I am not Stephanie Meyer, I do not own these Characters.
This story is inspired by a song, that I also do not own. Cool enough, Lizzy and Rob Pattinson do. It's Called Hands. You can youtube it.
This would not have been possible without TONS of people. Like Kennedy Nicole, My2GalsPals, Lynn Pepper, and my wife Meg.
I hope to update once a week, but it might be twice a week depending on life. And for those of you waiting for Sad Songs, and are like WTF? She can write something new but not update SS4DL - I know epic fail for me. I just am SOO blocked with that story it makes my heart hurt. I will finish it. I promise. And if anyone wants to help me - like WRITE it - would gladly accept the help and give credit.
This story is ALL BPOV - it will have lemons, bad words, and other bad things that if I tell you would be spoilerish.
Rosalie means well, I know she does, but this guy sitting across from me, talking at me about the economy or some shit I could care less about, will be the death of me. His name is Peter and I have been playing yes man with him since we sat down. To say I'm tired of humming in agreement to everything he says would be an understatement. It doesn't seem to bother him that I haven't actually said anything of importance since we were introduced.
Something must change because now Peter wants my opinion the current recession. What I think is that I'm thrilled I have a job that pays the bills. Other than that, I try not to think about it. I never watch the news, and if I happen to open the newspaper I tend to skip right to the police blotter. You know the section where you can read about all the idiots that were recently arrested to make yourself feel superior.
Honestly, I only worry about me. I do not care about world issues because it's not like I can fix those problems. My voice isn't going to change shit so I don't even bother. I'd like to tell Peter here that he is wasting his time and energy, as well as the chance to have fun, worrying about things that are way beyond his Penn State education.
When Rose told me about Peter she said that he was good looking, and she was totally right. Sparkling blue eyes, big white smile made up of perfectly aligned teeth, and broad shoulders. I can tell he spends way too much time at the gym, which makes sense, as he is a good friend of Emmett, Rosalie's muscle bound boyfriend. What Rose failed to mention is that he's as boring as a box of rocks. He's not very perceptive either as evidenced by the fact that he can't tell I have totally lost interest in whatever he's yammering on about. He just keeps talking and my mind keeps wandering. There's nothing I can contribute to this conversation anyway except a rude dose of reality so I just keep my mouth shut. I know Rose will be upset if she has to listen to Peter bitch about being set up with a crazy hipster.
He did make a comment about my "hipster" style already, but I had to correct him since I like to think of myself as more of a vintage type of girl. What can I say? I like my ripped black stockings with these cut off shorts. I like my Kurt Cobain shirt. I like my hair long with a little teasing at the crown and tumbling into a mess of curls that fall down my back. Regardless, I like my style no matter what you call it.
His style? Button down shirt, collar popped out and folded over his sweater, with pressed slacks. I'm not sure I like his style at all.
The long and short of it is that we are here, on a blind date, because some guy Emmett knows is playing tonight. Edward something-or-other. I just sip my beer and glance around the bar, hoping this evening doesn't turn out to be a complete waste of time.
"You don't normally go out with guys like me, do you?" Peter asks, bringing my attention back to him.
I want to laugh at that comment but I bite my bottom lip and shake my head instead. "Guys like you?" I ask leadingly. I want him to define what he means. I don't like labeling others the way he so easily did with me earlier.
"Yeah, I'm not your type."
I look at him in shock. "Wow. I didn't know I had a type but it seems you've figured me out. Enlighten me Peter – what is my type?"
"Guys that wear flannel," he states definitively. I wait for him to go on because that really isn't a 'type', but he doesn't seem to have anything to add.
"Flannels. Interesting. So what…lumber jacks are my type? That guy on the brawny paper towels is my dream guy?" I mock, slightly offended that he thinks he's got me pinned, not to a type of guy, but to a type of shirt. "No, wait! Al, the sidekick from the TV show 'Home Improvement'. Now he really knew how to rock out a flannel."
Peter looks like he's not sure what to say but I think it's more because he doesn't have any more descriptors, not because he realizes he's ticked me off. Then he gets a look of relief on his face and says, "Him," jutting his chin toward someone behind and to the left of me. I turn to see who he has in his sights.
Amazingly, Peter's right. The guy he picked out is totally my type... and he just happens to be wearing a yellow and blue flannel. It's unbuttoned and hanging open to reveal a holey t-shirt underneath. I realize I've been staring way to long at this point so I turn back to Peter. "He's alright," I manage, hoping I can shrug it off. I take another sip my beer and try to act nonchalant. I'm really just waiting an appropriate amount of time so I can turn to get a better look at 'my type'.
I notice Rosalie and Emmett walk toward him giving me the perfect excuse to turn and stare. Fuck. His jeans sit just right, low on hips but not too low. They're not too tight, not too loose. He turns and his ass is glorious, just as I imagined. He and Emmett share some guy half hug before Rosalie says hello and offers her hand. They shake and then he reaches up to run that same hand through his hair, which ends up in chaos. Some pieces hang in his face, others stand straight up. When he laughs at something Emmett says, his eyes narrow to slits yet still sparkle with life, and he has the cutest laugh lines. I'm guessing he hasn't shaved in a while and the prominent scruffy jaw line makes me forget that I am here with a date. He waves his hands around while talking to them, cocks an eyebrow at something either Rosalie or Emmett says, then laughs loudly.
I want to be over there with them. I don't want to be here at this high top table with this ridiculous preppy boy who has no clue that's what he is. Since that's not in the cards at the moment I bite my thumb, turn back to my date, and try to blow off my attraction to 'my type' standing just across the room.
"I wonder how they know him," I mumble, mostly to myself.
Peter evidently hears me because he shrugs and replies, "Not sure. I've never seen him before. He's definitely not a brother or someone from Penn."
Peter and Emmett were in the same frat at Penn State and they also played football together. I know Emmett teaches high school now so to make conversation I ask Peter what he does. I'm not sure if I ask because I'm trying to be nice or because I feel guilty for drooling over Flannel Boy in his presence.
Peter informs me that he sells drugs to doctors so I jokingly call him a drug dealer. "Pharmaceutical Rep." he quickly corrects. It was just a joke so I roll my eyes.
"What about you, Bella? What do you do?"
I could have lied but why bother. I know he already thinks less of me because I don't have a college education so I admit I work as a manager at Pacific Sunwear in the mall. I've worked there since high school. It's who I am and I love it. I really don't give a shit what he thinks.
"You like it there?" he asks. "See yourself there for a long time?"
He didn't appreciate the jab I took at his job and I don't like his attitude about mine either. I tilt my head and glare at him. "Is that code for when are you going to get a real job?" I snap. "I love it there...lots of flannel."
Just to stick it to him I glance back at Flannel Boy. This time I catch his eye. He smiles and I wave. Take that, Peter the Prep. "Flannel is so my type," I say under my breath.
"You should be more open-minded. You might find something worth holding on to," he tells me.
Again with the shocking comments. I turn back toward Mr. Walking-Contradiction to let him have a piece of my mind. "Oh? Do you really think you've been open-minded tonight? You labeled me after five minutes."
"Was I wrong?"
"Yeah," I exclaim. "Vintage...my style is really more vintage."
"Vintage, hipster...is there really a difference?"
"I guess not if you're Preppy Peter."
"You..." he says as he shakes a finger at me. I figure he's about to lay into me so I'm surprised when he cracks a smile and says, "You baffle me in the best way. I find you fascinating."
Didn't see that coming. I look at him skeptically. "Well, Flannel Boy has a leg up on you and I haven't even spoken to him yet."
Peter puts both elbows on the table and leans toward me. "Pretty sure I can show you Flannel Boy is no more than some distant loner with little to offer a woman…well, other than a fuck and duck," he say condescendingly.
I so need a smoke right about now. Yes, I smoke, but Rosalie asked me not to smoke around Peter tonight. I'm not typical and I'm really confused as to why Rose thought it would be good to set us up. Did she actually think this would work?
"Huh...you talk as if you know him."
"No, I just know his type," he smugly replies.
"Ah, you and the stereotypes again," I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.
I honestly couldn't look away from Flannel Boy for more than a few minutes. I need to know him if for no other reason than to prove Peter wrong. To show him that his keen sense of reading people is shallow and that Flannel Boy isn't who Peter thinks he is. I'm tempted to get up and walk over to Rosalie, maybe get my own introduction to Flannel Boy, but just as I'm about to follow through with that thought, he and Emmett do this stupid handshake and 'my type' walks away. I crane my neck to see where he is going but I lose him in the crowd. I'm sure my disappointment shows own my face.
Peter offers to get us another round and I thank him as he gets up and moves away from the table. I use the opportunity to take a deep breath and relax. Rosalie and Emmett join me at the table while Peter's gone. Immediately Rose wants to know what I think of Peter.
"Soooo…" she draws out excitedly. "Didn't I tell you he was great? He is great isn't he?"
I place my hand on top of hers on the table. "Rosie, sweetie," I say, using my nicest tone. I'm going to butter her up before I smack her down. "Do you even know me?" She looks disappointed and confused. "Flannel Boy…now that's me. Why couldn't you set me up with Flannel Boy?"
"Flannel boy?" Rosalie questions.
Emmett laughs. "You mean Cullen?" he asks.
"Bella...he is like, not together. At all," Rose emphasizes.
"He looks damn near perfect to me," I state, remembering just how perfect he looked from all angles.
"Bella, I thought you were ready to...I don't know, grow up?" Sarcasm is not pretty on my best friend but she does it very well. She obviously doesn't like my attraction to Flannel Boy…I mean Cullen. I love it when friends decide they know what is best for you.
"I'm already grown up!" The moment the words leave my mouth even I have admit I sound like a teenager.
Rose and I may be best friends but we don't always see eye to eye. In her opinion, being a grown up is very traditional. I should be looking for Mr. Right and starting a family. I should be thinking about a 401k and buying a house. I'm only twenty-four. The way Rose acts, she must think my biological clock is moving in fast forward. Kids left my radar eight years ago. It's as if she hasn't heard me tell her a thousand times. Life is too fragile, to many turns, surprises to even attempt to keep up.
Rosalie drops her chin and looks up at me as if to say 'really?' I could argue my point but it's not worth it. I'm happy, content with my life. I take care of myself and the rest, well, it will come or it won't. I'm not the type to make plans or force anything.
"Why don't you explain to me why Flannel Boy isn't good enough," I coax with a smirk, waiting for her to spill the juicy details.
"He lives in an old, beat up RV and travels all over just to play these shows. The only thing he gives a shit about is his guitar."
"So he's the guy we came to see tonight?" I try to keep any hint of judgment out of my voice. I don't want to say or do anything that will lead her to think I consider him the loser that she does. He is doing what makes him happy, what he is passionate about, and I respect anyone who can say the same.
"Just...Peter is a good guy, Bella. He isn't going anywhere. Cullen, on the other hand…he always leaves," she explains with a hint of worry in her voice.
"Whatever," I mumble, just as Peter appears with my beer. I smile and thank him before taking a sip. I can't force myself to be attracted to someone I'm not, or vice versa.
Just then I hear a shy 'hello' amplified throughout the building and turn to see the topic of our conversation on the stage, an acoustic guitar hanging around his neck. He places a beer down by the mic stand, drawing my attention to his feet. I notice he is wearing Doc Martens that look a lot like mine. I smile to myself as I look down at my own shoes.
The only word that comes to mind as I watch him is humble. He does not look comfortable enough to perform well in front of a crowd but when he actually starts to play and sing all that washes away. His fingers move confidently over the strings of his guitar like it's part of him. Everyone applauds at the end of his song and the shy, humble boy makes another appearance. He takes a minute to get a sip of beer and then thanks the crowd.
I have never been so attracted to anyone in my entire life. I need to speak to him. I need him to notice me. Being in his presence feels like an itch I can't scratch by myself, so I get up and wander toward the stage. I don't even care that none of my friends follow me. When I'm close enough that I think I can get his attention I stop and sway to his music, mesmerized. As he sings, his blue eyes roam the crowd, eventually meeting mine. I mouth 'hey' with my best flirtatious grin. He gives me a beautiful smile as he continues to belt out the lyrics.
After a set he takes a break, announcing he will be back on in twenty. I expect him to disappear backstage but he steps down the left side of the stage and makes his way toward the bar. A few girls reach out and flirt as he walks through the crowd. From my vantage point it looks like he somehow manages to avoid talking to any of them without being rude.
Once he reaches the bar I move to find my way back to Rosalie, Emmett, and Peter. Peter offers his opinion on the performance, saying it's 'okay', but his taste in music sucks so I can't take it seriously.
I continue to watch Cullen as the bartender slides a beer and a shot over to the singer before he could even ask for them. He turns to survey the place, stopping abruptly as he finds our corner of the room. He calls for the bartender again and then walks toward our table.
"Yo, you sounded great," Emmett praises.
"Thanks," Flannel Boy answers with a smile before turning to look directly at me.
"Edward, this is Bella and Peter. Guys, this is Edward," Emmett introduces. Edward shakes Peter's hand, then reaches for mine.
"Bella," he says as our hands meet. I can feel my cheeks redden at his attention. I'm such an idiot.
"Hey. You were great," I say automatically. Now I feel even more like a tool because I basically just repeated what Emmett said seconds ago.
He chuckles and thanks me too. As he drops my hand a waitress comes over and sets down shots for everyone. "Hope you all like JD," Edward says, holding up his shot glass.
I try not to gag as I swallow it because I'm not a shot girl. I know Edward notices my reaction when he leans in and whispers, "You good?"
I nod, then look straight into his eyes. "I'm good."
He moves even closer and breathes, "You definitely look good," right against my ear. His warm breath sends shivers up my spine and when he straightens up I see a seductive smirk cross his face. "Great even." he adds in a normal volume, looking off in the distance.
I can't take my eyes off him. As he lifts a cigarette to his mouth I'm fascinated by the calluses on his hands, evidence of hours and hours playing the guitar.
Screw Rose and especially screw Peter. "Got a light?" I ask just to keep him close and interacting with me. Edward casually pulls out his lighter and lights my cigarette. I can smell the nicotine on his hands when they are close to my face. Once the cigarette catches Edward outs the lighter and reaches over to push some hair behind my ear.
This is when I know his hands are my calling.
SOOO? What do you think?