Disclaimer: These characters aren't ours, but we did ask Santa if we could have an Emmett for Christmas. We haven't been good, but we're hopeful anyway.

oOo

I am lucky.

I am a lucky sonofabitch.

I've got this perfect life - a great family, a sweet condo in Back Bay, a business that has thrived since Jasper and I started it five years earlier, and the best friend a guy could ask for.

Yes sir, I am lucky indeed. Not to mention the fact I'm about to get even luckier, with the sinful blonde giving me the fuck me now eyes.

If I can get the fucking door open, that is.

"Hurry."

Her voice alone is enough to make me contemplate breaking the damn thing down.

I work even quicker to get the key in the damn lock so we can get into my apartment and out of the hallway. The lock is giving me grief, like it has some moral opposition about what's going to happen.

I've got her back against the door and she's purring in my ear, taking the lobe between her teeth and bearing down. She's already working my zipper while simultaneously stroking me through my pants, making it even more difficult to perform the simple action of putting a key into a keyhole.

I'm beginning to think it's a lost cause and I'm seriously weighing the possibilities of running to the store for WD-40 versus just fucking her in the hallway. Just when I'm pretty sure the the key is going to wave the white flag, I feel the lock start to give. I flick my wrist and I'm in, sliding the key in with ease, like it's right where it belongs. Dear God, let this be an omen.

Before I have time to ask if I can take her coat or offer her a drink, she's got my pants undone and her hand under my boxers and wrapped around my dick. As good as it feels, and damn does it feel good, she's definitely taking the lead and I want it back. I walk her backward through the doorway, kicking it shut behind me, and press her against the wall. This is where I rule. I'm good in the living room. Fuck, half the time I never make it to the bedroom.

I can feel her mouth open against my ear, and she's mumbling something about how hard I am. I quiet her with a shhhh because this is not the time for talking, it's not the time for thinking, it's just the time for fucking. My hands wrap around her hair, the color of sunshine but stiff from hairspray, and I pull back, tipping her head so that I have access to her neck.

"Fuck Emmett, I need you inside of me."

I have every intention of making that happen and I'm vacillating between just taking her on the couch or placing my hands on her ass cheeks and carrying her into the bedroom. Of course, this is the point when my phone decides to conspire with the door on the cockblocking and starts buzzing. Her slim fingers find the offensive distraction in my pocket and pull it out, quickly sending it flying across the room so it lands on the couch with a thump.

I should answer, it could be a client. It's probably not, but it could be. I forget about the phone when her hands attack my already open fly. In a move that seems effortless, and I don't know or care why, she's got my pants and boxer briefs down in one fell swoop. She slides down my body and her knees hit the plush carpet with a soft thud. So this is what she meant when she said she needs me inside of her? Well shit, works for me.

The phone's buzzing again and while it's faint from across the room, I can still hear it. As much as I'm enjoying what she's doing with her lips and her tongue and her teeth, I know I've got to at least check and make sure it's not a client calling. Neither of us have a 9-5 job, so she knows what it's like.

I take advantage of the fact that she's come up for air, stepping back and motioning for her to stand up. She pouts a little, but she still rises to her feet, leaning back against the wall like she's all of a sudden in no rush at all. Her shirt is unbuttoned and her skirt is hiked halfway up her thighs, even though I can't remember any activity that involved her clothes. She's like a fucking ninja. A ridiculously hot, half-naked, sex ninja.

Momentarily forgetting my phone, I push my body flush against hers, grinding myself against her, waiting for her to do that little gasp-moan that she was doing in the hallway. I don't have to wait long. Fuck, I don't have to wait at all, because every time I thrust against her she meets me, giving it right back. I lift her up and she works with me, placing her hands on my chest and pushing back against the wall for support while she wraps her legs around my waist.

She starts talking again, about how bad she wants me and every word goes straight to the spot she's rubbing against. I grab her chin and kiss her hard, not caring at all that she had my dick in her mouth a minute ago, just trying to make this last long enough to make sure everyone gets what they came for. She's gripping the front of my shirt and twisting it in her first and I'll be damned if I'm going to have to get the buttons replaced again. Why do they always go for the buttons?

I pin her hips with mine, trapping her between me and the wall, while I take her wrists and ease them up over her head. They both fit easily in one hand, which leaves the other one free to maneuver between us. I let go of her face and slide my fingers down over her collarbone and between her breasts. They're fake, but I knew that just from looking at them. It's not my preference, but she's fucking sexy as hell, regardless of whether her assets are store bought. Still, I miss tits; real, soft, perfectly imperfect tits.

I don't bother staying in the silicone valley long, because we're far beyond breast fondling at this point. There's only one thing she wants touched and it's currently grinding against my increasingly painful erection. I slip my hand between us, finding nothing but slick skin. She apparently got her panties off at some point. Fuck, maybe she never had any on. I groan at the thought and she pulls her mouth away from mine, scraping my jaw with her teeth as she moves her lips to my ear once again.

"Emmett, I really appreciate this whole seduction thing, but do you think you could fuck me now?"

Even when you are as lucky as I am, it's not every day that you have a gorgeous girl, naked and begging you to fuck her. I let go of her wrists, grazing my fingertips over the skin of her forearms, loving the way she shivers a little.

She lowers her arms slowly, pressing her hands flat against my chest, before running them up into my hair. She's pulling a little and looking me in the eyes and she smiles that little smile that says 'it's time.' I start to extricate my hand from between us, but she whimpers and pouts.

"Hey now, I seem to remember a 'fuck me' request. Yes?" My free hand traces the soft curve of her ass. "We can continue here if you'd rather... I've got all night."

She shakes her head no and wraps herself around me, her hands gripping my shoulders. I don't need to hold her up or use the wall for leverage anymore, because she's practically attached to me. Her boots heels are digging into my ass but hell if I care. She's voiced her needs and I was raised to honor a woman's request.

I step backwards, careful not to trip as I make my way to the couch. She feels like she doesn't weigh a thing, and I'm plenty strong enough to lift her, but I've still got three fingers inside her and I can't see shit because her hair is everywhere. Plus, she's distracting me with her mouth on my neck, biting and sucking and probably leaving one hell of a bruise.

We've been leading up to this point for weeks; interested glances across a conference room, a business card with her home number written on the back pressed into my hand at the end of a meeting, calls at the office to talk details that we both knew didn't need going over. We'd been dancing around this, but from the moment she opened the door to her apartment a couple hours ago, I knew exactly where we were headed.

And here we are.

And there she is. Splayed on the couch and panting, looking up at me like I am some sort of a god. And damn it, I feel like one. Grasping the back of the couch so I don't put my entire body weight on her, my knee finds its place on the leather, next to where her leg is twitching restlessly. Her hands are doing all sorts of wicked things, scraping over my chest before grasping my shoulders and then digging into my back.

The goddamn phone lights up again and the damn thing is like the Boston Lighthouse, it's that bright.

She pulls back, annoyed, and I don't blame her because I'm pretty damn annoyed myself. Reaching over, she grabs the phone off the couch and looks at the screen.

"Oh, this is rich." She reads the text that just came through. "Whatever her name is, she can wait five minutes. xo, Rose."

Kate's actually met Rosalie before but now is not the time for conversation about my knock-out (albeit pain in the ass, at this particular moment) best friend. "Not important, Kate. Honest to God, ignore it." I press the power button for a few seconds, shutting off the phone and throw it onto the coffee table. Rose is not going to mess this up for me this time.

Kate's expression is still one of annoyance until I press my lips against her tits (because while they are fake, they are still tits) and my fingers revisit where they'd been moments before and the haze glosses over her eyes. I try not to think about the damn text message from Rosalie, try to focus all of my energy and attention on Kate. And I have to say, I'm doing a bang up job of it... until the house phone rings.

"Are you shitting me?" Kate groans and throws her arm over forehead. I try to ignore the sound, try to just continue about my business with this gorgeous woman who is practically naked on my couch. Who is sexy and smart and funny and (most importantly) available.

The machine beeps and her rich, husky voice fills the room. It's the voice I'd heard daily for nearly ten years, the only voice that really mattered. Emmett, you need to pick up the phone. We have important business to discuss.

And just like that, Kate's off the couch and collecting her personal belongings like she's exiting a flight. "Kate, wait a..."

The skirt's already being hitched over those hot as fuck boots, which were apparently made for walking and not fucking this evening. Standing behind her, stark naked, I try to lure her back, running my nose along her neck as she buttons her shirt. My hands are over hers, trying to undo the buttons again and for a moment, I think it might work.

Until the house phone starts ringing again.

"Oh Emmett, we could have been so beautiful. But no." She runs her hand over her hair and picks up her purse from where she must have dropped it by the door. "It looks like you have important matters to deal with." At this point is when Rosalie's voice comes back over the speaker of the machine. "Fuck this, my vibrator may not feel as good as you, but at least it doesn't get calls from another woman."

Rosalie is still chatting away as the door unceremoniously slams I pick up the extension, while pressing the button on the machine.

"What?"

"You should really answer your calls, Emmett. What if I were someone from work?"

I lean down and pick up my scattered clothes, tossing them in the hamper in the hall closet as I walk past. "Ah, but you're not."

"Well, I sort of am... technically. I'm your caffeine supplier. Without me, you wouldn't get anything done. And then where would you be?" I open my mouth to tell her where I'd be right now, if she hadn't interrupted, but she cuts me off. "So, what'll it be?"

"You're asking me what I want from Starbucks in the morning?" I make my way to my bedroom, still pissed that I'd been interrupted mid pre-coital bliss. Pretty sure my voice isn't hiding the fact.

"That's right." At her answer, I sit on the end of the bed and flop back, exhaling nosily. My order never deviates, it's steadfast - black coffee, scone. And she knows it. Once in a while, if we're being "bad" we take a trip out to Flour Bakery so I can get a sticky bun and she can get the apple spice cake. But it's rare that we treat ourselves on weekdays since it's completely out of the way. Our waistlines probably thank us for the fact, even if our taste buds protest.

I don't answer her question because we both know that's not really why she's calling. "How'd you find out? That fucker Jasper told you that I was taking Kate out tonight, didn't he?"

Her reply is quick; I expect nothing less. "'That fucker Jasper' is my dear darling brother. Only I'm allowed to call him 'that fucker.' And it sounds more like you were taking her in. Really Em, why am I hearing about this from 'that fucker?' I should have heard about it from you, fucker." For a moment, I think I catch a hint of sadness in her voice and I'm about to apologize when I hear her blowing kisses into her phone, her signature goodbye. "I guess I'll let you return to that. Give Kate my regards." No no, that wasn't at all sarcastic.

"She left since you kept calling like my jealous wife."

"Oh, that's a shame." Yeah, she sounds really tore up over it. "You're too good for her and her fake boobs anyway, Emmett. I really did you a favor. Speaking of favors, I left a Penthouse in the bottom drawer of your nightstand when I was there Monday for dinner. Don't say I never did anything for you."

Rosalie Hale, ladies and gentlemen, supplier of both caffeine and porn.

"You're a sweetheart, Rosalie."

"You know it. Love you."

She waits silently.

I sit up and lean toward my nightstand, intent on getting the latest and greatest of tits and ass, not saying a word.

"LOVE you, Em." She says it again, reiterating the point and waiting for my answer. "Come on, say it. You know you do."

"Yeah, I love you too."

One more kiss in the phone and she's gone.

And I'm alone.

oOo

No-hot-sex-with-a-gorgeous-blonde makes Emmett a grumpy motherfucker, and I'm still not thrilled with Rosalie when I wake up in the morning. I figure walking to the office will help blow off some steam before she shows up with coffee and pretends like nothing happened the night before.

When in fact, nothing did, except for me jerking off like I was in high school and Kate getting cozy with her Hitachi magic wand. Thank you, once again, Rosalie Hale. She's lucky I love her the way that I do.

And I do love her.

She may have royally cockblocked me, but Rose is still my best friend. She has been since sophomore year of college and she always will be. Since the day we met on the college green, I knew she was someone special. A wayward football went flying in her direction while I was playing with the guys from my floor. Most girls would have picked up the ball and walked it over. She threw it neatly, spiraling toward me and told me she was joining the game. Then she proceeded to kick my ass and made me buy her a burger afterward.

I'd never been so blown away by a girl before. She'd shown up at my dorm the next day and informed me I was her date for the night. She'd picked out my clothes and told me to meet her downstairs in ten minutes. I made it in nine and she showed up half an hour later. It was the first of many times I wound up waiting for her, but the sight of her when she did show up made it worth it. Every time.

Rose is nothing I ever thought I wanted in a best friend. She's demanding and headstrong and a royal pain in the ass sometimes. I can't imagine not having her around.

She's more than just a best friend. She's my person.

And through her, I met Jasper. Which lead to finding a business partner, figuring out my lot in life, and landing where I am today. Pretty sweet deal, if you ask me. I've got it all.

Okay, not all. I know there's more to life than a nice house, a fast car and two weeks in wherever we (yeah, I vacation with Rose) happen to land every year. And it's not like I don't want someone to share it with. I just want to make sure that when I do settle down, it's for good.

I want what my parents have. I see the way my father still checks out my mom. I caught them making out in the pantry the last time I was over for dinner. It was pretty weird, but I hope that's me someday. To be still so in love after 35 years that you just have to be touching whenever you're together. And you just don't get that with anyone. You have to find the one.

Kate probably isn't the one, anyway, but I'd bet even money she's a great lay and I'd like to know that from firsthand experience. Kate is smart and sexy, with a body that could, and probably does, stop traffic. She's also a business contact and I'm going to have a hell of a time ironing out that end of things.

But she isn't the first 'not the one' in the parade of women to get naked in my apartment. Okay, maybe not a parade, but still, she's not the first blonde that I've brought home. She's also not the first one to never make it off the couch.

More often than not, they think it's something, and I don't. With Kate, I thought maybe... but it doesn't matter what I thought now, because any maybe is now a firm NO. I tried calling her after I got off the phone with Rose, just to say sorry or it's not what you think or I could come to your place, but she didn't pick up.

Thank God for Penthouse, which by the way, people do not buy for the articles. Playboy? Maybe. But Penthouse is for one thing and one thing only.

I make it to the office in record time, my strides brisk and quick, probably working out some of the pent up anger from the previous night. I'll be doing more of that later when I beat the shit out of the heavy bag at lunch. I'd started boxing in college and even though I don't have much time for it these days, it's a great stress reliever. Plus, it's good for business.

I round the corner to the converted brownstone that has been my home away from home for the past five years, the offices of MHC, Inc. Jasper and I started the agency right out of college, with nothing more than a dream, an up-and-coming local fighter and a loan from my parents. We don't try and compete with the big dogs, instead focusing on hometown athletes that are interested in a smaller firm that can give them more personal attention. Very Jerry McGuire.

Getting to the office early affords me the opportunity to be there before everyone else rolls in. It's quiet, cathartic; it clears my head and helps me refocus on what I'm there for, my job and our clients. Jasper and I were lucky to find this building on the cheap, a HUD home that was also zoned commercial. Place had squatters when we found it and it was mostly gutted but after a lot of elbow grease, and a little help from our friends, we got things up and running.

Soon after we started, Rosalie rented out the lower floor of the building when she started her event planning business. It was a blessing and a curse to have her so close. At the moment, I'm leaning toward curse, knowing that she could be lurking around any corner and fairly positive I'm not ready to see her.

As my computer powers up, I make my way down the back steps to grab the papers, immediately removing the sports sections. When I re-enter my office, I'm greeted with the smell of coffee... and the sweet scent of a caramel sticky bun that can only be from Flour Bakery.

Cautiously, I look around for Rosalie, knowing that she was the bearer of not only the coffee but the treat from our favorite bakery, miles out of the way from her route to work. I find a cup with the lid removed and the pastry, resting on a paper plate on my desk blotter. Picking up the coffee, I see her handwriting on the calendar for the night before.

Sorry.

She's the only one who actually writes on my desk calendar. Notes littered throughout the days, things she's thinking or needs to tell me. Sometimes she'll write them while I'm in the office but, most of the time, I find them when she's nowhere in sight.

I fucking house that sticky bun, moaning the entire time about how damn good it tastes and I almost call her. Almost forgive her right then and there and offer her whatever she wants because the bun is that good. Almost. The morning flies and, after a quick meeting with Jasper and a new client, I find myself sitting back in my office. Lauren left contracts on my desk while I was in the conference room, so I'm busy signing my name at the arrowed post-its when I hear the door open.

You know how your body can recognize certain people? Now, granted, there aren't too many people who have access to my office but I don't even have to look up to know it's Rose hovering in the doorway. It's a combination of her scent, her heels, and just... her. It's always been this way with her, though. She could walk in to a crowded fraternity basement in college and I'd immediately know she was there. Granted, she's the type to cause a scene whenever she enters a room. Or exits, for that matter.

What she's not is the hovering type, so I glance up and find her leaning her shoulder against the frame.

"Did she really leave?"

Pushing back from my desk, I weave my fingers together against the back of my head and recline in the chair. "She really left."

"Think she'll be back?"

"Hell if I know." Rose looks like she's sorry and, while she has given me the necessary space, she can tell that I'm still a bit irked. Her finger is running up and down the wooden frame of the door and she's not making eye contact.

She looks up and her eyes meet mine. "I was jealous."

"I know..." And I do know just how jealous she can be. Rose has always been very territorial when it comes to certain people. She guards me like a pitbull. Still, I have to remind her that it wasn't her place to do so. "But we're not together."

"I know. But you're still... mine." Yeah, and you're someone else's. "And I did have something to talk to you about. Something important. I needed you."

Now she's got me worried. "If everything okay? You? Peter?"

"Oh yes, everything is fine. Great actually. I just really need to talk to you about things."

I nod once, accepting her words. "Get your ass in here, Hale."

And just like that, the apologetic expression is gone and replaced with an angelic one; only I know better. Rose saunters into my office, sliding my Zen rock garden across my desk so she could hop up on the black lacquer top. In a skirt. Of course.

"What the hell is that on your neck?" Apparently, we've moved past the part of the conversation where she is contrite.

"I bit myself shaving."

She snorts, but it's a delicate sort of snort. Classic Rose. "Isn't that why God invented turtlenecks, Em?"

"No, that's why God invented Kate." She rolls her eyes, but not before I see a flash of jealously in them. "Whatever, you're taking me to lunch." She says it like it's a done deal, like I don't have the option of turning her down.

"Rose, in case the desk and suit didn't give me away, I'm actually working here."

"Call it a business lunch. I have a proposition for you." She crosses her legs and I try valiantly not to notice them, the shape of her calves or how good they look from her morning runs. My fingers itch a bit because they want to touch. And hell, I've touched her legs plenty of times when they've been draped across my lap when we watch movies. But this type of touching would be different than that, so I keep them tucked behind my head.

I raise my eyebrows suggestively at her word choice. "Are you really in the position to be propositioning me?"

"You wish. I'm serious, it's work related. I'm here in a professional capacity. Besides, you know you were just going to sit here until your secretary ordered you a sandwich. What's this one's name, anyway?"

"Lauren. She started yesterday. She came highly recommended."

"I give her a week. I have pantyhose that last longer than your secretaries."

It isn't really that bad, but I had lost several assistants over the last year. Also, Rose doesn't wear pantyhose, she wears silk stockings which are currently making a distracting swishing noise every time she crosses her legs.

"It's not my fault they all leave when they find out I frown on mixing business and... other things." Okay, usually they leave once I have mixed business with pleasure, a fact Rose is all too aware of.

"Jesus, full of yourself much? Besides, you do business with Kate and you didn't seem to mind mixing other things with her... unless it was business." Rose raises her eyebrows at me, and I get what she's trying to imply.

"Rose, don't go there."

"What?" She tries to pull of the wide eyed innocent face but fails horribly. "I'm just saying. I mean, I know Kate. She's not exactly the settling down type."

I raise my brow yet say nothing. Rosalie tends to think that none of the women I date are the settling down type. I just think that she's not a fan of the women I choose to date. Personally, I think that I have pretty high standards and I don't just jump into bed with anyone woman I come across.

Rose slides off the desktop and starts for the door. I keep quiet, knowing that it isn't worth getting into, especially since Kate isn't likely to be gracing my couch ever again. "Alright, Lance Romance. You, me, lunch, half an hour. I'll try to keep from jumping you, since it's business and all."

"No dice. I'm hitting the gym." I need to vent my frustrations on the heavy bag for a bit. "Someone brought me a delicious, but very fattening sticky bun this morning."

"And? I could wash my delicates on your stomach. You don't need to go the gym."

She can't get her way all the time, and I'm not giving in... all the way. "Checking out my abs again, Rose?"

Any sign of her being sorry was gone now. "Oh yes, Emmett. I do nothing but stare at your magnificent body. You are the sole reason I take twenty-five minute showers. I may not even make it through the day without locking myself in my office and..."

I cut her off, because after having her ass on my desk and her legs in my face for the last fifteen, I don't need that visual right now. "Well then, you don't really have time for lunch either, do you? Can it wait until dinner or do you really need to talk right now?"

"Fine. Dinner. But only because this one actually up and left your apartment. I'll call Peter and let him know he's on his own. He probably has some work he can finish up at the office anyway. I suppose you can entertain me." She walks toward the door slowly and with more hip action than usual.

"Rosie, I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave." It's always a battle for the last word. Always.

"Yeah, well if memory serves, you liked to watch me come too, but this is a place of business."

Game. Set. Match.

oOo

Six-thirty rolls around and I find Rosalie sitting in the reception area, flipping through a magazine.

"Ready to motor, Hale? Where are you taking me?" We've already done our weekly dinner at my place. She had requested an old favorite, Roasted Butternut Squash Ravioli in a sage butter sauce. I'd made it for her when we had just graduated college and whenever October rolls around, I inevitably knew the dish would be requested. That's my girl; always consistent. She gets her favorite meals and I apparently get Penthouse.

And just as consistently, she would order pizza next week for dinner at her place. Rose can't cook to save her life. Not even Kraft Mac n Cheese. I still remember her burning Top Ramen back in the broke post-grad years before she got her business off the ground. We have dinner once a week, Monday nights. We take turns on whose place we eat at, but Monday nights are a given. No dates, no business, no excuses. We've missed two nights in five years, once for a wake I'd had to attend and once because Jasper had to have an emergency appendectomy. And even then, we'd sat together in the hospital cafeteria together.

"Thai? Chinese? Sushi? You pick and I'll buy." Like she needs to say it. She requested this 'business dinner.'

"How very giving of you. Let's do sushi." I lock the front door and throw my arm around her shoulder. "Should I stop at the convenience store and pick up a Playgirl for you? You know, payback?" I steer us through the streets toward our favorite Japanese restaurant and she leans into me, her hair blowing against my face and lips. If it were anyone else, it might be annoying but it's her, so it's not.

"Nah, I've got the Internet for that, buddy." The wicked smile and gleam in her eyes are back where they belong.

She talks about her day and the event that she has planned for Sunday when I catch a glimpse of our reflection in a store window. Have to admit I'm a bit startled by what I see. We look like the picture perfect happy couple. Rosalie fits perfectly under my arm, looking like she belongs here; our heads bow together and her hand rests on mine, at her shoulder.

I don't know, maybe she does belong there. I mean, really belong, not just in the best friend capacity but as something more. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't entertained the thought a few times but time never seemed to be on our side so I just let the idea slip by the wayside. And she has Peter now.

The Friday night dinner crowd isn't too bad. After giving our name to the hostess, we turn and I place my hand on her back, guiding her to an open spot. We stand next to the seats, leaving them for people with children or for others who need them.

"Hey, so what did you want to talk about?"

"Not now. Let's wait until we sit down." She looks a bit nervous and but gives me a brilliant smile that outshines it. "It's... big."

"Heh. Yeah, it is." I grunt out under my breath and she doesn't come back with the normally snappy remark that I've come to expect. Instead, she looks like she's have a mini seizure, jerking herself back and forth from left to right and making surprised faces. "Uh, Rosalie? What are you doing?"

"Playing peek-a-boo. Stop moving your shoulder, it's what I'm hiding behind." I turn my head slightly (and keep my shoulder stationary, because far be it for me not to listen to Miss Bossypants) to see the little girl sitting on her mom's lap, giggling at Rosalie's antics. She might be brash as the guys in a fraternity house but she's always had a soft spot for kids.

The little girl catches my eye and she does the ol' hide and peek with her hands. I smile back and mimic her actions while Rosalie pokes my cheek. "Stop flirting with my little friend! Bring out the dimples and she's as good as gone."

I turn my attention to her and really turn on the cheesy grin. "It's never worked on you."

She rolls her eyes and I think I hear her say "Don't be so sure." Even though I shouldn't, I want to ask her what exactly she means by that, or if she meant anything at all. But at that moment, the hostess calls our name and the chance has come and gone. If I brought it up at the table, it would just be a little bit too late and a lot awkward.

Soon we found ourselves at our table and she launches into her spiel.

"Em, I want Mike Newton. Actually, I need Mike Newton."

Mike Newton is a client. Hell, at one point, he was the client. Mike was a light-heavyweight boxer that grew up kicking ass and taking names on the streets of Southie, and we'd been friends since he broke my nose when we were fourteen. In fairness, I had been checking out his sister.

Without him, there might be no MHC, Inc. He'd taken a chance signing with our bare bones start-up because he was loyal to his friends, but we'd made sure that everyone got what they wanted out of the partnership. Question was, what the hell did Rose want with him?

"I'm an agent, not a pimp, Rose. So if you are asking me to set him up with one of your girlfriends, the answer is no." Mike had been named one of Boston Magazine's most eligible bachelors, and ever since, I felt like I was running a dating service.

"Funny, but no. I need him for a charity function I'm organizing. There is a 'date for the night auction' and Mike will bring in serious bank. It's for inner city kids and he grew up in the projects and I just thought..." I put my hand up to stop her from rambling on.

"I get it. I'll see what I can do." Mike will totally agree; giving back to the community is a big thing with him, but I want to let Rose sweat it a little. The waitress comes by to take our drink orders and give us menus that we don't need, because it's always the same thing.

Rose is talking about the event and making her points very emphatically, her hands waving around the way they do when she gets really excited about an idea. I'm listening and responding but really, I'm watching her. Taking her and her enthusiasm in 'cause it's contagious. Being near her is easy, always has been.

"So listen, there's a reason I wanted to have dinner, other than the Mike Newton thing. You know how much I love you. You're my best friend. You're my person. And I know you don't get this, because we're in such different places, but you know how ready I am to move on with my life. I want it all, marriage, babies, white picket fence. I wanted to tell you last night, the second I made up my mind, but then, you know... I royally screwed that up. I need to ask you something, Em."

My mind automatically starts racing at the words marriage and babies. What the hell is going on here? Is she... is she going to ask me to marry her? Come up with one of those crazy ideas about marrying each other if neither one of us finds someone by the time they are thirty? That shit only happens in movies and we are still a year out from thirty anyway.

It's not like I've never considered the idea. There is no one in this world that means more to me than Rose, no one. We're already everything but, and there are moments, late at night, when I wonder if I'm ignoring what is right in front of my face because I'm afraid, because I'm not ready. But we tried that once, one time, and she shut it down and said that what we had was better than that.

And she has someone. She has...

"Peter asked me to marry him... and I said yes. You're my best friend in the entire world. Em, will you be my man of honor?"

A/N: Thanks to Hmonster4, TheHeartofLife and Miztrezboo for the hand-holding, picspam and quiet gentle (*snort*) encouragement. Yay 30 Days of Emmett - many thanks to the hosts!

I don't know how long we contemplated this story as a one-shot, but it was less than five minutes. We love writing together, and we've been having a blast with Unfmett (credits to TheHeartofLife) and Rose. So if you enjoyed, please feel free to put this on alert.

We are taking on the romcom movies here. Think of all those cliches and imagine them happening to our Emmett. No promises what we will or won't include but we aren't opposed to public singing.

Hearts, fngrdust