Chapter Four

~That Nagging Feeling~

EPOV
Ugh. It's been a long-ass day and I'm exhausted. Crack of dawn delivery truck and inventory, gathering receipts from the weekend for the deposit, random toilet leak in the guys' bathroom and thoughts of Isabella Swan in and out of my mind all damn day.

This has to stop.

I need something to clear my freaking head.

I need to get outta here.

I need to get laid, that's what I need…but with Tori gone, I'm shit outta luck in that regard. Time for a shower and some alone time with my hand again, I suppose. This long distance shit is for the birds.

I think I'm getting callouses.

If I had it in me to tap into my long-lost inner playboy, I could easily call up any one of the dozen girls whose phone number was slipped my way this past weekend while tending the bar. But that's not me, at least not anymore. I've watched my parents have a long and happy marriage as each other's one true love and I want the same thing for me. Don't get me wrong, I certainly enjoyed my time as a bachelor, Lord knows I gained experience at an early age working the cabanas, but now that I have Tori, I'm off the market and I'm okay with that. That's how it should be.

I mean, come on…Tori's terrific. As a couple we're hot and our bedroom activities are great…and most importantly, we're good friends. We balance each other out. It's good. Really, it's good. I'm content. I'm comfortable. It's good. It's easy.

Wow, redundant much? God Edward, find a fucking thesaurus.

And suddenly I stop dead in my tracks.

Did I really just describe my relationship with my fiancée as good, comfortable and easy?

I mean, on the whole, those qualities are a great foundation…but maybe I should have some other words peppered in there like passionate, insatiable and spectacular. I mean, we aren't even married yet.

Ugh.

I need to turn my brain the hell off. My chest is starting to constrict and I'm giving myself a fucking headache. I can feel my neck tightening up and I can't wait to just stand under a hot shower so that the water can beat down on my muscles and get rid of all this built-up, bullshit tension.

Why is this crap running through my head all of a sudden? I wasn't questioning anything in my life up until three days ago.

That's it. Time to get outta here. I'm going home, showering, cracking open a beer and flopping my ass on my couch. Hopefully I'll stay awake long enough to catch the Phillies game.

Who am I kidding? The game will be watching me by the third inning, no doubt.

"Jesus, you look like shit. Must be the first Monday of the season," James chuckles while filling up the peanut bowls after spotting me exiting our office. "Good numbers this weekend?"

"Yeah. Excellent, actually. If it's any indication about how our summer will go, we'll be in great shape. Definitely enough to get started on refurbishing the hotel rooms, based on that contractor's estimate. And even better, we might be able to start buying our supplies for the Four Seas remodeling monster."

"Good deal. God knows we're going to need some serious bank to get through all these projects you're laying out for us," James groaned.

The Cullen Brothers, Edward & James.

"Man, look… I know it's going to cost crazy time and money, but it'll be so worth it in the end. We totally redid the outside of the Victorian to bring in the customers for the catering, and clearly it's working, right? Now we just need to restore what's inside to turn it into the luxury B&B. This is what we've planned for. Nobody said it was gonna be a walk in the park. So, we work our asses off this summer and save up as much as possible. Then, once the season ends here, we can start the remodel and hopefully it'll be good to go for next summer."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't see why we can't use the same hotel contractor to do the entire project at the Four Seas?"

"How about because we aren't made of money, dude? Yeah, we can pull in great numbers over the summer between here, the hotel and those random catering jobs; but all the labor it would cost to get someone else to do it? Knowing we've got the skills and know-how? I'd rather do it myself and be able to boast about how it's totally our baby. You'll see, trust me."

"Okay, okay, the lecturing of the younger brother ends here, thanks. Oh, I met with the people for that Harrington memorial service. Pretty straightforward menu. Three hot stations, two servers for the butlered hors d'oeuvres and one bartender. Nothing out of the ordinary except that it takes two days for these people to say goodbye to this old lady. I'm not complaining though, gives me two days to ogle the pretty little thing who hired us." James flashes his lady-killer grin and waggles his eyebrows.

Oh jeez, this poor girl, whoever she is, doesn't stand a chance.

The Cullen Charm has been known to ignite many wildfires. It's been proven. Trust me. Takes one to know one.

I roll my eyes at James's report.

"Well, just do me a favor and don't pull the 'love 'em and leave 'em' before the check clears. A two-day event like that will pull in some serious cash."

"Dude. I know this. I'm not a complete moron", he scoffs. "I mean, she seems sweet, maybe even dateable. We'll see. She's already called me up for coffee", he adds with a huge smile.

"Really? Little Cullen is ready to date a girl and it's only the first week of summer? You move fast, Prince Charming. Okay, whatever... I trust you. This is your livelihood, too. Listen, I'm outta here. I'm dead on my feet. Have a good night and I'll see you in the morning."

James laughs me off and nods as I head for the exit. Once I push the pub door open, the wall of humidity practically knocks me over. What the hell? It's still May, for crying out loud!



Edward's Volvo c70 Convertible

"Damn it!" I scream out to nobody in particular after practically searing off my skin. I sometimes still forget that I'm driving a new car with black leather seats that bake in the scorching summer sun. Gone are the days of my beater '90 Honda Accord with its worn, gray upholstery. That baby was ancient when I got her at seventeen years old, but she lasted me for the next eight years, bringing me to my newest love, my Volvo C70. She's glorious to look at and fucking phenomenal to drive. Sleek in black with a convertible roof to enjoy the ocean air and a Jersey summer; the perfect shore car. It was an early birthday gift to myself getting ready for this season. I plan to enjoy driving her as much as possible.

I make quick work of the fifteen minute drive north on Long Beach Boulevard and trim it to nine minutes. Even though the summer has unofficially kicked off, the towns north of Surf City are still on the quiet side. Loveladies and Harvey Cedars, where my parents have a shore home (and where James and I are crashing this summer as we continue to work on the B&B), are definitely more on the peaceful side; away from the constant buzz of tourists and sundries shops. It's in these two towns that the wealthiest usually choose to set up camp…at least on Long Beach Island. No hotels or motels up this way, just fantastically outrageous shore homes and rentals where the "other half" dwells.

Entering Harvey Cedars; Shore Home of the The Cullen Family

I realize this makes me sound really snobbish and possibly hypocritical, but I am only staying until the remodeling job is complete. I'll never begrudge my parents their money. They've worked damn hard to get where they are and they have every justification to enjoy it. But as partners in their own law firm, they rarely get a chance to enjoy themselves down here. If my brother and I weren't staying here since we decided to stop blowing money on rent in Ship Bottom, it would just be collecting dust. They bought it many years ago when James and I were just kids. Back then though, two teenage boys weren't interested in hanging on this sleepy island, and Aunt Liz's house in Ocean City was just the antidote we needed.

"SHIT!" I can't believe I just looped my train of thought all the way the hell back around to Ocean City and now I'm thinking about freaking Swan again! My head is fucked. Seriously.

I pull into the carport, jog up the back deck and immediately toss my keys, cell phone and wallet on a lounger. Rip off my t-shirt from the bar and dive right into the deep end of our sparkling pool.


Bliss.


Pool at the Cullens' shore home

The water temperature is a jolt to the system for sure. The late spring sun can't fully do the job of heating the pool to a less arctic feel. My sluggish mind that felt so freaking jumbled moments ago has been practically electroshocked back into coherence due to the frigid temperature. I swim over to the filter where we keep a thermometer and it reads sixty nine degrees. Yikes. That's freaking cold. Sixty-nine degrees.

Sixty-nine.

And suddenly shrinkage be damned, the thought of Isabella and the number sixty-nine has me feeling all hot and bothered. Couple that with the fan-fucking-tastic suede scraps (yet piss-poor excuse for a bathing suit that I was remembering earlier) and I'm feeling like a damn volcano about to blow my load.

Oh my god, what I could have done to her back then…what she could have done to me…well, I would never understand her deal, especially that incident when she was sixteen. Because come morning after that insane night, she was once again the damn Wicked Witch of the West and I was chopped liver. The rest of our history doesn't matter at all. Certainly never mattered to her, and she made sure I knew it.

I finish what seems to be about a million laps in the pool to work off this crazy fire down below, hop out and find a towel.

After a shower and a fresh pair of gray sweats, I crack open a Yuengling Lager, take two long pulls and recline in the lazy-boy. The Phillies game should be starting shortly, but ESPN has me zoning out while they're rattling off stats and schedules.

I stare blankly ahead, trying to make sense of what I know right now.

Fact: I saw her on Friday night and she seemed to have no recollection of me at all.

Fact: though she appeared sweet that night and totally harmless, I have to go on what history taught me. She was a selfish, spoiled brat who seriously doesn't deserve a second thought. She didn't then and she doesn't now, almost five years later.

Fact: I have a fiancée I love and am planning my future with, and she would NOT be happy with this little distraction.

Fact: there's nothing to say that I'll ever see Isabella again. She was with a girl I didn't recognize and may have only been in my pub for a random night out. It was Memorial Day Weekend. People go to the shore. People go to bars. It happens.

I think it's that final thought that gives me a slight sense of peace, because I drain my bottle of beer, set it down on the end table and suddenly feel my eyes getting very heavy. I can hear Scott Franzke start calling the play-by-play, but I'm not holding on.

I'm ready for this day to be over.

I'm ready to be done with thoughts of a chocolate-hair beauty who did nothing but hurt my pride years ago and is destined to repeat that action, should I allow her the slightest opening.

She's a non-issue. I'm done. No worries. End of story.