The night continued with a certain amount of predictability, so that I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what time anything happened. Everything blurred together: the drinks, the songs, the boys. I was groped by an inestimable number of faceless boys, but I wouldn’t notice someone had pinched my ass until two minutes after the fact, and by that point it was anyone’s guess. I danced mostly because it meant I didn’t have to try and hold myself steady on my own legs, and because I drunkenly loved the attention. Always before I had shied away from the spotlight, but the alcohol somehow made me feel validated by the grotesque attention sent my way by equally drunk boys. Fucking ugly duckling my ass, I wanted to shout. Sexy Swan in the house!
I swear I don’t think like that unless heavily under the influence.
Finally, though, I was drunk enough to accept that I had been looking for Edward all night and had not seen him. He had made himself scarce, but with the number of drunk college girls, my conclusion was that he was in one of the bedrooms upstairs, screwing her senseless. And I felt cheated. Though I had denied and still, even drunk, didn’t think it possible . . . it wasn’t fair. I looked good tonight. I looked somewhat like the sort of girl Edward Cullen might find attractive, and here I was, drunk and sexy, and he wasn’t even around for me to stare at. Perhaps some small part of me had once admired him, once wondered what it would be like to receive attention from this high school legend, but I had never been one to dwell on pointless crushes. As a seven-year-old, as soon as my mom discovered I had a crush on a boy in my class, Dylan, I had sighed, “It’s not to be” and gotten over it instantly. At seven! I was horribly serious as a child. Perhaps I was still horribly serious. The thought made me frown. Maybe if I wasn’t so serious, Edward Cullen would have come to the party.
But so what if he hadn’t come? What did I care? I didn’t know him, and from what I had seen and heard of him, he was a moody womanizer. Not someone I would ever in a million years be interested in dating anyways. So why had I been looking for him all night? Because I was a stupid girl. Alcohol reduced me to the likes of Lauren.
I confessed this all to James later in the night, though he somehow thought I was talking about him. My feet were hurting badly enough that I couldn’t keep dancing, and stood on the brick hearth of the fireplace, only just taller than James, who was trying to get me to leave with him. He kept tugging on my arm, offering to take me home, while I cited my inability to talk as the reason I couldn’t leave with him, clutching the mantelpiece for balance. The room swam if I moved my head too quickly, and when I changed the direction of my eyes, my gaze lagged behind. He had his hands on my upper arms, trying to coax me to follow. Apparently, I found this extremely funny.
“No, no, I can’t!” I giggled, shaking my head until my sailor hat fell off. “I can’t leave without Alice.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand—“
“No, no, no,” I pouted, sticking out my bottom lip. Even I could feel how theatrical I looked, but I couldn’t do anything about it. His hands had moved to my waist and I could feel he was preparing to physically pick me up. “I’m sorry.”
“But—“
“I believe she turned you down,” a voice cut in, calm and silky amid the noisy chaos of the living room. My eyes widened as Edward suddenly appeared at my side, seemingly from thin air. Where had he been hiding all night?
“You!” I cried, smiling and pointing at him as though we were long lost friends. “What are you doing here?”
“Ah, it’s good to see you, too? Woah!” In letting go of the mantel to face Edward, I lost my balance and pitched forward. Fortunately, Edward easily caught me against his chest and helped me stand upright again. “Careful there.” I continued to wobble, though, so he held onto my elbows, and I felt tiny sparks where his fingertips brushed my skin, like he had candles instead of fingers. The image made me giggle and teeter and his grip tightened. I rested my own hands on his forearms and could feel his muscles twitch beneath my hands when I shifted. Really, there was nothing sexier in the world and I thought perhaps I should tell him that.
“That’s really sexy.”
“What is?”
“Too bad you didn’t show up earlier. I’m much more fun when I can walk,” I mused, looking forlornly down at my heels. It didn’t even occur to me that James had wandered off, or maybe Edward had again told him to bug off; I’m really not sure. I sighed, “Stilettos and alcohol were not made for each other.”
“Depends who’s consumed the alcohol,” he argued, giving me a crooked grin that showed off his teeth and his dimples. Dimples? He had dimples on either side of his mouth that showed only when he really smiled, and just the faintest of dimples in his chin . . . but that didn’t make sense to me. Arrogant player assholes couldn’t have dimples. The more alcohol I consumed, the less I apparently thought of him, constructing rich scandals in my mind of which he was guilty.
“Oh no!” I suddenly gasped, clamping my hand to my mouth. Not holding on to him anymore, I wavered again, and he stretched his fingers to lightly grip my ribs. Of course I noticed it.
“What oh no?”
“Shitfuck,” I huffed, scowling at the floor. My swearing was getting worse; I had begun to combine cursewords now.
“Excuse me?”
“I said I wasn’t going to talk to you if I had more than a few drinks . . . well I didn’t say it, but I thought it in my head,” I tapped my forehead and squinted my eyes.
He just gave me the most confused look. It was endearing, the way his brow knitted and his eyes narrowed as he looked at me, possibly concerned for my sanity. He actually did look concerned. Once again, it didn’t fit the Edward in my head. I was too drunk to be a reliable witness.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why did you decide that?”
“Because when I drink I just start to talk and talk . . . and I don’t say anything I regret, I don’t think . . . I don’t know; I don’t drink much. But I feel very honest and frank right now like I just want to answer questions. I don’t think I’d tell other people’s secrets but I might tell my own. Are you James Dean?”
He laughed and nodded, “Yes, I am. Very observant. But what is it you’re afraid you’ll let slip to me?” He gave me a look that now confused me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the expression.
“Oh, I don’t know . . . do I sound like a chipmunk right now? I feel like I do.”
“You don’t.”
“My mom’s parents were from the south and I feel like I sound like them when I’ve been drinking; is that even possible? . . . not that I have a whole lot of experience with it . . . See? I can’t stop the word vomit.”
“It’s charming.”
“No it’s not, it’s stupid,” I giggled. “I sound like Jessica.”
He choked on his laughter then, his shoulders shaking as he assured me, “I promise you aren’t that bad. You have a lovely voice.”
“You probably shouldn’t compliment me, either, because apparently I get really really flirty. James and Mike are probably both horribly confused . . .” I admitted with what I hoped was an apologetic half-smile. “I swear I wasn’t going to leave with him! But I guess I forget that I don’t know how to flirt . . .”
“Flirty isn’t bad.”
“Thirteen-year-old girl flirty is bad,” I insisted. “You know, like . . . ‘like oh my gosh, you’re so hot, tee hee,’” I mimicked, giggling obnoxiously and twirling my finger in my hair. Even mocking it made me frown, and I pulled my hand away. “See? I don’t want you to hear me sounding like that.”
“You aren’t like that yet,” he assured me.
“Well don’t let—shit, I’m talking too much. I think I drank too much . . . I told Alice this was a bad idea. Shit, shit. And I’m swearing a lot too . . . and I never swear like this! Like a—“
“Like a sailor?” he supplied, looking thoroughly amused. Then the unidentifiable expression was back.
He suddenly stooped to pick up my hat and had hold of my arms again before I could fall. He set the hat on top of my head, then brushed back some of the hair behind my ear. It was such a tender gesture that suddenly . . . I wanted to kiss him. Not just kiss him. I wanted to push him back against the wall and leave love bits down his neck and along his collarbone. I wanted to bite his earlobe and – but I had decided before drinking that I should avoid him, and already here I was carrying on the most inane conversation with him ever.
“So do you confess everything when you drink?”
“Well no, not . . . but you keep looking at me like that and it makes me feel like I have to keep talking and say something really clever.”
“Looking at you like what?”
“Like that,” I insisted, pointing as though he could look at his own face.
“I’m not looking at you like anything.”
“Yes you are! It’s kind of scary. But a good scary. But scary.”
“Scary?”
“Yes like . . . oh, I know!” I gasped, my face erupting into a smile as I finally put my finger on it. “It’s the look you give someone right before you kiss them – but don’t kiss me!” I interrupted myself, quickly pressing my fingers to his lips as though he had already begun to lean in.
He smiled against my finger -- it felt like the faintest of kisses-- then pulled my hand down and promised, “I wasn’t going to kiss you.” I looked down where he continued to hold my hand, his other hand loosely gripping my other elbow.
“Good. Because – wait, why not?” I demanded.
He laughed and shook his head, “There’s no winning with you, is there?”
“Well . . . I want you to want to kiss me, but not actually do it.”
“Fair enough.”
“Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You’re doing fine,” he assured me. “Nothing embarrassing yet.”
“Just wait. It’ll come. I can feel it sitting at the back of my throat: word vomit.”
“Just as long as it’s word vomit and not any other sort of vomit.” I cringed and he laughed again, a soothing sound that washed over me and wrapped around my shoulders, forcing me to slow down. At least I was amusing him, and probably doing a better job of it drunk than I ever could sober. “Besides, if you do say something embarrassing, I promise to pretend like it never happened, and then you probably won’t remember it in the morning anyway.”
“Unfortunately, I’ll remember every excruciating detail,” I lamented with a heavy sigh. “That’s why you can’t kiss me.”
“What’s why?”
“Because I will remember it but girls . . . I’d question it, because I’m not really the random make-out session kind of girl. Maybe I’d convince myself right now that I am because it’s—but really I’m not, and then you wouldn’t remember it so I would be over-analyzing for nothing and now I can never talk to you. Not that we talk much anyways . . . or at all . . .”
“And why wouldn’t I remember it?” he asked. It felt like I was being interviewed and that annoyed me but I couldn’t stop answering his questions, no matter how hard I tried to seal my lips. I thought about his question; I had assumed he was drunk. But when I looked at him, he very clearly was not. At least I didn’t think so. He stood perfectly at ease on his feet, didn’t slur his speech, and hadn’t burped or hiccoughed once. But that was a very stereotypical image of drunkenness. Maybe he was just a put together drunk.
“You’re not drunk,” I stated.
He shook his head slowly, giving me the amused crooked smile again, “No, I’m not drunk.”
“But that just confuses me!”
“That I’m not drunk?”
“Well you can’t drunkenly kiss someone if you aren’t drunk.” The statement was rather irrelevant, even redundant, but he just laughed. I frowned, realizing that if he wasn’t drunk, he was simply the sober guy laughing at the drunk girl. At the drunk girl, not with.
“And that, Bella, is why I will not be kissing you.” It was the first time he had said my name. I noticed it immediately, the way it sounded rolling out from between his lips, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth. I was obsessed with his teeth. I wanted to run my tongue along them. I gasped at the image. “What?”
I frowned, “I don’t know exactly what you mean because you could mean that you’d have to be drunk to kiss me or you could mean that you want to kiss me but won’t because I’m tipsy and you’re not.”
“I think you’re a bit beyond tipsy at this point.”
“I’m not! Or . . . maybe . . . damnit.”
He just gave my arms a squeeze and assured me, “Don’t worry. No guy would have to be drunk to kiss you unless it was just a matter of getting his nerves up.” My face twisted into what was probably a gruesome mixture of confusion and amazement. Was he joking? Or was that a genuine compliment? What were we talking about again?
Nervous to change the subject, I whined, “Shit these heels hurt. Never wear heels, Edward Cullen. Not if you’re going to be standing a lot.”
“I’ll . . . uh, keep that in mind,” he promised. “Tell you what, why don’t you come with me and you can sit for a bit.” He had looped my arm through his for support and led me a couple steps before I abruptly stopped.
“Wait,” I gasped. “I can’t just go with you. Where are you taking me?”
“You’re a smart girl, Bella. But we’re just going to the kitchen.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s okay. I can’t leave without Alice, though, you know? That’s my mantra.”
“Right, girl code. Would it be easier to walk if you took your shoes off?” he suddenly asked as I stumbled again.
“Um, yes? But I don’t know what’s on these floors. I like to be barefoot; I was always barefoot at home in Phoenix but it’s dangerous. I could step on a nail or something. I’ve done that before. And needles twice. And once an open safety pen. I get hurt a lo—you can tell me to shut up whenever you want. It won’t hurt my feelings. I know I’m talking too much.”
“No, no,” he shook his head. “Keep talking. You’re entertaining. And if you don’t talk, I’ll have to talk, and I’ll most likely say something stupid.”
“Only you can’t blame it on alcohol . . . I can’t imagine you saying something stupid, though. I wonder where Alice is?”
“You’re very concerned for her and yourself, aren’t you? You’re too responsible for a drunk.”
“Safety first!” I cheered. “Be wise, don’t compromise. No glove, no love.” This made Edward throw his head back to laugh louder than he ever had thus far except maybe about the Jessica comment, showing those pearly teeth and the pinkness of his throat.
We had reached the kitchen and he offered, “Here, let me find a chair for you to—“
“Hey, I can sit on the counter like anyone else,” I interrupted, clumsily pulling myself onto the counter. It put me on direct eye-level with him, which was nice; he was so tall I usually had to crane my neck to see up his nose. Now I could stare into his eyes, a vibrant green that seemed to shimmer under the lights. I watched him closely as he pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and grabbed a bag of pretzels, opening both before thrusting them at me.
“Drink, eat, it’ll help settle your—“
“I know what to do,” I insisted, taking a deep swig of the water. I could feel his eyes on my throat as I drank and became all too aware of the flirtiness of my position, sitting on the counter in my almost non-existent skirt with my knees apart, Edward standing in front of me. How easily he could take a step forward and be pressed up against me, be wrapped up in my legs, be tracing circles along my collarbone with his tongue.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry! I was thinking dirty thoughts. I mean – fuck,” I laughed at myself. “Oh, it’s like the filter is just gone.”
He grinned like an older teacher humoring their pupil, “That’s okay. You can think all the dirty things about me that you want; I don’t mind.”
“Who said they were about you?” I quipped, lifting an eyebrow in what I hoped looked seductive and not just uncomfortable. I looked up at him as I took another sip of my water and kicked my legs a bit on either side, feeling like I needed to be moving. The startled expression on his face made me laugh this time. Was he uncomfortable? Could Edward Cullen be made to feel uncomfortable?
“Well, ah . . .” he let out a huff of air and ran his fingers through his glorious hair. “I guess no one.”
“You know,” I began, but then forgot what I was saying when he looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. There was something so endearing about his perfect face, so captivating about the heaviness of his brow over such bright eyes. His jaw was magnetic north and my eyes couldn’t stay away. I wanted to do dirty things to him and then talk to him about . . . oh, I don’t know, art or music or movies or something. I wanted to screw his mind. And then do more dirty things to him.
“I know . . .”
“You aren’t what I expected, Edward Cullen.”
“Oh? And what did you expect?”
“An arrogant asshole womanizer.” As soon as I said it, I gasped and clamped my hand to my mouth, staring at him wide-eyed and spilling some of my water on my lap in the process. The alcohol was beginning to settle in my system and I was becoming a bit more aware of the inappropriateness of the things I said. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that; I take it back. You can’t ask me things like that right now!”
My answer didn’t seem to be what he had expected, and he looked slightly taken aback, but then smiled lightly, “I guess that’s fair. Maybe it’s true.”
“Arrogant, an asshole, or a womanizer?”
“I don’t know. Maybe all three,” he guessed, looking up at me with what could only be considered a sheepish grin, like I had discovered his secret past.
“I mean – I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t even know you. That’s just kind of the impression I got . . . you know, from what people say and just from seeing you and . . .”
“What people say—“
“No, well, you know. Girls want you, boys want to be you . . . you and Tanya Denali, and . . . I don’t know, maybe it’s possible to be extremely good looking and really nice at the same time, but I think it would be very rare,” I offered, reaching out to poke at the sunglasses dangling from the neckline of his shirt. I pulled them off and tried them on, glancing around the dimmed kitchen.
He grinned, “Did you just call me extremely good looking?”
“As though you don’t get told that every day of your life.”
“Not by people who are intelligent enough to have opinions I respect.” My eyes widened with surprise and I yanked the glasses off, poking myself in the eye in the process. He frequently used sentences that were too proper, too eloquent to fit with the typical speech pattern of high school boys. He was beautiful but he wasn’t stupid and it annoyed the hell out of me.
My left shoe suddenly slipped off my foot and hit the tile floor, making me jump. Edward bent to pick it up but I told him not to bother, kicking the other one off as well.
“Ah, that feels so much better,” I sighed, leaning back and letting my neck stretch as my eyes closed. My hat fell off again but landed on the counter beside me. I wiggled my toes and rotated my ankles. My feet felt so close to freedom that I couldn’t deny them any longer. “Ugh, I can’t wait to take these off,” I groaned, opening my eyes to see Edward watching my face closely, his eyes narrowed. I slipped my hand under the elastic of one of the thigh-highs but Edward’s hand was immediately on mine.
“You might want to leave those on.”
“Why? It’s just my legs. It’s not like I’ll be naked.”
“I know, but—“
“But what?” I inquired, a surge of impishness rushing through me. I quirked my eyebrow; he avoided my eyes. I wasn’t stupid. Had this been anyone but Edward Cullen, I would have known exactly why he wanted me to keep them on, and so why should Edward Cullen, logically, be any different? He wanted me to keep them on but really he wanted me to take them off; he was still a guy.
I was wrong. The alcohol was still strongly dominating my actions. It’s the only way I could explain my next move: I pulled my right knee up to my chest and used my thumbs to slowly slide the stocking down my leg. I stared at my own foot, innocently pretending I couldn’t see his eyes widening at each uncovered inch of skin, though he kept his gaze firmly on my other leg or alternately the floor. Did he actually gulp? Surely I couldn’t be getting him so worked up simply by taking my stocking off, but the possibility was such an ego booster that I let my right leg casually and “accidentally” press against his body as I twisted on the counter to take off my left stocking. Once my legs were completely bare, I moaned and leaned forward to run my hands down my legs, wincing at the bump in the skin where the elastic had pressed.
“They squeeze right here,” I explained, showing him the line. “It hurts when you rub the dent out. See? It’s an actual dent!” I took his hand and pressed his fingers against the line on my thigh.
As soon as he realized his hand was touching my leg, he literally jumped back, turning to run his hands through his hair several times before wagging his finger at me, “You’re cruel. Do you know that? You’re a cruel woman. You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what on purpose?” I retorted, making my eyes extra wide. Lauren had said my eyes – wait, was I trying to seduce Edward Cullen? No way! Awkward octopus is not capable of seduction. I laughed, “I told you I get flirty when I’m drunk.”
“Well then it’s good that I’m here and not some other guy . . . like that guy trying to kidnap you.”
“No, I wasn’t this flirty with him,” I shrugged. I knew it was a confusing answer; let him mull it over. Let him wonder. Instead of explaining, I suddenly let out a big yawn, covering my face with my hands to hide the grotesque distortion of my features.
“Getting sleepy?”
“Yes. I think I’m ready to go home but I have to wait for Alice and I don’t even know where she is.”
“How about you sit here and I’ll go find her for you?”
“Okay –no, wait! Edward!” I yelped, grabbing his arm as he turned to go. He froze. “You can’t leave me. What if someone tries to kidnap me again?”
“No one is going to kidnap you.”
“You’re going to feel really bad if someone does.”
With what I didn’t think was real annoyance, he sighed, “All right, princess. Come with me, then. Am I going to have to carry you around, too?”
“No, you don’t have to,” I assured him, tossing my cap back on before sliding off the counter and stumbling a couple steps. I tried again but it wasn’t any better; my normal clumsiness was suddenly magnified.
“But we don’t want you stepping on any nails,” he reminded me. “All right, then.” He turned around and reached over his shoulders for my hands. And go figure, I let him, and then jumped up onto his back. I had never ridden piggy-back on a guy before. It made me feel small and dainty and feminine, and all too aware of his warm fingers gripping beneath my bare knees. I had my arms around his shoulders and every flex of his muscles sent tingles through my arms and down my back. At first I tried to keep my back straight and my head high, but my muscles were tired, and anyways I couldn’t stop thinking about the pressure of my crotch against his back. So instead I rested my chin on his shoulder and wondered to myself if my hot breath creeping down his neckline did anything to him. His scent – a mixture of cologne, deodorant, and a natural boy muskiness – wrapped around me, combining with the alcohol to leave me completely dazed. I inhaled deeply, feeling like I couldn’t fill my lungs enough with the intoxicating scented air. Heat from his body seeped into mine everywhere we touched and his hair rubbed against the side of my head. Surely I couldn’t be affecting him the same way or he wouldn’t be able to walk. I was beyond that.
Fortunately, it wasn’t difficult to find Alice and Jasper, sitting together in the windowseat in the dining room a little removed from all the noise, deep in discussion. When Edward approached with me clinging to his back, Alice bolted up with a worried expression, but I laughed at her concern.
“I’m okay, Mom! Those shoes had to go, though, or I – so this fine young gentleman gave me a ride. I mean . . . not a ride, but you know, a piggy back ride—“
“You should stop talking,” Alice giggled, shaking her head. I had already warned her that the one time I’d been drunk with my mom, there was very little I hadn’t said to the waiter, her, and her two friends that were with us. “How much have you had?”
“Ah . . . I don’t kno—bitter lemons are really good!”
“Oh dear.”
“And I’ve learned to like rum . . . Do you know I finally feel sexy in this costume?”
“Oh? Is that why you took half of it off?” she teased, reaching out to give my thigh a squeeze. I yipped and bucked against Edward’s back; I could feel the groan in his chest through my arms but the music made it inaudible.
To cover up my awkward action, I snickered, “Oh, no, no, that was just to screw with Edward. I mean, not screw screw with him, but—“
“So are you girls ready to go home?” Edward interrupted.
I laughed awkwardly loudly this time, asking, “Was that your polite way of telling me to shut up? Good job! Asshole.”
“I think it’s definitely time to get this into my bed where I can do what I want with her,” Alice teased, rubbing her nose affectionately against my arm.
“Are we invited . . .” Jasper mumbled, earning a playful slap in the chest from Alice. It occurred to me that they looked to be much closer . . . but neither was acting the least bit drunk.
I frowned, “Alice! Didn’t you have anything?”
“Well, not since the beginning . . . Jasper and I just got talking, so, you know,” she shrugged. My frown deepened that she had convinced me to drink only to abstain herself, leaving me to act the drunk fool alone. “I’m sorry! But this way . . . the better to take care of you in the morning when you’re terribly hung over!”
I groaned, “I’m puking in your bed. I’m going to do it.”
Jasper made a face, “Maybe we’ll sit this one out after all.” We made our way collectively to the room where Mike had tossed our jackets earlier, and Edward pointed out his jacket for me to pull up so that I had both our coats draped over my back. Jasper laughed that Edward looked like a two-headed hunchback. Alice kindly retrieved my abandoned footwear and the four of us dove into the cool night. Jasper’s car, which I could identify nothing of except that it was black, was parked down the street a bit, and I silently listened to him talk with Alice until we’d reached it.
“All right, I’m letting you down,” Edward warned, but I had already begun to slide down his back, gasping as my bare feet hit the cool concrete. He opened the door for me to climb into the backseat, then hurried around to the other side while Jasper and Alice settled into the front.
“You’re awful cute when you’re drunk, Bella,” Alice beamed, watching as I craned my neck back to look up at the night sky through the rear window. It was too cloudy to make out any stars, but the moon glowed dimly through a thin patch.
I tried to find her face in the dark car, asking, “What?”
“I said you’re cute.”
“Oh. Well you’re cute, too. But my hat is driving me crazy,” I sighed, pulling it off and handing it to Alice as though she needed to be the keeper of all my things. She accepted it, adding it to the growing pile of my discarded items.
Jasper snorted, “Christ, doesn’t take much to get you to strip, does it, Bella?”
“Actually, it took a lot of alcohol to get me this far,” I argued, scooting down in the seat so that my head could rest against the back of the seat. I hadn’t buckled my seat belt, and when Jasper suddenly took a sharp turn, I flew across the seat into Edward’s side. He helped me sit back up, but for some reason I stayed sitting in the middle as Alice and Jasper picked back up on the conversation they had been interrupted from.
I tried to listen like the good wingman, or observe Jasper’s body language or whatever it is good girl friends are supposed to do, but the hum of the car and the passing lights flickering momentarily through the windows, the low radio behind me and the heat from Edward’s body were too much to battle with. I could feel my eyes drifting closed and my head bobbed until I finally sighed, “Fuck it,” and shifted to let my head fall against Edward’s shoulder.
“Can I?” I whispered, already almost asleep.
I barely heard him whisper back, “Yes, you can.”
Next thing I knew, Alice was gently shaking my awake, “Come on, Bella, we’re home. Let’s get you upstairs.” I groaned and let Edward and Alice pull me out of the car, blinking against the cab light that flicked on when Edward opened his door. I was only faintly aware of waving goodbye to the boys as Alice slipped her arm around my waist and helped me stumble up the stairs, her eyes glued to the ground to watch for any nails or glass I might step on. She was paranoid.
She helped me change, literally pulling my costume off and slipping a tee and shorts on, giggling about me being her My-Size Barbie. I was certainly no Barbie, but I was too zombied out to argue, like I had ODed on Nyquil and was now paying the price.
It wasn’t until we had crawled into bed that Alice whispered, “Hey, Bella. You and Edward didn’t . . . you know . . . I mean, I won’t judge or anything, but I didn’t see you most of the night—“
“No, we didn’t have sex,” I mumbled. “But . . . he may have kissed my finger.” I stared at my finger in the dark as though a kiss would have left some sort of physical marker. “But only because I put my fingers on his mouth. He was really truly very nice. I wish he really is like he was tonight.”
“Maybe he is. I mean, he and Jasper are really good friends, and Jasper wouldn’t be friends with just anyone.”
“No, I don’t think he could be, because then I would want to kiss his neck.” Even as I said it I knew it didn’t make sense. I was dramatizing and combining thoughts.
Alice just laughed and kissed my cheek, “Good night, Bella. We can sleep in as late as we want tomorrow.”
“Sure sure, good night.”
True to her word, Alice held my hair back while I puked until my insides ached in the morning.
Two Main Four