I fell in love with this story, and Mag asked for a banner. I totally had to rec this fic, because it's awesome.
Summary: Bella has nailed her dream job as Seattle Times' newest Outdoors writer. She's found new friends and is settling into life in her new city. Things are coming together for her, but an arrogant stranger sends her reeling at every turn. Will her new life be as comfortable as she'd hoped, or is she set for a rocky ride? AH B&E
Yosemite Decimal System (YDS) - n. the most common system used to rate difficulty in the North America. Most technical rock climbing is rated on a scale of 5.0 to 5.15 with higher numbers representing harder climbs. Grades are generally subject to the weather, length of the route, the type of rock, and the whims of the first ascensionist.
Definition amended from rockclimbing dot com
Rated: M
Status: In progress
I helped beta chapter 1 from Project Team Beta, and I immediately knew that this fic was going to be something great.
Meet the Bulldozer
Edward and Bella don't necessarily get along at first, but it's certainly good fun reading these two.
Chapter 1 Tease:
A whoosh of cold air hits me at the same time a solid wall of person does. Being the classy, coordinated kind of girl I am, I hit the ground with an expletive. My stuff scatters as I go sprawling.
"Can't you at least watch where you walk?" a smooth voice snaps at me, as icy as the night air.
I'm about to return the sentiment when I look up into the greenest pair of eyes I've ever seen. These eyes are not only green, but cold—and they are shooting invisible daggers directly at me.
The asshole in question is topped with brown hair which is tinged in red and maybe a touch of gold. It's a true testament to his eyes that I noticed them before the rest of his tall, toned body. When I do notice his body, there's no stopping my eyes running across his business shirt-covered, defined chest. Rock climbing guys' bodies … there's really nothing like them. This one is clearly a climber.
Broad, strong, muscled shoulders are hidden beneath a long-sleeved, button-down white shirt. His forearms—which are on full view, thanks to rolled-up sleeves—are lightly dusted with brown hair and ripple with roped muscles. They are further defined by veins that are more pronounced below the surface of his skin.
Then, there are his hands. They are large, but I can't see his palms, which would confirm or deny my suspicions about whether he climbs or not. His hands are balled into fists.
Shaking my head and taking in my surroundings, I notice that this perfect specimen of man has planted me firmly on my ass in front of a bunch of people. I'm humiliated, and when I'm humiliated, I get angry.
"It takes two to tango, asshole," I retort. I begin to sweepingly gather my strewn stuff. Aforementioned asshole is still standing there, glaring at me.
"And he doesn't even offer to help," I mutter under my breath. "Ever heard of fucking manners?"
Still grumbling, I continue stuffing my things into my bag. Zipping it up furiously, I rise to my full height. I still have to look up; my full height barely reaches his chin. I stare him straight in the eye, and scowl at him. The man looks back, his expression giving nothing away. Then, he smirks.
Of all the arrogant... Now, I'm fuming.
I continued to stare into his eyes, which now appear to show mild amusement. I try to even my breathing, my insides fluttering and heart flying. Despite my unbridled anger, there's something else going on in my body. I find myself looking at his lips, which are full. He has a day's growth on his chin, and I can't help but wonder what it feels like.
Something about him draws me in, yet at the same time screams: stay away.
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