Chapter Notes: Sorry for the delay, guys. Thanks to my beta, Missy, for taking the time to fix my mistakes, and for always telling me like it is. ;) Thanks to my lovah for always reading my crappy, unedited chapters and being real with me, and for basically just being her. I love you, Hannah. :) And, of course, thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing.

SPECIAL thanks to: Sweek539, alfalfa04, and LaLerin for buying me in the Fandom Gives Back auction. These three amazing ladies collectively donated $170 to a wonderful cause by bidding on me - I think the whole auction ended up collecting about $83,000 - and I'm so honored to be a part of a community that cares enough to do all this for a cause I'm really passionate about. Okay, enough. Enjoy! xx

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its affiliates. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. Drr.

-E-

I sat on the couch with pursed lips, tapping a pen against my thigh, and stared at the composition book laying on the table. At some point within the last few days, the bane of my existence had changed from Rosalie to this cheap, wretched thing (although I hadn't talked to her in as long, so it was all together possible that theory would revert back when I did).

I'd tried, I really had. Every time I settled in with a nice porn video and lotion and started to jack off, a little voice in my head kept chanting, "Remember your technique!" That was off-putting in and of itself. Add in the mental image of me humping Cletus – I was very much aware that Cletus was a male name. However, that was the only one I could come up with that seemed fitting for that fucking doll - that never failed to pop up immediately after, along with the knowledge that I'd have to do it over and over again for the next seven weeks, and my hard-on was no more.

Not only was I going to fail my first assignment, but now I was extremely sexually frustrated. I hadn't been able to properly masturbate in four fucking days. Wasn't it bad enough that I was shit in bed? Did God not find my shortcomings humorous enough, and he needed to add to them?

"I'm not amused, God," I muttered, throwing my pen at the composition book. It bounced off the cover and twirled a few feet in the air, landing on the floor. I leaned my head back with closed eyes, sighing heavily. I really didn't feel like getting up to retrieve it. I opened my eyes and stared at my blank wide screen, occasionally averting my gaze over to the pen then back to the TV. After about five minutes of doing this, in complete and utter silence, I damn near fell off the couch when I heard: Bang! Bang! Bang! "Open up, sucka!"

"Go away," I groaned, hoisting myself up from the couch and trudging towards the door as Emmett – I knew without a shadow of a doubt it was him - pounded loudly a few more times.

"Get dressed," Emmett said without preamble, pushing me aside and strolling into the living room immediately after I opened the door. "We're going out."

I stared at his back, as he walked to the couch and plopped down.

"Come in, have a seat, make yourself comfortable," I said sarcastically, pushing the door shut with my foot and following his path.

"Uh huh," he replied, swiping the composition book off the table and flipping through it. "What the hell is this?"

"Nothing that concerns you," I quipped, snatching it out of his hands. Thank God I didn't have anything written in there. I didn't even want to think about how I'd explain that one.

"Are you trying to write poetry or some shit?" he asked, scoffing slightly. "Why the hell else would you need that?"

"No, I'm not writing poetry," I snapped. "It's for..." Shit, shit, shit. Think, Cullen! "...It's for the restaurant."

Original.

Emmett raised a skeptical eyebrow, so clearly I hadn't fooled him.

"There's times that I think of things – ideas and such for food – and I say to myself, 'I'll remember it tomorrow', but I never do." I didn't know where the hell this crock of shit was coming from, but I couldn't really afford to ponder it. I needed to keep going until he bought it. "So I bought one of these 'cos they're cheap and readily available for such instances. Not that it's really any of your business," I added.

He stared at me for a few moments before shrugging and responding with, "Whatever."

Really? I just busted my ass to come up with a legit lie only for him to say, "Whatever"?

"You know, I really wouldn't mind your presence so much, had I been expecting you."

"The surprise factor makes it all the more worthy of appreciation. Go get dressed; I wanna be at Trinity by 9:30." Emmett grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, then began surfing through the channels.

"I don't want to go anywhere." More like, "What's the point? I can't fuck anybody."

"I don't recall asking you what you wanted," he retorted, propping his feet on my coffee table.

"Get out of my house, asshole."

"No, it's okay. Besides, you don't have anything else to do." Actually, I do. I have to work on my jack-off journal.

Yeah, right. I'd rather falsely admit I was writing poetry about my cold, blackened soul than tell him the truth. Rolling my eyes and sighing in defeat, I grumbled my compliance and trudged to my room to get ready for my pointless night out.

This bastard was gonna owe me big.

*

I sat at the bar, casually drinking my second bottle of Heineken as I looked out to the hundreds of dancing bodies with a bored expression. Emmett had disappeared almost immediately after getting a drink with the usual vapid bimbo hanging off his arm. I' d been sitting here ever since – God knew how long that had been – wishing I'd pretended to OD on sleeping pills or something; anything that might have made Emmett leave my apartment before I'd answered the door so I wouldn't have had to endure this crap. I probably would have been just as bored, but at least I'd still have been home with my wide screen, I'd have one more clean outfit, and the twenty dollar bill I'd had to break would still be in my wallet.

A hand slapped my back hard and I tensed, whipping around in my seat and ready to deck somebody. Emmett appeared next to me a moment later, leaning his side against the bar, and I relaxed, knowing it had probably been him.

"Enjoying yourself?" he joked, gesturing to the beer I was nursing.

"It's stuffy, it's beginning to smell, and – I'm starting to sound like my father in the gym's locker room."

"You're killing my buzz, man!" he shouted in my ear, his eyes droopy and slightly glazed over as he stared at me with a lazy grin. "I can see you sulking from a mile away."

"I would apologize, but I don't really care," I shouted back. "Where's the ho?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, "lost her about twenty minutes ago. I've moved onto Ivanka, now." He turned and waved, smirking and nodding towards the dance floor. I followed the direction of his gaze with a raised eyebrow and rolled my eyes as I spotted the clone of the former hooker. I turned back towards the bar and finished off my beer, slamming the bottle down on the counter.

"Her tits look like they're about to explode," I snorted.

"I know. Isn't it great? Later!"

I shook my head, running my hands through my hair. I wished he'd hurry the fuck up and decide who to take home so I could leave and get back to my pathetic life. One of the bartenders – Tracy, her name tag read – sauntered over to grab my empty beer bottle.

"You want another drink, handsome?" she asked flirtatiously, folding her arms on the bar counter and leaning forward so her tits were practically falling out. Naturally, my gaze drifted down, and I chastised myself for falling for that move. I looked back up at her face and she smirked, smacking her gum.

"No, I'm good," I replied, clearing my throat. "Thanks."

"You sure? I can't get you anything?" she insisted. Sure, if you're a genie in disguise and can alter my sex techniques, I thought. Instead, I clenched my jaw, smiling tightly at her as I nodded my head curtly. She shrugged and turned, sashaying to the other end of the bar, and I looked after her wistfully. Two weeks ago I would have been all over that; I'd have waited around until she was off work, gone to her place, and hit it good - or at least I'd have thought I hit it good. Now I was reduced to being a boring old fart sitting alone at the bar, getting irritated because my best friend was taking too long to find his next sexual conquest.

Just as I began to scowl at the thought, I saw him stumbling through the throng of people swaying on the dance floor, his arm slung over yet another girl – apparently his stint with Ivanka was short-lived. His hand was dangerously close to her boob, his fingers slightly curved as if he were about to cop a feel. To an innocent bystander – or a drunk one, considering our location – it would look coincidental; like his hand was just in a relaxed position, but I knew better.

"Ready to go?" he slurred slightly, once he and the unknown tramp approached me, wiggling his eyebrows as he grinned drunkenly. I rolled my eyes and stood up, feeling my pockets for my wallet and phone. Still-yet-to-be-identified-woman leaned into him and whispered in his ear, and Emmett laughed, shrugging, before turning his attention back to me.

"I don't know, are you joining us, Eddie?" he snorted. I stared blankly at him, extremely unamused.

"While that offer is tempting," I said blandly, "I think I'll pass."

"Good deal, man. More of..." He trailed off, his eyes looking around as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, "...This sexy lady for me," he finished, and I put the back of my hand to my mouth, looking to the side as I laughed silently at the fact that he couldn't even remember her name. Clearing my throat and sniffing, I looked back at the two in amusement, gesturing towards the exit.

Ten fucking hours later we made it out to the car. It'd been an ordeal and a half trying to get the keys from Emmett, as he and what's-her-face were mauling each other against random cars the entire way. I swear to God, if I had to pull him by the back of his blazer and shove him in the right direction one more time, my foot would have been lodged so far up his ass, it would have taken a five hour surgery to remove it.

The two of them continued their foreplay in the backseat as I pulled onto the street and started toward his apartment. I cringed and fake-gagged at every moan and whisper of dirty talk, smacking the knob on the stereo to turn on the radio. A deafening roar came through the speakers, insanely fast drumming and guitar riffs in the background, and scared the living shit out of me. I immediately smacked the knob again to turn the stereo off, looking down at it wearily.

"What the fuck was that?" Emmett shouted.

"I don't know! It's your fucking music, you tell me!" I snapped, glaring at him in the rearview mirror.

"I don't even – mmmm, do that again baby," he moaned.

"Oh, for the love of – fuck my life," I groaned, stepping on the gas pedal as I turned.

I couldn't have pulled up to the curb in front of Emmett's complex fast enough. I threw the car into park and jumped out, pulling the back seat up. After 30 seconds of leaning my palm against the door panel and nobody exiting, I stuck my leg inside the door cautiously – Emmett's black Nissan 370Z was his pride and joy, and if I fucked up anything in or on that car, he would have my balls – and stomped down on his foot to get his attention. A yelp and a few select curse words later, he and Skankzilla (who looked like hell outside the club, by the way – I'd have a hell of a good time giving him shit when he would undoubtedly call me up in a state of panic in the morning) stumbled out of the car, hanging off of each other.

"I'm taking your car home," I stated simply as I began taking the key off the ring, knowing he was too drunk and too involved with sucking face to argue. He grunted, holding out his hand, and I dropped his remaining keys onto his palm. "I'll bring it back tomorrow," I called after him as they started towards the doors of his complex. He didn't pay me any mind, and, with a shrug and a smirk, I put the seat back, got into the car, and drove off.

I glanced at the clock while stopped at a red light and sighed. It was half past midnight, and while I'd been so eager to get the hell out of the club, I really didn't feel going home anymore. As I approached the street I needed to turn down to get home, I twisted my lips to the side in contemplation.

Sit at home with your jerk-off journal, or go for a late night cruise in a pimp car? Yeah, hardly a difficult decision.

I zoomed through the green light, heading towards the freeway. I turned the stereo back on, lowering the volume immediately so as not to get the crap scared out of me again, and changed the station to The End as I merged onto the I-5 South. I drove down the freeway, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of each song. After about fifteen minutes I figured I may as well turn around when I saw a Denny's billboard. Right on queue, my stomach growled uncomfortably, reminding me that I'd skipped dinner. Figuring, once again, that I had nothing better waiting for me at home, I switched lanes and veered off on the next exit. A stop light and five minutes later, I pulled into the surprisingly, fairly empty lot and parked. Compulsively, I hit the alarm button three times, just to make sure it was locked, before walking into the restaurant.

I smiled and nodded at the waiter who asked if it was just me, following him to one of the smaller booths on the right side of the restaurant. I requested a water and opened my menu, my mouth salivating at the pictures of all the delicious looking burgers. That was the problem with going out to eat when you were absolutely famished; everything looked fan-fucking-tastic and you ordered the most random shit because it sounded good at the time...Until you were sitting there with a Western Burger, nachos, garlic bread, a Grand Slam, and a side of rice pilaf in front of you. The only thing that comes to mind at that point is, "What in the hell was I on when I ordered this shit?"

Deciding on the Chicken Ranch Melt – sans bacon – I closed my menu and set it down, wondering where the hell my water was.

"You good, B?" I heard from behind me. "I'll be with you soon, I promise."

"I'm good, Jake," a female voice replied in an amused tone. "No hurry."

I paused, furrowing my eyebrows slightly in concentration. Her voice sounded incredibly familiar, but I couldn't place it. Looking over my shoulder as subtly as I could manage – which, admittedly, wasn't very subtle – I took in the woman's face and nearly fell out of my seat.

Of all the fucking places – and times, at that – to run into Bella Swan...

Denny's was my new favorite late-night hangout.

-B-

I really shouldn't have cared what I looked like; normally, I didn't. Whenever I showed up here late at night, which was more often than not, I was always in sweats or pajama bottoms. There was no dress code at Denny's, and even if there was, Jake wouldn't have given two shits. He was the owner's son, he ran the damn place, and he was hardly the most dapper of men. Most nights, though, a client of mine didn't waltz in looking unconstitutionally gorgeous. Most nights, I didn't think of anybody as "unconstitutionally gorgeous". And I didn't want to fuck any of my clients...until said unconstitutionally gorgeous client walked into my office two weeks ago.

Damn it all to hell; I was completely screwed.

Even more so when he looked over his shoulder and recognition crossed his face. I gripped my coffee mug and pursed my lips, cursing myself internally. I knew I should have switched seats when he walked in. He hadn't noticed me when he first walked in, so he definitely wouldn't have seen me if my back was to him. Maybe I wanted him to see me, though, as absurd as that seemed considering I looked like hell warmed over. I had no make up on, I was in baggy sweats and a zip-up hoodie, and my hair was thrown up in a messy bun. I was hardly the definition of beauty right now. Regardless of my apparent warped way of thinking, he'd seen me, and he was still staring at me. There was no escaping the inevitable communication.

Jake took his order, openly glaring at Edward as he was still continuously looking in my direction. I smirked slightly; no matter how often I assured Jake I had things under control, he was still overprotective of me. After Jake snatched Edward's menu off the table and stalked off towards the kitchen (probably to instruct the chef to dump a bunch of chipotle sauce on his order inconspicuously), throwing me cautious glances as he went, Edward turned more in his seat to face me better.

"Bella?" he asked finally.

"Edward," I said, though it sounded more like a wistful sigh than anything else. I tensed slightly. I needed to get myself under control. I couldn't turn into an overly-hormonal teenage girl who fawns over her crush in the hallway every day whenever I talked to him.

He stared at me for a few moments in complete silence, his eyes glazing over slightly, and I swallowed, looking around awkwardly as I twisted my mug around on the table. He blinked a few times, shaking himself out of his daze, and scratched his head.

"What, uh, what are you doing...here?" he asked, stumbling over his words.

"What everybody's doing this late at night – waiting for my drug dealer," I deadpanned. His eyes widened exponentially, a look of horror crossing his face before he smoothed his expression into one of nonchalance.

"Ah. Well, have fun..." he trailed off, his eyebrows furrowed as he slowly began to turn around. I couldn't help it. I snorted loudly, clapping my hand over my mouth as I snickered. He turned back to me, giving me an odd look, which turned into one of confusion, then realization.

"You weren't—" he started, and I shook my head side to side, my eyes closed as I chortled.

"If I truly was waiting for a drug dealer," I said after I'd caught my breath, "I wouldn't be doing it at Denny's, and I most certainly wouldn't broadcast it like that. Especially not to a client."

"Yeah, I figured that out a little late," he replied, chuckling at his momentary lapse of judgment. "I'm really not that stupid, I swear."

"I believe you," I replied, a grin still on my face.

"Do you, uh..." He paused for a moment, looking slightly unsure of himself, before continuing, "Would you like to join me?"

Shit. I swallowed thickly, my eyes closing as the grin fell from my lips. You shouldn't, Bella. You really shouldn't.

I really shouldn't want to, I argued...with myself. And I used to be a therapist. A sex therapist, but a therapist nonetheless.

"I mean, you don't have to," he hurriedly added. "I just thought it'd be a little more convenient than talking through a glass divider on the back of my seat. It's fine, though."

Great, I scolded myself. You managed to make the poor guy second-guess himself even more than he probably already does when all you want to do is hop over that glass divider and ride him like there's no—

"No, it's not that," I said quickly, ridding myself of inappropriate thoughts as much as I possibly could. "I...I'd love to."

I picked up my coffee mug and purse, slid out of my seat, and walked slowly towards the booth in front of me as Edward turned back around in his seat.

"More water, sir?" Jake asked tersely, holding the water pitcher up for emphasis. By the look on his face and the small smirk gracing his lips, I could tell he was picturing himself dumping the ice cold water all over Edward's head. Idiot. Edward nodded, smiling nervously at him – clearly, he'd noticed Jake's seemingly unwarranted hostility.

"I want more coffee," I stated in an attempt to get the focus off Edward. Jake looked over at me like I was nuts for sitting with the guy who was blatantly staring at me ten minutes ago, and I sighed in defeat. I hadn't really wanted to get into the details of how I knew Edward, but for his sake, I figured I should clear the air.

"Edward, this is Jacob," I continued. "He's my best friend." Edward nodded up at Jake awkwardly before looking back at me. "Jake, this is Edward. I'm...working with him...temporarily."

Jake's expression went from guarded, to confused, then realization flashed across his face, followed almost immediately by incredulity. I felt horrible because I knew, even though he didn't, that I'd betrayed Edward's trust. Jake had been the ex-boyfriend I'd told him about when he'd asked how I got started doing what I do, so naturally, he knew what I meant whenever a "client" was mentioned, or, in this case, somebody I was "working" with.

With that knowledge, though, Jake also knew that I never fraternized with clients outside of the office. I'd surprisingly never actually run into one in public – Denny's in the middle of the night, at that – but even if I had, I'd never have actually sat with them. I knew Jake's mind was reeling with questions, that much was evident in his eyes. I looked up at him in defeat, hoping to convey that I had no idea what the hell I was doing or why, other than the fact that I wanted to be here with Edward. Jake took that as his queue to leave, nodding his head infinitesimally but giving me a, "We're gonna talk about this at some point," look as he walked around the corner. I sighed and slumped against the booth. Why did this have to be so damn difficult?

"That was...awkward," he muttered.

"Sorry about that," I said, clearing my throat and straightening in my seat. "He's overbearing and thinks everybody's trying to molest me."

Edward laughed nervously, squirming in his seat. We sat in awkward silence for a few moments; me tapping my fingers on the rim of my mug, and him tapping his fingers against his wrapped up silverware.

"So tell me about yourself," he said finally.

"I already did," I replied, quirking an eyebrow as I took a sip of my coffee.

"No, you told me about your work," he corrected. "I want to know about you."

I stared at him for a few moments before saying softly, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he responded easily. "Where are you from?"

"I'm a Seattle native – born and raised," I said confidently. "You?"

"Same. Favorite color?"

"Red."

"Green," he replied before I had a chance to ask him the same question. I smirked, enjoying the easiness of the conversation.

"Favorite band?" I asked.

"Smashing Pumpkins. They were my very first concert at nine years old." I nodded in approval, then he asked, "Yours?"

"Beatles."

"Nice. They're a close second."

I scoffed. "Please. Everything else pales in comparison."

And so we continued on like that, exchanging questions and answers. When his food came conversation didn't lull; he simply pushed his plate towards me, silently offering me fries, and argued the order in which I listed my favorite movies. When we finally began yawning we looked at the time.

"It's been three hours?" I asked, completely flabbergasted.

"Doesn't seem like it was that long," he mused.

"No, it doesn't."

"That's a good thing in my book."

I turned my gaze back to him, noting that even with tired eyes, he was still extraordinarily handsome. At that moment I hated my job, because really, that was the only thing preventing me from leaning across the table and kissing him senseless.

And I really hated whoever the hell had told him to come to me. I would figure it out sooner or later, and when I did, I was going to punch him in the nuts.

"I shouldn't be sitting here, talking with you like this," I murmured, my eyes roaming across Edward's face.

"Why not?" he countered, his honey brown eyes blazing.

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

"Then why'd you say that?" he chuckled.

"Because I feel like I should say that;think that."

"But you don't." He didn't ask, simply stated.

"I don't," I agreed.

"Good. I'd feel like a tool if you didn't want to be here."

It was my turn to chuckle. "And why is that?"

"Because I can't think of any place I'd rather be right now."

My breath caught in my throat. Yes, I could and would admit that it was an extremely corny thing to say, but the sincerity in his tone and on his face shifted my heart into overdrive. Mostly because I felt the same way, and try as I might, I couldn't figure out a better way to say it.

Dammit, I was in deep shit. But my gut and a small voice in the back of my mind told me that maybe, just maybe, he was worth it; that, perhaps, it was a risk I was ready and willing to take.

End Notes: Review, bb's; let me know what you think! ALSO, head over to the thread! Linkage on my home page. :)