Disclaimer- all these obscenely good-looking characters belong to the one and only Stephanie Meyer!

Hello everyone! Here is a story that has been buzzing around in my mind for a while. Please let me know in the reviews if you like the story, and if you would like it to be continued!

Enjoy xo

1.

BPOV

The club is dark despite the multi-coloured lights that flicker over the dance floor, casting shadows over grinding bodies. The music: loud, battling the noise of chatter and the air is thick of cheap perfume mixed with the stench of alcohol.

There is a variety of people mingling around. The forty something's leering in the corner at a group of girls who wear slutty clothes and flirtatious expressions. Couples making out, moving their bodies to the music; girlfriends spinning each other around, drunk and giggling.

I run a hand through my hair, wishing that I had tied it up in to ponytail, or even better: a topknot. The club is boiling and after an hour of dancing my skin felt sticky from perspiration, wisps of my chocolate hair sticking to the back of my neck.

"I'm going to get another drink!" I yell to my best friend – Alice.

The pixie is however, a tad occupied, as she had managed to bag herself a tall, handsome blonde. I take her short, meaningful glance (as she generously pauses her thorough make out session) as a sign that she had heard me and wobble over to the bar.

I curse the high heels that Alice had forced me into earlier this evening. She had wanted to celebrate the start of our third year at NYU in style; so here I am -struggling in a pair of jewelled blue and silver, four-inch heels and body-con blue dress.

I feel good in the outfit, but I wish I were wearing my usual attire – my comfy, ripped jeans and graphic tee with customary sneakers. I guess it could be worse...

Several years ago, I would never have been able to walk in these heels, due to my incredibly clumsy nature. Simply going from one side of the club to the other was practically a death wish! Thankfully, those days were behind me, but I still have the rare moment where I trip over thin air.

When I make it to the bar, (injury free, might I add) I am happy to find it not as busy as usual. I sit on a barstool, leaning forward with the hope of gaining the bartender's attention.

There is only one person on duty, and his back is facing me as he wipes some glasses clean. I take the opportunity to appreciate his form.

He is tall… perhaps 6'2. He also has broad shoulders but a lean frame, which makes his black t-shirt stretch appealingly across his back. It highlights his muscles as he reaches up to a shelf above him. His ass is another thing worth noting, made all the more obvious by his fitted black jeans.

As if he feels my gawking, his head snaps in my direction. My breath catches as I see his face for the first time. And Jesus Christ, the man is beautiful. A sharp jaw line that could cut glass, high cheekbones, straight nose and hair; that looked like he had just rolled out of bed after an extremely satisfying night of sex.

The darkness of the club makes it hard to identify what colour his eyes and hair are, but I'm guessing he has light coloured eyes, a blue or green and dark hair.

His pretty lips slant up to a smirk as he swaggers over to me. Fully facing me now, I can see he has a few tattoos on his arms. On his right forearm, there is a detailed image of a guitar. Music notes swirl around it, flowing up his bicep, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt. On his left arm, there is an angel; large wings yet faceless.

As I continue my shameless analysis of him, I fail to realise that he is now standing in front of me, patiently waiting for my order. Blood rushes to my cheeks in embarrassment making me look down bashfully. The smirk never leaves his face.

"You finished?" he asks knowingly, amusement clear in his velvety voice.

I must be the colour of a strawberry, "uh y-yes. Sorry, I must be drunker than I thought."

He laughs at that, but the sound doesn't sound genuine. It sounds… plastic; like one giant façade. "No worries, like most men, I actually enjoy being ogled by a beautiful girl."

Oh, this one is a charmer. I roll my eyes at his cheesy remark, "wow, how many girls have you said that to tonight?"

He seems surprised at my blunt reply. I have a feeling that his typical response includes a lot of giggling and predatory stares.

"Of course, you are the only girl I have said that to," he defends mockingly.

"Of course" I say with equal sarcasm. My mind races to change the subject, "are you serving alone tonight?"

He shrugs, throwing a dishcloth over his shoulder "nah, Emmett is on a break and Mike is out back."

Despite having no clue to who these people are, I nod "cool."

A sudden awkwardness lingers "Uh, could I get a Jack and Coke, please?"

He grins at me cockily, "Are you trying to impress me?"

I blink a few times, confused "sorry?"

He snorts, "Oh cut the crap, how old are you? Nineteen? Or are you in high school, rebelling against daddy?"

Oh hell no. Who the fuck is this guy? And what gives him the authority to judge me, in such a patronising manner?

"Okay listen you condescending prick, you may be hot but that doesn't mean your lack of a verbal filter should be ignored. I am in my third year at NYU, majoring in English Literature, and twenty-two years of age. So, shut the fuck up and stop pretending that you know everything. Okay?"

Subconsciously, I know that him assuming I am young is just a mistake. Many people have assumed I was younger in the past, due to my petite frame and doe like eyes that create a sort of 'innocent, virginal' effect (as Alice had once so poetically put it.) It was a curse, that many people have assured me would later become a blessing.

Yet, his condescending look paired with a tone that made me feel seventeen again makes my blood boil. Screw him and his 'mightier that thou' attitude!

I hold his stare for a moment, giving him my best bitch glare.

His eyes lock with mine willingly as he searches my face, looking for something. Then they soften, and that smile that I have grown to hate (and really kind of like) over the past five minutes, spreads across his face again.

"You know, you look really sexy when you're mad."

The compliment sends a thrill through my body but I manage to maintain my serious, no nonsense expression, "And you are the smuggest asshole I have ever come across."

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the bar so that we are practically nose-to-nose; "You want to go out sometime?"

I cannot help the smile that steals across my face. I exhale slowly, scanning his gorgeous face to see if he is serious.

He is even more beautiful up close. The light stubble on his chin; a small chicken pox scar above his left eyebrow; and his smile is a little crooked. But all of these imperfections make him even more stunning to me.

I lose my train of though as a familiar song plays loudly, making several people squeal in delight. The notes of Justin Beiber's remix of 'Despacito' fill my ears. Alice has always held a particular fascination of Justin. While I didn't really care for him, I had to admit that this song reminded me of great times on La Push beach, reading on the sand and splashing around in the sea.

"Sorry, but I have to go and find my friend."

I offer him a cocky smirk of my own, before turning. I flick my long hair behind me for good measure, walking to the dance floor. I can still feel his eyes me as I wind through the people, finding Alice and her new squeeze dancing closely.

"Bella!" Alice cries drunk, catching sight of me "dance with me!"

We laugh, instantly gripping each other's hands, moving our hips to the music, dipping and swaying to the lyrics.

My sunrise on the darkest day

Got me feelin' some kind of way

Make me wanna savor every moment slowly, slowly

The heat is getting to me again so I raise one of my hands, picking up my curls and holding them up so that my neck is completely exposed.

Next thing I know, a warm body sidles up behind me. He feels hard against my back as he moves his hips with mine. I look up at Alice, my eyes screaming for help but her blonde has snatched her away from me again.

I turn ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind but instead I meet the smile that I was becoming even more familiar with.

I look up at the God-like bartender, fire shooting from my eyes. Gripping the back of his neck, I pull his head down so I can whisper into his ear.

"Shouldn't you be at the bar?"

He turns his head so that his lips are against my ear, moving against it deliciously.

"I am on a break. Why didn't you answer my question?"

I shrug, my hips still swaying to the music, "conceited dickheads aren't my type. Don't you take no for an answer?"

His nose skims down my neck, tracing an imaginary pattern. I can barely breathe.

He tsks, "You and I both know your real answer."

Then I feel his tongue swiping around the shell of my ear, making my underwear increasingly wetter.

"Y-you don't even know my name" my voice shakes.

"Mmm… then tell me." He leaves open-mouthed kisses down my neck, fire trailing behind. My eyes roll into the back of my head, slightly.

"B-Bella."

I feel his smirk against my skin, "Bella – beautiful. I'm Edward."

"Great. Well… Edward, I really should get going… Oh my god."

He moves his left hand to my thigh, raising it to wrap around his waist so I can feel his rock, hard erection against my hot centre.

"Do you really want to leave, Bella?"

His presence makes me dizzy and if I stay any longer in his arms, I'll be begging him to take me up against a wall. Probably like one of his many other whores.

I shove away from him determinedly and step back, "I am not that type of girl Edward!"

He runs a hand through his hair, making his black t-shirt rise. The unconscious gesture reveals a hint of a sculpted v and dusting of hair, leading downwards. I unconsciously lick my lips at the sight.

Edward must have noticed because a confident look appears on his face.

"I never said that Bella. But I want you. I like your fire."

He steps towards me, taking control again. With firm but tender hands, he holds me by the hips "I like your eyes."

He kisses my eyelids as though to emphasise his point.

"Your hair," his fingers threads through my tresses.

"Your body… your blush."

"Edward…"

"One kiss. Please."

There is an unconcealed desperation in his words, which makes my hands automatically ball up into fists. One part of me – the sensible, good girl – screams to run from this tempting man. But this other, more hidden part, lusted for him. She wanted to feel him, all of him.

Gripping his shirt, I bring him closer "One kiss?" I breathe.

He pulls me tight against him, nodding eagerly.

Then all hell breaks loose.

I don't know who leans in first, but we are suddenly kissing. It's passionate – all lips, teeth and tongues. My legs wrap around him and his hands are on my ass, holding me at an angle that allows our kiss to go deeper.

His tongue dances- swiping against mine, trailing against the walls of my mouth. I see stars behind my eyelids, and an incredible feeling of completeness. Like he is my puzzle piece; everything just fitted together.

I can feel his hand trailing up, under my dress. The feeling of his skin against mine is indescribable.

Yet, it also makes me gasp with a sense of clarity.

This was getting out of hand, "I really must go. Sorry."

Dropping my hold on him, I use all my strength to push him away.

He looks completely stunned. I take advantage of his shock and turn, making a wild dash for the exit.

Thankfully, I didn't bring a bag with me tonight, choosing to tuck my phone and money in my bra; so there is no lingering.

I run past the large queue of people waiting to get in and hold my hand up, whistling loudly.

A yellow cab soon pulls up beside me; I jump inside with my phone in hand and ready to call Alice. She is probably going to catch a ride home with the blonde anyway.

As the car makes its way through Manhattan, I finally release a deep breath.

What had gotten into me? I never made out with random guys at bars.

But as I press my fingers to my still tingling lips, there is no controlling my amazed laughter.

I wonder what Edward is doing now. Is he still standing in the middle of the dance-floor, shocked, lips tingling like mine? Maybe he had chased after me, but lost me in the throngs of people?

C'mon Bella, think about this! He is an incredibly handsome bartender, working in one of the most successful clubs in New York, surrounded by all the pussy he could want. Why would he want, boring old me?

The thought dampens my spirits, and I shake my head. No. That would be the last time I saw Edward. I should just forget all about him and our kiss.

Anyway, New York was huge… I mean – what were the chances I would ever bump into him again?