncer was a small curse. The place is packed, as was usual on Open Mike night. I totally forgot it was open fucking mike. Showing up late, I am hard-pressed to find a table for Edward and myself.
I end up paying off an older couple who look disgruntled by the large crowd anyway. The table is small and kind of in a shitty location, but it's better than nothing.
I laugh when I spot Edward because he's scanning the crowd for me like a hawk for its prey. Oh, if he only knew that he was actually the field mouse in danger of my sharp talons.
"Edward," I call.
I swear I see his eyes light up from across the goddamn room, but that's probably just my gay talking. He shoves his way through the crowd and the happiness I thought he radiated now just looks like aggravation.
"It's fucking packed in here, Christ. This table sucks," he grumbles as he squeezes in across from me.
"Sorry it doesn't meet your standards, Hotshot," I snark back. He looks hot, but his shitty attitude is already wearing on me. Is a 'hello' too much to ask for?
With Edward, it apparently is. "Don't call me that fucking hotshot bullshit, Jazz," he snaps.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you disliked it," I snap back. How in the fuck did I forget how terribly fucking irritating he is? In three shorts days, I completely forgot that the pretty face didn't have a shining personality behind it. Was it worth it? Is he worth it when his manners are so shitty? He very well could turn out to be dangerous to me after all, even if he didn't seem like a malicious gay-hating asswipe.
"Fuck, I can't see a thing from here and this table is tiny," he bitches some more.
That does it. It honestly does. I get pissed. I stand up, shoving my chair back with the force. "You know what, fuck you. I'm not apologizing to you again when I had to pay to get you a fucking seat."
I have to squeeze past him to get out, because yeah, the table is really shitty and basically shoved into a corner with no view of the stage. But seriously, show some fucking respect.
Edward grabs my arm as I try to pass, but his mouth opens and it ruins the effect, even if his skin on my skin is making me want to drop to my knees and beg him to marry me. "Calm down, stop being such a girl."
I break the hold he has on my arm and push my way angrily through the crowd. I'm surprised to actually hear him following me.
"Jasper, come on, I wasn't trying to be such an asshole," I hear him say clearly as he exits the loud club behind me.
"Tell it to someone who gives a fuck, Edward," I say. I'm shocked to hear how much it sounds like I don't care, or that the words even left me at all. I guess I don't really care, there will always be another guy so he's not that important, but shit, I hate losing.
"Don't fucking make me say this, dude," he kind of whines and I stop, a bit intrigued.
I turn to face him and he's looking a bit red and flustered, not to mention pissed off and worn out, and despite it all, he still looks sexy as hell.
"Say what?" I ask.
He groans and drops his shoulders, looking way more defeated than a person of his stature ever should. He buries both of his hands deep into his hair before grabbing fistfuls and lowering his head. "If I were a fucking girl, I'd be all emo and tell you I kind of need a friend right now," he mutters so low I can barely hear him.
I frown at the slightly pitiful image before me. He's stressed, that's obvious, but he's so fucking proud he can't even ask for help and that's what really fucking gets me. I wonder if I can make him ask for it.
"Was that you being an emo girl, asking me to be your friend? I thought I was the girl?"
I can see his mouth twitch slightly and I hold my breath. He's so goddamn moody, I don't know if he's going to smile or beat the fuck out of me.
"Shut the fuck up, Jasper, you are the girl. If you could have slammed that door, you would have," he says, his already familiar smirk back in place.
"You're damn right I would have slammed that door if I could have, and it would have been in your face. I don't care who you are, no one treats me like that," I say firmly.
His eyes move to the ground and he takes me seriously, which I didn't actually expect. He appears to be taking the reprimanding to heart. He nods when I finish and looks back up at me, through his eyelashes—which makes me wonder if he knows that it'll work like a charm on a sucker like me.
"I shouldn't have taken my shit out on you, and I'm sorry," he says sincerely. He looks like he wants to continue, but he swallows it back.
I momentarily consider inviting him to my house for drinks, but decide against it. Not yet, not tonight, not with him in a bad mood.
"Do you need a hug?" I ask jokingly, mostly.
He actually sort of smiles. "See, you're the girl."
"Fine then, I'm the girl, but you're the one who is being all woe is me, hug me please, emo bitch-like."
He shifts his weight in a sort of nervous manner which makes me plan to back off. "I didn't ask for a hug," he states defensively.
"No, but you look like you need one. Besides, lawyers need hugs too, that shit ain't sunshine and rainbows," I say gravely.
He snorts, he actually fucking snorts before he laughs. I hate that it sort of makes me tingle with excitement to know that I made him do that. I made him smile and laugh and snort like a total fucking dweeb—an incredibly adorable dweeb, at that.
"Okay, fuck this, I'm hugging you," I say and step forward, giving him this epically awkward man-hug with my ass jutted out and away from him like I'm afraid his bulge might give me cooties or something. "There, hugged it out. Feel better now?" I ask, after I hurriedly stepped away.
"That was the shittiest fucking hug I've ever had," he says back, shaking his head.
"Good, I'm glad," I say back, and he rolls his eyes at me. "So—"
"Do you—"
We both start at the same time and cut each other off. I laugh and point to him. "You go."
"Uh, yeah, I was just gonna say that I have alcohol at my place, so you could come over, if you want."
Cha-ching! We have a winner. Too bad I was going to have to turn him down. "Oh, sorry, no, I should get home."
Edward actually appears disappointed, which is great for me, but makes me feel bad. "Ah, yeah, me too. I have to study and shit. Cool, okay, I'll see you around." He starts to walk away, rather briskly, and I jog to follow him, my car is in the same direction anyway.
"Hey, maybe tomorrow. Gonna be here?"
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and shakes his head. "No, I have a ton of shit to do tomorrow. I'll probably just get trashed at home."
"Alone?" I ask, out of curiosity, and opportunity.
"Maybe," he says cryptically.
I nod and slow, since I'm approaching my car. "Well, you have my number," I say as he continues to walk away, "just let me know if you need a drinking buddy, I ain't got shit going on tomorrow night."
He shrugs his shoulders in response and I'm left wondering if he'll call or not.
– – –
He doesn't call, which doesn't surprise me.
He texts instead. The text is simple, it's his address, a time, and a note about bringing my sketchbook. I don't know why the fuck I'm supposed to bring my sketchbook, but I do as he asks.
I dress casually, yet a bit like a slut with my clothes a little tighter than usual. What the hell, I figure I'll be alone with him and I like showing off my chest and ass.
The more time I spend with Edward, the more I'm convinced that he has to somewhat socially awkward. His texts are more outgoing than he seems to be, and it makes me think that he might be sort of shy. Sexy, shy, and moody as fuck.
Fuck me sideways, I want him so bad I can barely stand it.
I drive to the address he's given me and stare up at the huge complex with disdain. He hasn't given me an apartment number. Is he really that big of an asshole that he'd make me drive completely across town to a fake address, just for the fuck of it?
I decide to park and try, despite my misgivings that he is being a fucking prick. I pull into the drive behind this fancy-shmancy looking silver Volvo and park. Determined to somehow pay the fucker back, I pull out my phone and decide that I'm going to search the whole complex for the hottest chick I can find, then take a picture of us together and tell him I nailed her, and thanks for the fake address.
I go for the steel door with a vengeance, but it's locked. Of course it is, though, a ritzy complex like this doesn't leave shit unlocked for anyone to get into. But when I search around, there isn't one of those buzz pads in sight, only a regular old door bell. Which I slam my hand against rather forcefully. They probably have a bellboy or something.
The door swings open, and instead of a lobby, there is the wide fucking entrance that looks like it came straight out of MTV Cribs or some shit.
"Motherfuck," I mutter.
"Meester Jasber?" asks this accented little brunette that I hadn't even noticed until I looked down. She is fucking tiny.
"Jess, who's at the fucking door?" I hear Edward call.
Holy fuck balls, this is his house?
Apparently, because he comes around the corner, carrying a book and wearing a pair of fuck-me reading glasses that make me hard enough to cut glass. I immediately regret the tight-ish jeans. He glances down at his watch and mutters a curse word.
"Fuck, Jess, let him in, it's Jasper. Andele, andele!" he says, waving his book at her. He shakes his head at me when she finally steps out of the way and shuts the door behind me. "Sorry, Jasper, she's very no comprende."
"Me cago en la madre que te parió!" she hisses at him as she walks by.
"Que te jodan!" he snaps back at her, actually enunciating correctly.
It's pretty hot hearing him use another language, even if he is swearing at the cute little Mexican girl that's in his house.
"Why are you even still here, Jessica? Haven't you finished cleaning yet?"
"Gilipoyas," she spits at him. "Maybe I be finish if you weren't such peeg."
Edward rolls his eyes at her and walks away, muttering about 'good help' and 'ingrates'. I don't know whether to be amused or feel bad.
As I start to follow behind Edward, I say, "It was nice meeting you, Jessica."
She frowns at me and says, "Puta." She then turns on her heel and stomps away, flipping her hair like she owns the place.
I'm astounded, and Edward is very obviously smirking at me from over his shoulder. "She's a bitch, don't be too offended."
He flops down into a huge leather sofa which is surrounded by the most ornately designed fucking room I've ever seen. It's ridiculous.
"Is this your fucking house?" I ask.
"No. Not yet, anyway," Edward answers. "It's the old man's 'summer house' and he doesn't use it anymore. It's in a good location, so I'm borrowing it. But I suppose when he croaks it'll be mine."
"Huh," is the best I can do for a response to that.
I can see a pool behind the house, God knows what else is back there. The room we're in now appears to be a study with a whole wall lined with bookshelves, which are filled with books. Everything in the room is either made of red oak or is framed in red oak. The bookcase, the fireplace, the lamps, the fucking couch legs, the coffee table, the goddamn coasters. Someone was smoking red oak when they furnished this room!
Edward is being very quiet while I survey my surroundings, which oddly draws my attention to him. He appears to be deeply engrossed in the ginormous book in his lap.
"I thought you were getting trashed tonight," I accuse.
Edward doesn't look up from his book as he grabs his bottle of imported beer off of his red oak coaster. He waves it in my direction, as if to answer my question, then takes a swig. I want to ask him why his glasses aren't framed out of red oak, but I figure that will probably just piss him off.
"This is why I told you to bring your sketchbook," he mumbles, flipping a page.
"Oh, and here I thought you were interested in seeing my work," I mutter back, disgruntled that I actually thought he'd give a shit.
"I am," he says, "but not right this second. Here. See what you can do with this."
I grab the sheet of paper from his hand and on it is a lion or dragon or some shit, and a hand, and some design thing along the bottom with the name 'Cullen', then there are some hand written notes.
Make it less girly. More contemporary, not so medieval. If possible, get rid of the ribbon banner on the bottom and incorporate the name with the actual piece.
I had to assume it was Edward's hand writing. I also had to assume that this was what the whole tattoo artist conversation-slash-fight we'd had was about. This was the favor he never asked for, his compliment. He wanted me to design his tattoo.
Oh, swoon.
– – –
We spent hours there, not even speaking. Edward would sigh every once in a while and I would look up to see him rolling his neck out and massaging his temples, or clenching his jaw and rubbing his eyes under his glasses. He would silently get up and fetch us new drinks.
I didn't drink much, I was literally throwing everything I had into the design he wanted. It wasn't what I'd expected to do while I was here with Edward, but it was fun nonetheless. The design was different than what I was used to drawing and it was challenging, but I enjoyed it.
Edward's book hits the floor with a startling thud. "Fuck this. Give me it," he said, eying my sketchpad.
I feel my eyebrows pull together as I possessively pull my book closer to my body. "It's not finished yet," I say defensively. "You can't see it 'til it's finished."
"Don't care, just need to see something that isn't another fucking explanation of applicable versus inapplicable evidence. Give it."
"Fine," I acquiesce, "but I'm sitting next to you and you have to stop when I say stop."
"Christ," he mutters, rubbing at his jaw, "you sound like my first girlfriend." I glare at him and he rolls his eyes at me. "Fine, come here."
Gingerly, I stand and walk over to him, taking the seat immediately to his left. He reaches for the sketchbook, brushing my thigh with his hand on accident when he takes hold of it. This causes me to inhale, which then leads to me breathing him in. I can smell the beer on him, which is frankly repulsive, but past that is a hint of chlorine and sun, which makes me believe he was in the pool at some point today. There is a lingering trace of his cologne, and then there is just him. He smells like man and I want to shove my nose into his neck and just inhale and lick, and repeat.
"What the fuck is this?" he asks, drawing me back to the here and now.
I look down and see him twirling my sketchbook this way and that, staring down at an abstract piece I'd penciled a couple of weeks ago.
"I was bored," I say with a shrug.
"You artistic fucks are weird," he mutters, flipping the page. Of course, this causes me to bristle. I move to reach for my book, but he blocks my move. "Calm down, I didn't mean it in a bad way. You artistic fucks are also apparently really oversensitive," he says, looking me dead in the eye.
Seeing as we're sitting right next to each other on the couch, and he's looking at me and I'm looking at him, we're kind of in each other's face, which just tempts me to kiss him. He's right there, and I want to, so badly, but I know better.
I hope I know better.
I apparently don't know better because I start leaning into him.
Thank God, he doesn't notice because crazy bitch Jessica has epically good, or bad, timing.
"Where my money, asshole?" she demands.
Edward groans and shoves my book into my lap. "I'll be right back," he tells me then leaves the room with a heated glare at Jessica.
She gives me the stink eye.
Being alone, or mostly alone, I'm able to collect my thoughts and ask myself what the hell I am thinking. That's exactly the problem though, I'm not thinking, I'm just reacting. He makes me hot and drives me crazy and pisses me off, and I don't know how to think around him. But I have to get my shit together. I have to go slow with him.
"He worth it, you know," Jessica whispers from across the room. I completely forgot she was even there.
"Excuse me?" I ask, looking up at her.
She looks just as pissed off as ever, though her voice is much softer now. "Edwardo, he worth it. He very, how you say, rude, but he worth it. He like you, maybe not same way, but he never bring anyone home, so he like you."
"Um, thanks," I offer.
"Puta," she growls, then snaps her arm out and grabs the cash from Edward's hand before he is even around the fucking corner.
Crazy, ninja Jedi, mindfucking woman. But as crazy as she was, she gave me something to think about.
Did Edward really never bring anyone home? Really, never?
Sure, he could be abrasive, but besides that, he was the perfect catch. Rich, successful, extremely good looking, undoubtedly well-hung...
Whatever the reason, I was glad he was unattached, but I wanted to get the bottom of this.
"Another beer?" he asks, holding out a fresh bottle to me.
"No, thanks. Hey Edward, I have a question."
"What?" he inquires, dropping back down beside me, stretching his legs out on the coffee table and his arms back onto the back of the couch.
"Who's your daddy?"
He visibly stiffens. Despite my attempt at being nonchalant, it still is apparently a touchy subject. He withdraws his arms from the back of the couch. One hand automatically goes to his hair, twisting and pulling on it, while the other reaches for his beer, which he downs in just a few gulps.
"My dad is Ed Cullen Senior, why the hell else do you suppose I'd get stuck with this ridiculous family name?" I know the question is defensive and rhetorical, so I wait for him to continue. I can tell he is forcing himself to be calm, but I don't regret asking the question of him. "My mom is Elizabeth Masen, former personal maid to Irina Cullen, Ed's wife. Which makes me Edward Cullen Junior, the bastard son of a maid and a billionaire lawyer, and a fuck up extraordinaire."
"It's pretty common knowledge by now," he continues. "Ed tried to pay off my mom for a while, but as I got older, it apparently became harder to hide. I obviously look a shitload like my mom, but I guess people started seeing a resemblance, not to mention the fact that my mom is vengeful and named me after the fucker. Carlisle, my brother who is old enough to be my father, is Ed's only son because Irina has trouble carrying to term. So yeah, once he couldn't keep it a secret anymore, daddy dearest embraced me like some fucking miracle."
"Whatever, I shouldn't exactly bitch since I'm living the fucking dream now." He grabs the beer I declined and cracks that one open, draining it too quickly for my liking.
I feel bad, but I try not to pity him. It's a truly fucked up situation, there is no denying that. Edward obviously loathes his father, and I don't blame him.
"So, did you want to be a lawyer?" I ask hesitantly. Somehow I doubt he did.
He turns to look at me, which is unnerving, because I can't trust myself to look back at him again.
"You know, no motherfucker has ever asked me that before. In the beginning, I was completely against it, but mostly because I didn't have a choice. Ed basically just said, 'You're enrolled, don't fuck up.' What the fuck was I supposed to do? I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he was putting me through college and he bought me the Aston. I could have anything I wanted, so I went with it."
"What about now?" I press.
"Now? I don't know. It's hard, it's not what I really wanted, but it's better than nothing, I guess."
"You don't sound very happy," I hedge.
His defensiveness immediately comes back. "What are you, my fucking shrink?"
I sigh and stand up. "No, I thought you wanted to talk but whatever, no one is forcing you. Are you going to give me the tour of this mansion, otherwise I'm leaving?"
"Christ, you're a nosy bastard," he mumbles, then heaves himself up off the couch. I watch closely as he totters a few steps. "Shit," he mutters as he steadies himself. "How many fucking beers did I drink?"
"I don't honestly know, Edward, but in the last twenty minutes you've chugged two, so at least three in the last hour."
"Oh," he says, then nods and loses his balance.
I grab his arm and shake my head. "Where is your bedroom? You need to lay the fuck down. I'll let myself out."
"Bathroom," he gasps, then throws his hand over his mouth.
"Fuck," I hiss, trying to guide him while he leads the way, since I have no idea where the fuck the bathroom is.
We manage to make it to the bathroom okay, but once I see it, I think I may throw up. It's all white, from floors to ceiling. Whoever built this house had some serious compulsion issues.
"Just look around, I don't give a shit," he wheezes, then slams the door in my face.
I had one of two options. I could either hover around the door and listen to Edward ralph, or I could do as he invited me to and take a look around.
By the time I hear him have his first go at it, I make my decision. I go for the stairs first. Up one flight, and then another.
The third floor consists of one wide, bare open room. One whole wall is made up of windows, they face the south and overlook some of the best Seattle scenery I've ever seen. Scenery I've never seen before, I never even knew it existed. But the window wall only holds my attention for so long. There are many much more personal affects littered around the room, and he was right, I am snoopy.
There is a lounge area, mainly made up of blankets and pillows, no mattress or anything, just blankets on the floor. Tossed here and there are several well loved books and I pick up each one, checking the titles. There is music paper everywhere. Blanks sheets, sheets with a few lines of notes, and pages upon pages of scattered notes. Which leads me to the piano.
It starts to bother me that I'm alone up here with all of his things. It appears that this is his space and I feel bad for invading it, so I descend the stairs. I quickly give myself a preview of the second level and smirk when I find his bedroom. I don't go inside, I want to save that for another time, perhaps when things are more intimate between us. I do give it a once over from the door though.
His bed is donning black linens and looks severely unkempt and from what I can see of his closet, it looks much the same. There appears to be several black items in there and clothes scattered all over the floor. There are CDs cases randomly sitting open around the room and a decent sound system in the corner.
I flip the light back off and move on, slowly making my way down stairs and finishing my tour. Everything on the lowest level is perfectly in order, including the kitchen, which looks untouched. The house is more extravagant than I imagined, complete with a theater and an office fit for a fucking tech geek. I exit the back of the house and snort at what the backyard holds.
There is a swimming pool, a spa, and a fucking waterslide, as well as a pool house that I don't even bother going into. There is probably a full screen TV in there and surround sound.
I kick off my socks and roll up my pants, taking a seat on the edge of the pool and shoving my feet into the water.
A sigh escapes my parted lips and I'm tempted to strip and jump in, Edward be damned. He'll probably be in the can the rest of the evening anyway.
"The waterslide was my touch," he says gruffly, making me jump. I hadn't even heard him come out. He groans as he slides down into a lounge chair and his face pinches up in a grimace.
"Feeling okay?" I ask quietly, swirling my feet in the warm water.
"Not so much. You'd think by now I'd learn not to drink so much of that shit on an empty stomach."
"You should go eat something so you don't get alcohol poisoning," I say halfheartedly.
As I expected, he just laughs at me, though it's quiet and more of a groan.
I give up and stand. "Would you kill me if I jumped in your pool butt ass naked?" I ask him. The water is just too fucking tempting, I want in.
"Not right now, no, but I'll kick your ass tomorrow if you do it."
"Awesome," I reply with a grin, though he can't see me because his eyes are closed. I know that is about as golden as a 'yes', coming from his lips.
I'm not too terribly shy and chances are, he won't really be looking anyway, plus it's kind of dark out, so I just strip it all off right there on the patio.
"Don't piss in my pool or I will fucking kill you," he mutters.
"No promises," I reply jokingly.
I jump into the pool and sigh to myself as the water envelopes me. I just swim for a while, enjoying the feel of the warmth. Swimming naked is so much better than anything else, the water cupping your genitals feels so much nicer than those meshy things they put in swim trunks. From the distant end of the pool, Edward's voice carries to me. I swim across the pool to him and ask him to repeat himself.
"Would you mind coming back tomorrow to swim? I feel like shit and I want to go to sleep."
"Are you going to make me wear trunks tomorrow?"
I swear I can see his eyes roll from behind his eyelids. "If you don't bring trunks, you aren't getting back in my pool."
I sigh and mutter, "Fine."
I don't bother with the ladder or stairs, instead I lift myself over the edge right where I am in front of Edward. I'm surprised to find he is actually looking at me when I look up, and I flush. He doesn't really seem interested, but he's looking no less and it makes me little hot. I have to cup my sergeant and generals in my hand to hide the fact that he is making me hard with his stare alone.
"Towel?" I ask smoothly.
"Pool house," he replies, casually closing his eyes and leaning his head back into the lounge.
I grab my discarded clothing off the patio and escape into the pool house, which I find does in fact have a big fucking TV in it. Edward's pool house has better furnishings than my house does. I find the towels and dry off quickly, leaving the towel in a hamper next to the sink.
After redressing, I find Edward looking rather queasy. For Edward's sake, I don't stick around and I let him know I'm going to text him in the morning to make sure he's alright. He tries to make fun of me for being a girl, but it comes off rather weak and pitiful.
I can't keep him off of my mind for a second as I drive home.
– – –
The weeks pass quickly, the days all melding together as Edward stars in more and more of them. I find myself at his house often, either swimming or just hanging out with him. Despite how he comes across at first, he's extremely easy going. I like him, a lot. Every second I spend with him isn't about the end result anymore, which concerns me in a way, but I brush it off.
Seeing Edward in only swim trunks for the first time was a world shaking experience in itself. The glimpses over time left so much to the imagination. He was ripped and just fucking beautiful. He made life increasingly difficult as time went on.
His shirt was off so often around me, you'd think I'd just get used to it, but I didn't. After I finished drawing what I considered to be a rather masterful rendition of his proposed tattoo, I forced myself to get the guts to show it to him. It took me about a week to finally unveil it. I had no cause for concern. The fucking second he saw it, he practically begged me to go with him to get inked.
He needn't have begged, I was all too willing to see my art on him. And he got it, right on his fucking shoulder. I had to take a bathroom break halfway through watching him get marked to relieve some, uh, stress. Instead of swimming, since he couldn't get the new ink wet, he opted to sit in the spa while I swam around his pool.
We rarely frequented Rogue's at all anymore, but every time we did, I would dread seeing Emmett there. I'd been avoiding his texts and calls even more than usual and I figured he would eventually be busting into my life to crash the party. But he stayed away. Once he came over and said 'hi' to Edward and myself, but other than that, he would either leave us alone or not be at the bar at all. I had no idea what to make of it.
The plan was right on track. Everything was sailing smoothly. Edward and I hung out almost daily and we officially had a friendship that seemed well forged, even if my end of the deal wasn't completely honest.
Everything was going just perfectly, slowly, but perfectly.
Until the shit hit the fan.
The mess it made seemed more than I could clean up.
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