Disclaimer: Same ol', same ol'. Don't own it.

A/N: There are a lot of different Edwards in my head. This one has been really loud lately, which is why I can't seem to get updates done timely in the other stories I have going. Or I might need better meds...

General thoughts on the fuckery that was my Monday...all my bff's texted me that Eddie Vedder got married and one of those Followill boys got engaged. I'm officially in mourning, as in black cloths over mirrors, stopped clocks throughout the house. I will have to get over this before my husband returns from his big fishing trip later this week. My mother, who's 82, slightly uptight and really funny, voluntarily made herself an adult beverage and hoofed it to my sister's (next door) to announce that she's taking up drinking, and I'm considering offering my hubby almost anything if he will buy me this antique cabinet I'm in love with for our 13th anniversary next weekend. I've even been sextually harassing him on his fishing trip. I'm not sure if that will help or hurt my cause.

You know the drill...read...review if you want. I have some other chapters done, so we'll see how it goes. I can post or I can delete and tell Edward to STFU.

EPOV

Fuck, I love this car. Brand new Mustang GT. Black exterior. Black leather interior. Dark tinted windows. Custom wheels and rims. Five liter, V8 engine. Six-speed manual transmission. I've never really been a car freak until I got this car three weeks ago. At this moment, I don't love anything in the world as much as I love this car…except maybe sex.

I have the windows down today, enjoying the warmth and the summer sun, blaring classic Foo Fighters from my stereo. I love the rumble of the engine as I downshift to pull into the parking lot of the bar, my bar, The Full Moon. Formerly The Full Moon Saloon. It's a ridiculous name for a bar and a little too Cat in the Hat for me. But I didn't pick it – when I took it over from the previous owner, it was already named and already successful, so I bought the rights to the name in order to have a smoother transition. I did change the name to The Full Moon Tavern, but everyone just calls it The Full Moon anyway.

Of course, my father had a fucking conniption fit when he found out I wanted to use my business degree – and part of my trust fund – to run a bar and grill. To say that he flipped the fuck out is an understatement. Luckily, my sister arrived home from Europe about that same time, and he was more disappointed in her behavior than in mine. She bore the majority of Dad's wrath for the next few months as he and my mom pushed and prodded her to get her life back on track. By the time he was ready to come after me again full force, the bar was already running in the black, so there wasn't much ammo left for attack. My dad and I still aren't really close, but he did get off my ass and he even comes in for a drink once in a while now.

As I roll into the parking lot, I'm surprised to see an old red truck parked at the side of the building next door. I haven't had to share this lot for almost a year, have gotten used to not having a neighbor in the little one-story brick building next door. The last lady who rented it had a New Age store, selling incense and crystals and shit, but she went out of business before the holidays last year. She was nice, though…a little odd, but nice. And really fucking funny after a couple glasses of wine. Still, we are in the Seattle inner 'burbs. I think her business would have done better downtown where more of the artsy-types and neo-hippies hang out.

I pull in to my side of the parking lot and park right next to my side door, looking in my rearview mirror at what's going on behind me. There's a woman lugging boxes out of the bed of the red truck and into the building's propped-open side door. She's tiny. Some of those boxes probably weigh as much as she does.

Her dark brown hair is hanging down around her face so I can't get an idea of how good looking she is, but her body is incredible. Slim waist, great ass, perky little tits, long legs for as short as she is, perfectly showcased in tight jeans. I turn the car off but don't get out, still watching her in the rearview mirror. Another car pulls up beside her truck and two men get out, walking toward her. I put my hand on the door handle, preparing to get out and go to her rescue, but when she sees them, she runs toward them, wrapping her arms around first one and then the other. The second one picks her up and kisses her when she hugs him. Oh, well. She's probably got a hag face anyway. The ones with the best bodies usually do. Besides, there are plenty of girls that hang around the bar hoping I'll screw them…and sometimes I do. Or at least I used to.

I have cut down on hooking up with random chicks in the last few months. Ever since two of them somehow got the crazy idea that we were in a relationship. They both showed up the same night to wait for me at the bar. Screaming ensued, first at each other and then at me. Needless to say, they both went home without me that night, since I left with another girl right in front of them. I chuckle lightly thinking about what an asshole I was to those other girls. Serves them right. No guy likes to be screamed at, especially at his place of business. And they both knew at the outset that I don't date; I only fuck. It's not my fault they each thought they could change me. You know what they say: An asshole doesn't change his spots…or something like that. But I definitely don't want any more drama at the bar, so I stick with a sex buddy left over from college for the most part now.

After checking my hair in the rearview mirror, I roll the windows up and get out of my car. I lock the car with the remote, then walk to the side door of the bar without looking back at the hot body next door.

Inside the bar, I check stock and wait for the daily deliveries. I usually come in alone early on Fridays, giving everyone else a chance to recover since Thursday is normally such a late night. I didn't stay until close last night, but judging by the receipts Emmett left in my office safe, they were busy all night. I pull together all the July receipts and grab my laptop then head back out front. As I'm sitting at the bar working on financials for the accountant, I hear someone come in through the side door. I look up from my laptop to check the reflection in the back bar mirror – it's Aro. Goddamn dickhead. I knew I should have locked that door behind myself.

"Not open yet, Aro," I say, briefly looking over my shoulder at him. It's only a little after nine.

"I'm not here for a drink. Just came by to check on the new tenant next door and thought I'd pick up your rent check while I was here instead of coming back later. Can't believe it's August first already. Don't know where the summer went," he says. I get up and go behind the bar to get the envelope for him. I think he knows I don't much care for him, so the first of the month is about the only time he comes around. I refuse to pay him even one day early.

I hand the envelope across the bar to him and lean back against the back bar, arms folded across my chest. "Who is the new renter next door? I thought you'd never get anyone in there after Renata shut down her holistic voodoo store last year," I say. Just a little neighborly curiosity, nothing more.

"Her name's Bella Swan. She works for me at the law office four days a week. She's opening a dance studio. Hot piece of ass, that one. I've been trying to talk my way into her pants since she started working for me three months ago. When she found out I had this vacant property perfect for her studio, she jumped at it. Maybe I should have given her a break on the rent in exchange for sexual favors," he laughs. I laugh with him because he's my landlord and it makes my life easier to get along, but he makes me sick.

"I saw two brawny guys helping her move stuff in earlier, so you might want to steer clear of that. They looked like they could kick both of our asses for sure," I remark, trying to sound casual, like I don't really fucking care. And I guess I don't care, except that Aro is such a piece of shit that I wouldn't wish him on anyone.

"I don't care if she has a boyfriend. I have a wife. What they don't know won't hurt them," he laughs. My stomach can't take much more of him. I may be a dickhead to women now, but I'd never cheat on my wife…if I am ever stupid enough to get married, I'll be faithful. Time to show Aro the door.

"I've got a lot to do here, so if you don't need anything else…" I start.

"Don't let the door hit my ass on the way out?" he chuckles. "You're still a prick, Cullen."

"You're still an asshole, Volturi," I answer, not looking up as he exits.

Several times over the next few days, I catch glimpses of her – Bella. Saturday, she wears a baseball hat, shading her face so I still don't get a good look at her face. She must have been painting that day…she had on short jean shorts and a paint-splattered t-shirt that was tied on the side, exposing some skin between it and the shorts. Yeah, my dick noticed the creamy skin revealed in between. She's pretty fucking pale for summertime, even in Seattle. She must never go out in the sun. She disappears into her building, and I don't see her again that day.

I normally don't come in on Sunday at all…we're not open on Sunday except during football season. But I have some stuff to do, and if I happen to get a look at her amazing ass again in some short shorts, all the better. When I finally see her out my office window carrying a mop and broom inside her place, I'm disappointed that she's wearing longer shorts this time. They come all the way down to her knees. But she has on one of those tank tops with the really skinny straps and her tits look fantastic, even from this far away. I bet she isn't even wearing a bra. Her body looks better to my dick every day, but her face remains mostly a mystery as she has the hat on again.

Monday she's a no-show. Oh, wait. Aro said she works for him at his law office, so she's probably there during the day. Why am I so obsessed with seeing what this girl looks like? It's sure to be a disappointment. But I still fucking find excuses to go outside that evening and see if she ever shows up. After four smoke breaks and two times pretending to go look for something in my car, I decide she's probably not coming today. I'm not sure why I feel such a letdown at the thought of going a day without seeing her.

I'm pleasantly surprised when I go out to smoke at nine; the red truck is there. I lean back against the brick wall of my two-story building and light a cigarette, propping one foot against the wall behind me. As I'm smoking, a light turns on in the room that faces where I'm standing…the only room I can see into from my side of the parking lot. The blinds are open so I see her walk into the room. She turns a sound system on, and I vaguely hear the beat of music. She adjusts the placement of the speakers and then stands by herself in the middle of the room. I still can't really fucking see her face from this far away, but her hair is up in a ponytail tonight. As I watch, she starts to dance, turning in circles like a ballerina or some shit. Well, fuck, she's opening a dance studio, so I guess she is a ballerina or some shit.

My face involuntarily breaks into a smile as I watch her dance…she's graceful, tiny, her fucking stellar body moving and twirling easily across the floor. Tossing my cigarette to the ground and stepping on it, I decide I'd better get my ass back inside my own place before I turn into a pussy-whipped peeping Tom watching my new neighbor through her window.

I decide to fucking ignore her for the next week. I will myself to pay no attention to whether or not the red truck is parked outside. I can't really help it if I happen to see workers there installing mirrors and hanging signs – Studio B Dance Company. They are parked on her side of our parking lot, so every time I go to my car to get … something … out of it, I can see who's there.

Actually, I think it's pretty fucking rude that she hasn't even come by to introduce herself. I'm complaining about this to my sister, Rosalie, nine days later. Rosalie is my older sister, but she spent the better part of her early twenties roaming around Europe with some older rich dude – mostly because she knew it would piss our parents off. So, she's still in college and working for her baby brother part-time since our parents have greatly reduced her cash flow. That is, they changed the terms of her trust fund so only her tuition and room and board are paid for. She has to earn all her spending money. Ouch. That was a blow to Princess Rosalie.

"I met her," Rose says nonchalantly from her seat on a barstool in front of me. She shrugs as she continues. "She seemed nice enough…kind of shy. That's probably why she hasn't come by."

"When did you meet her?" I ask, filling the garnish station, trying to sound nonchalant myself. I am fucking nonchalant…just because my dick likes it when we get a look at her body doesn't mean that I have some fundamental need to meet her or something.

"I don't know," she says, tilting her head to the side slightly, studying me. "Couple of days ago. We were in the parking lot at the same time, so I walked over and introduced myself. And don't think I don't recognize that look on your face, buddy. Leave her alone. Don't fuck the ballerina."

"Jesus, Rosalie. All I said was it's weird she hasn't come by to say hi anytime during the last three weeks. I am not trying to fuck the ballerina," I answer testily.

"Good, because seriously, you have enough girls chasing you around. Don't make it awkward with the neighbor by screwing her and then ignoring her like you do all the other girls, Mr. Bed 'em and Shed 'em," she says tersely.

"I don't ignore all of them," I say, smirking.

"Yeah, you let some of them hang around a week or two until you get tired of banging the same chick. Face it, Edward. You don't do relationships," she says.

"I don't need some woman I barely know bossing me around. I already have a bossy older sister to do that," I retort, laughing and ducking when she throws her crumpled up napkin at me across the bar.

Two nights later, I'm smoking outside again when the ballerina drives into the parking lot in her red truck. It's late enough that it's dark outside, so I don't think she sees me leaning against the side of my building. But she parks right under a huge light, so I can see her very well. She's wearing the tiny jean shorts again. She climbs into the bed of the truck and struggles to move a big box to the tailgate. Jesus, the muscle definition in her thighs is amazing. Her quads are lean and defined, but not in a bodybuilder kind of way. Just in a hot, holy mother of god, look at those wheels kind of way. The backs of her legs look smooth and shapely. The sides have a deep indentation that disappears beneath the bottom of her shorts. I get hard immediately just thinking about what she could do to me with those thighs. She hops down from the tailgate and manages to get the box off the truck, then tries to scoot it along the asphalt toward the side door to her studio.

I attempt to control my lust as I push off the wall and walk toward her. "Hi," I call out. When she turns, she looks a little alarmed. I hold my hands up in the surrender gesture, still holding my burning cig and say, "I'm Edward, Rosalie's brother…I own the bar. I saw you struggling with the box and thought you might like some help getting it inside." I stop a few feet away from her so she doesn't feel threatened. This is the closest I've been to her and even though she's standing in the shadows now, it's the best look I've gotten at her face. She's fucking beautiful, of course, because that's the kind of luck I have. My dick, which I talked halfway down, stands back up immediately.

She smiles tentatively at me. "I'm Bella. Um, it's okay. I've got it. Thanks anyway."

"Fine. Suit yourself. Just trying to be a good neighbor," I say coolly, pausing to take a drag of my cig. Fuck. I feel like I could just look at her face all night, her chocolate eyes, her sweet, pink lips. It's a face that could make me ignore the fucking hot body it's attached to. And that's saying something.

She exhales loudly. Jesus, even that sounds hot and makes me wonder what kinds of breathy noises she'd make in bed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be short with you. I would actually love some help getting it inside. My friend was supposed to come help me tonight, but he bailed," she says, rolling her big brown eyes.

I suppress the grin my lips want to curl into by putting the cigarette in my mouth, then I pick up the box, lifting it up to my shoulder and holding it in place with both hands. "Lead the way," I say.

She runs ahead of me to unlock the side door and opens it for me. "Um, would you mind leaving the cigarette out here? I really don't want to stink up the studio," she says.

"No problem. But you're going to have to grab it," I say, grinning at her around the cigarette.

"Uh, okay," she says, propping the door open with her foot and reaching up toward me to grasp the cigarette and remove it from my lips. She's close enough that I can smell her now, and she smells fucking great. Not perfumed by eau de whatever like most of the girls that hang around the bar. Just clean and a little sweet. She's holding the cigarette out to her side, grasping it gingerly between her fingers like she's holding something girls find disgusting, like a worm or a bug or a used condom. I think it's kind of funny how girls are grossed out by touching used condoms, because the spunk is on the inside. The wet, outside part that girls never want to touch? That's all them. But whatever. As long as I get laid, I'll happily be the one that disposes of it.

"You can just put it out," I say, trying not to laugh at her. She drops it immediately and steps on it, then reaches inside the door to flip on a light.

"Put the box in my office please. First door on the left," she says. I go in and she turns on the light in the empty office. I set the box down carefully.

"What's in here anyway?" I ask, partly because I'm curious – it was fucking heavy – and partly because I don't want to leave yet.

"It's a desk. I'm sure in a million pieces. I just need somewhere to sit my laptop," she says, shrugging her slight shoulders. I smile at her and she smiles back, making my breath catch. What the hell was that? My libido is in full force. Guess I need to get laid…and I need to get out of here.

"Do you need help putting it together?" I offer, instead of getting the fuck out of there like I should.

"No, Jake promised he'd put it together for me tomorrow."

Jake. Must be the boyfriend. "All right. Anything else you need help with before I go?"

"Actually, yeah, if you don't mind. The smoke detector keeps beeping," she says, acting embarrassed. On cue, a high-pitched tone sounds from the other room. We both laugh, smiling at each other again. "I can't reach it."

"You have a battery?" I ask. She grabs a bag hanging from the office doorknob, reaches inside and produces a battery. I hold out my hand and she drops the battery into my palm. "Lead the way." I stand back and hold my arm out, motioning for her to leave the office first, eager to get a look at her legs in action in the bright light of the hallway.

I follow her into the room that I can see into from the parking lot, the room where I saw her dancing that night a couple of weeks ago, keeping my eyes trained on her legs and ass the whole way down the hall. She trips over the threshold of the dance room, and I grab her arm to keep her from falling down.

"Thanks. I'm such a klutz," she mumbles as she shakes her head, her face turning the most gorgeous shade of pink from embarrassment. I let go of her immediately once she's steady, puzzled by the jolt of warmth that ran up my arm when I touched her.

"A klutz is opening a dance studio?" I laugh, rubbing my tingling palm on my thigh.

"Practically the only time I'm not a klutz is when I'm dancing or listening to music," she admits, laughing with me. Now that I've heard her laughter, seen her smile, I don't think I'll ever get enough of it. I'm suddenly nervous in a way that I haven't felt around a girl since high school. I need to get my shit together fast.

"Maybe you should wear ear buds all the time, then," I respond, winking at her, liking the way her eyes shine as he laughs louder. I climb up the step stool that's already positioned under the smoke detector and quickly change the battery. I look at her in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of where I'm standing and see that she's checking out my ass; it's eye level with her where she's standing beside me. As she continues to stare at it, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and lets it slowly slide out. I know she's not even trying to be seductive, but goddamn, my body is sure responding.

As I step down, I watch in the mirror as she slides her eyes up my body before she smiles at me again. "Seriously, thanks a lot. I owe you." This time I can't help myself; I look her up and down, stifling the groan that tries to escape as I imagine her long, lean legs wrapped around me. I pause briefly on her flat stomach and then her perfect chest. I lick my lips without thinking, but regret it instantly when I finally get my eyes back up to her face. She's pursing her lips, glaring at me with one eyebrow cocked. Jesus, I thought she was beautiful before, but she's absolutely stunning when she's pissed. Her chocolate brown eyes have gone black, and I swear she could shoot fire out of them if she wanted to.

I smirk at her because I really am an ass…and because I don't want her to know how affected I am by her presence. "Well, I'll see you around then. You just holler if you ever need…anything," I say suggestively.

"I'm good, thanks," she says, looking at me like she was looking at the cigarette earlier, curling her upper lip a little in disgust. Oh, honey, I can just imagine how good you are.

I walk past her to the hallway, brushing my shoulder against hers as I turn sideways to get past her. "Nice to meet you, Bella," I say, going out the door. I hear her turn the deadbolt as soon as the door shuts behind me, and I laugh out loud. Then I reach up to touch my shoulder where it brushed against her. My skin feels electrified again where we touched, and it shot another jolt of desire straight to my cock. "Goddamn," I say to myself, pulling out another cigarette. Where's my fuck buddy when I need her? I grab my cell phone and dial Kate.

I happen to be out smoking again when she leaves the studio. I just wanted a cigarette… it's not because I've been staring out my office window for forty-five minutes and saw her turning out the studio lights and loading stuff in her truck. Fuck, who am I kidding? Since she's been around, I've gone from smoking one or two cigarettes a night to more than half a pack. I know it's because I'm constantly outside trying to get a look at her or see what she's doing. Well, I guess I can stop that now that I've thoroughly repulsed her. I'm leaning against the brick wall again, just watching her, when I hear the door beside me creak open. I glance over to see who's coming out, inwardly groaning when I realize who it is. I should have known.

Fucking Tanya. She's bartended and waited tables for me for over a year and spent most of that time trying to get in my pants. I've told her a hundred times that I don't fuck my employees. That is one line I refuse to cross. Way too messy. Doesn't stop her from trying, though.

"Hey, Edward. Can I bum a cig?" she asks, sidling up beside me. She glances quickly over at the ballerina, probably trying to see what I'm looking at, then she turns back toward me and smiles innocently. I hold the pack out to her and light her cigarette for her when she asks. I can see Bella out of the corner of my eye. I'm not sure if it's my imagination or not, but I think she's looking over here.

"Thanks," Tanya says, and raises up on her tiptoes to kiss me. Before I can push her away, she's got her tongue in my mouth and her free hand roaming my chest and moving down toward my dick. I pull my mouth away and she moves her mouth to my neck, undeterred. She's rubbing my dick through the front of my jeans now. I turn my head toward the dance studio and my eyes meet Bella's. Her eyes are wide in surprise, her mouth gaping open. She turns away immediately and climbs in her truck, starting it quickly and tearing out of the parking lot. Well, not tearing. Her truck is really fucking old. But she's clearly intent on making a getaway.

"Fuck," I say, leaning my head back against the brick wall and closing my eyes.

"I know, baby. It would be so good between us," Tanya whispers hoarsely to me, still kissing and stroking. It does feel good, but not good enough to risk the consequences. Besides, I know at least some of the places Tanya's been, and I don't want to go there.

"Get off, Tanya. I need to get back inside. And for the last fucking time, I don't screw employees," I seethe at her. I grip her shoulders roughly and set her away from me then stalk to the door. I wrench it open angrily, banging it loudly against the wall. God fucking dammit. I'm sure I've scared the ballerina off for good now.

A/N #2: My 8-year-old just made my year by announcing that he and two friends want to dress up as KISS for Halloween. I knew my genes would show up sooner or later in that kid.