I felt like I had been bushwhacked. We had an entire conversation at lunch the first day about how Riley had proposed, and she'd made it sound like she accepted. That was the reason for bringing me out here, to tell me in person and introduce me to her fiancé. I don't recall her saying at any time that she had not accepted, but now I can see clearly that there's no ring on her finger. How had I not noticed that before?
Fuck me upside down and sideways, she's still available.
We're sitting in the middle of a traditional Mexican restaurant with the tinny sound of a mariachi band playing over the speakers. The hot sauce bottle has left round red stains on the tablecloth, and I've been making a pattern with each move of the bottle in my nervous hands.
She's not engaged, she's not engaged, uncle fucker, she's not engaged!
I can't honestly seem to hear anything she says now, and I'm struggling to focus on her jabber. She wants to visit a museum tomorrow, or maybe it's next week. Shit, I don't know. I'll agree to anything right about now. I'd even ask her to marry me, if I thought she'd say yes.
Wait one fucking minute.
"If you said no, why did you call me?" I think I've interrupted what she was saying, judging by the look on her face and her open mouth. Oops.
"Excuse me?" Maybe she was going for stern, but she just sounded breathy.
"I didn't mean to talk over you, it's just… All I can think about is the fact that you're telling me you're not engaged. I mean, I thought you called me here to tell me you were, and now you say you're not, and, just… What the fuck?" Articulation, why hast thou forsaken me?
She takes a long, slow sip of her margarita before finally meeting my eyes. "When Riley proposed, I realized something. I dated him because he was there, someone who understood the job and the crazy hours, who wanted to be visible to the same people. It made sense, and it was comfortable. But when he asked me to marry him at a fancy French restaurant? All I felt was dread. I was uncomfortable, and that was the opposite of why I started seeing him." She breathes deeply and steadily while I watch her, a new kind of feeling building in my stomach. Hope, excitement, or maybe just the chimichangas I'd demolished.
"You said no?" My voice breaks like I'm a goddamn teenager going through The Change.
"I told him I had to think about it, and fled to the bathroom. All I could think about, was you," she whispers.
"You were thinking of me, while he was proposing?" I want to take her back to my hotel room and do the things we used to do, the things that have invaded my dreams persistently. I want to convince her that I'm still the guy for her, that I love her and she loves me.
But I have no idea if that's how she feels. My ESP isn't working.
"Yeah," she nods, ducking her head. I can't let myself pretend she's answering my thought, and therefore, my dreams.
"I, uh, I've signed a lease on an apartment here. I'm officially a Seattle Sounder in one week. I want there to be a reason for you to think of me." I reach across the table and tangle our fingers together.
"Then, maybe you'd like to try... dating?" she asks apprehensively.
This seems like a perfect idea, except… "What are you going to do about Riley?"
She sighs, and her face looks drawn again. "I feel like I have to take care of him while he's in rehab. He would be alone if not for me—"
"You mean, if not for Vicky?" I remind her.
She scoffs. "I honestly don't know why he's being the prick he is. He's normally charming and kind."
"I know why. You didn't agree to marry him. His ego is bruised. He's a classic, vain peacock. He's the perfect Type A to be a newscaster. That means he's a crappy boyfriend, unless the woman is equally self-important and conceited. Like Victoria."
"Mmm, they're really perfect for each other, aren't they?" she murmurs.
"So, to answer my question, you shouldn't do anything about Riley. You should ignore him, leave him and his best girlfriend to fend for themselves." That would almost be comical.
"I think I agree," Bella says.
"Good, so you're not going to go back there and let him subject you to that crap he's been pulling?"
She smiles, a bit impishly. "He's technically still my boyfriend."
I clap my hands like a giddy schoolgirl. "Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Can I break up with him? Pretty please!" I'm bouncing up and down in my seat, and she's laughing again. Without covering her mouth. "I want to tell the nupson where to go, like straight to hell where he came from!"
She giggles again. "Nupson?"
"What can I say, I pick up a lot of words from the other players, and the other teams." I shrug. "It's a simpleton, an idiot."
"I can't believe I dated a simpleton spawn of the devil," she says with laughter in her voice.
"Trust me, I can't either." I smile at the happy look on her face.
"How about I don't go back there today, but tomorrow when we're off-air, I'll go in and do it."
"So we have the whole rest of the day…" I trail off, letting her decide where this is going.
"We're close to Pioneer Square. I have a friend who works in an art gallery there. It would be nice to walk around, and make our way to meeting my friend."
"I would like to meet your friend," I reply, and I discover that I mean it.
oOo oOo
I actually enjoyed walking around the little historic area that Bella wanted to show me. There were a ton of boutiques selling all kinds of girly shit, but I didn't mind wandering around overly-priced smelly stores, as long as Bella was happy. I don't think I'll be this altruistic for long, but right now it feels like young love again, where everything is done with blinders on.
Bella's friend works in an art gallery that holds more glass and metal than the Guggenheim. It's stuffy, and I'm scared I'll knock something over and break it. I am the toddler with sticky hands and two left feet that makes shopkeepers cringe. I am the buffoon that will bump a priceless display from Fancy VonPompous and make it shatter into a thousand broken dreams. I keep my elbows tucked and my ass clenched until we reach the back room, where we finally find the fabled friend.
"Bells!" cries the pixiest pixie I've ever laid eyes on. The dark haired Tinkerbell rushes to Bella and throws her arms around her waist.
"Hey, Alice." She pats Crysta's back and steps away. "I want to introduce you to—"
"If I was better at sculpting than selling art, I would call you David and tell you to strip naked," she interrupts, ogling me up and down.
I should be shocked, or maybe offended, but instead I'm amused. "It's Edward, not David, and I'm not planning on getting naked until after dinner. Maybe you can drop by around 8?"
Alice turns to Bella. "I like him, Bells, so much better than Stuffy."
"Stuffy? I've called him Scary, and many words that shouldn't be repeated in present company, but Stuffy is fucking perfect."
Bella is watching our banter with an amused expression on her face. "Well, should I leave the two of you alone, or…?"
"Would you?" I ask. Alice snorts. "I'm kidding, of course," I clarify as Bella just stares at me.
"I forgot your sense of humor," she murmurs. "Somehow, in five years, I've forgotten so much about you."
"Then let me remind you," I reply, then I kiss the tip of her nose.
The faerie lets out a strange noise, sort of a strangled squeal. Then she clears her throat. "Sorry. Can I give you a tour?"
"You have an Art-Seller Voice, like Bella has a Reporter Voice. I like it."
"Well, I have to pretend to be professional occasionally." I laugh at her statement.
"I never do, which is fantastic." At her look, I explain. "I'm a soccer player, a forward for the Seattle Sounders."
"Ooh, muscle-y and athletic. That's cool." She nods.
"It's not stuffy, that's for damn sure." We grin at each other, and I take Bella's hand as Alice shows us around the shop.
There's way too much froufrou artsy stuff in this place, but I really like Alice. She's a short ball of caffeinated energy, and she knows her artists, from renaissance to modern. I don't understand the splotches on canvas, or the twisted metal sculpture spotlighted in it's own room. Bella is sweet and warm with Alice, and I enjoy their interactions.
When we leave, Bella promising to call Alice soon, I remember I'm supposed to meet with the soccer coach tomorrow afternoon. "Bella, would you like to meet my coach tomorrow, you know, after you're done making Riley's life miserable."
"I would like that."
"Can you bring the camera crew when you break up with Stodgy? You know, for posterity." I bat my eyelashes at her, and she bursts out laughing again.
"I don't think that's company approved," she replies.
"I'll pay for it," I suggest, and she pulls me down the sidewalk to an ice cream parlor. "Ooh, plying me with sugar. Smart move."
She looks me up and down as we head inside. "I don't think I could handle you hyper."
I step up closely, my body pressing into hers in every place I can manage while we stand oblivious to the world in the middle of the shop. "I think you can handle all of me," I murmur near her ear, skimming my nose along her cheek. My hands roam up and down her shoulders. "If I remember correctly, that is." She shivers.
"Jesus, Edward, just pick chocolate or vanilla," she breathes out.
"Oh, definitely chocolate," I answer, running my hands through her hair and watching the color in her eyes darken.
"Fuck, you're good at that." Her legs are shifting against each other, but I have to remind myself we're in public. Even though what I desperately want is to kiss her stupid before laying her out on my hotel bed. Shit, I've got to break the tension before I combust.
"That's what she said." It's an old standby, and it'll immediately make the bubble burst.
She laughs, dropping her forehead to my chest. "And now you've ruined the moment."
"I'll make it up to you with two scoops in a waffle cone."
"Ugh, I can't eat that much." She steps up in line and orders a frozen yogurt from the guy, who is checking her out, I might add.
"Hey, buddy, my eyes are up here," I say as I point to my face, before ordering an enormous waffle cone full of double chocolate fudge. I hear Bella laughing behind me again, and my grin can't be contained.
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