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Warning… not beta'd. All mistakes are mine.

April Witfit…

Prompt: Joke

"Rosalie, I think I'm gonna take off early."

I looked over at my boss, expecting the usual look of annoyance, but was surprised by her smile. "Go ahead, kid. Take off. You've been gone all day as it is. It's slow, it's no problem."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She propped herself up on the counter and drummed her fingers on the tile. "Every time tall, dark and handsome comes in, your brain goes kaput and you're in la-la land for the rest of the day. It's cool, I get it."

I giggled. "Am I seriously that obvious?"

"You seriously are. If I weren't all washed up and married, I might get all the giddies when he walked in, too, but I am, so…"

I unwrapped my apron and wadded it up in a ball. "It's not like I have a chance—I mean, I'm so not his type, and he's definitely not my usual type, but… gah! He is just so pretty!"

She rolled her eyes and hopped down. "Shoo with you. I have work to do. See you bright and early."

I usually volunteered at the animal shelter on Mondays, but I wasn't in the mood for some reason. Usually being around all that furry cuteness made me feel alive and happy, but I had an uncharacteristically shitty attitude, so I decided to just board myself up in the house and mope.

If I wanted to admit it, which I didn't, I was really wigged out about that guy. Edward. Sadly, the only reason I knew his name was because I had to ask for it when I took his order. I'd never had a problem talking to guys before—ever, but when it came to him, I was all twisted up and tongue-tied. I blamed his blasted smile for my stupidity around him. It just captivated me and put me into this twister of emotions I couldn't even label. It was infectious, and I was definitely addicted to it, and him.

Rosalie liked to rib me about him, and it didn't bother me most of the time. It was better than her ribbing me about my slew of fans that would come in and ask me out all the time. Some of them were cute, all of them were sweet, but none of them were him. Had he not come in on my first day of work and ruined me for other men, they may have had a chance.

But… there was no chance in hell. He'd robbed me of any interest in the opposite sex. I hadn't gone on a date in… nine months, and sex… we hadn't been friends in almost a year. Self love with his name whispered into a dark room as I came alone was about as frisky as things got. Pathetic, but true. Saddest part was that it was more satisfying than actual sex had been in the past. Imagining his face, those eyes and his God damn smile left me breathless and aroused.

I laughed at myself as I grabbed my half-eaten carton of ice-cream from the freezer. If he had any idea about the things that went on in my perverted mind… holy hell! He'd probably run as fast as he could to register a restraining order on my crazy ass. I mean, it was depraved. Sick. I was insane in the head for the guy, and the only thing I'd ever said to him involved coffee orders and have a nice day.

"Your life is officially the lamest thing ever."

Talking to myself had become the norm, too. After my stray cat got sick of my weird conversations and ran away, it was all me, myself and I alone with our obsession with Edward Cullen.

I was embarrassed to admit that I'd Googled him after overhearing my co-worker say that he was a hockey player. It was a sad day at the Swan house when I pulled up page after page about him. He was a star, and not just a great player for the area, he was like… legit, big time sports star. The thing about it was… he didn't act like it. He didn't carry himself like some cocky jock or anything, so it definitely surprised me when I found out.

Sports were nowhere on my radar. No-where. I knew hockey was played with a stick and a puck, and that was about the extent of my knowledge of hockey. Same went for baseball and football. Ball, bat, foot, ball. I didn't get it, gave up trying to figure it out when I was ten years old and my dad tried to force me to watch it on TV, and I never looked back.

That said, I found myself spending a lot of time wondering about Edward and what he did. What made him choose to be a hockey player? Was it is childhood dream, his passion? Did he live, breathe hockey, or was it a way to pay the bills and stay out of the rat race? Some days I made myself crazy wondering about him and what he thought about and did. I was like that. I'd always thought too much, read too much into everything. Anything I saw or heard I had to tear apart and figure out. I was too curious for my own good. My dad called me a dreamer. Everyone else thought I was a weirdo.

"He probably thinks I'm a weirdo, too," I muttered into the empty room.

I popped my spoon in my mouth and savored the creamy sweetness. Things seriously had to change. My life had become this huge joke. To say I felt pathetic was a serious understatement.

He hadn't come in for weeks, and I had started losing hope of ever seeing him again. I mean, sure, if I wanted to, there were plenty of ways of stalking him, but I wasn't that far gone. No, I lived for my brief moments at work, until they stopped. Then, he walked in that morning, all scrubbed down and pretty, smelling like spicy soap and wearing that damn v-neck t-shirt that I loved-the one so worn it had holes, his sunglasses tucked into the collar, giving me a peek at the hair on his chest, and the jeans that snuggled up around his ass like a prayer.

His smile, though. It made every part of my body quiver, and when I say every part, I mean, every part.

Each day he'd walk in, share his pretty smile and then walk out the door with his black coffee, lemon muffin, and my heart.

Thank you for reading!

There won't be an update schedule on this. I'm going to strive to update at least three times a week, but that's not a promise. This is just mostly a way to break my writer's block and because I told my sista I would write this Hockeyfucker for her.