Geek Love Chapter 4: In Which Edward is Schooled

I blinked. Twice. Slowly.

"Sorry?"

"Play with me. I'munna kick your ass at air hockey."

A nervous laugh escaped me. Bella took that for acquiescence and smiled. Pulling her hands from my neck, I turned us in the direction of the neon-lit air hockey tables on the other side of the room.

Three games and one argument later, I was well and truly schooled. The woman was more juiced than the Odwalla factory, but had still somehow managed to kick my ass. She had absolutely no defense, and her aim was total shit. What she had was a killer serve. Four out of five times she slammed that fucker straight into the goal. How the hell she did it was beyond me. She held the paddle (which she called a "goalie", spawning our one argument) in a weird-ass sideways hold, with her fingers inside the center ring.

The fourth game was a different story. She was up two points—to my big fat zero—when Mike sauntered over, leaning against an adjacent table, watching. He was behind Bella, and was clearly not focusing on the game so much as the view. Unapologetically watching her ass as she moved left to right defending her goal against my inept attacks, I seethed violently at him. Whenever she moved he would make a seemingly supportive comment, but with an unmistakable subtext.

"Nice, Bella. You got moves, girl."

"Sweet action there Bella!"

"Way to hit it, Bella."

Just to mix it up a bit, he would reference my masculinity—or apparent lack thereof—every few comments.

"You need to take on a real man, Bella."

The more comments he made, the more Bella's game slipped. At first I wasn't sure, given her current state of sobriety, how much of his shit she was catching. After a few points, however, it was clear she got it—all of it.

"Hey peen gallery, why dn't you make yurslf useful and go get ussum drinks?" Bella asked him archly.

"Bella," he oozed condescension, "you don't need anything more to drink. Hurry up and kick his butt so I can give you a ride home."

Like hell he was. I knew as well as he did that the last thing Bella needed was another drink, but fuck me if she was going anywhere near his car.

Thunk!

The puck landed decisively in Bella's goal. I hadn't touched a thing. She was scoring against herself. And muttering. Oh great. A muttering Bella was never, ever a good thing. That was something she did when, and only when, she was really pissed off.

Thunk!

She slammed another shot against my end of the table, watching it ricochet then slide with a satisfying clunk in her goal.

I had given up any pretense of playing and was standing, arms crossed, watching her slaughter herself at air hockey. Mike watched us both; head tilted at a cocky angle, asswadish confidence exuding from him like Old Spice from my grandpa. He didn't have a clue she was pissed. What a worthless dunce.

When Bella had soundly beaten herself and the air stopped blowing from the table, she stood, eyes slitted like a cat. Her gaze met mine, and then looked away quickly. She was pissed—and really uncomfortable. Bella loathed personal confrontation.

I wanted to swoop in and fix this for her—tell Mike to go fuck himself, and whisk her away—but I knew better than that. Bella would have my balls if I flew in to rescue her, proving I had no faith in her ability to take care of herself. Newton, unaware of the shit-storm brewing in Bella's mind, walked over to her.

"Bella, sweetheart, let's go."

I sat back, wishing like hell I had some popcorn for the show. Mike had no idea what a colossal grave he was digging himself. A quiet chuckle escaped me, but I stifled it when I realized what an ass I was being. Bella was upset about this. I had no right to enjoy it.

Stop it! Not. Funny.

OK, it was a little funny.

"What wassat, Mike?" Bella was still slurring, though the time and anger had clearly sobered her somewhat.

"I said let's go, Bella. I'll take you home."

"Why?" she demanded, a little louder than she probably meant. "Why you wanna take me home?"

"Bella," his tone was what you would use to address an ornery toddler, "you need a ride home. I have a car. Come on, let's go." He put his arm in hers, pulling her with him.

Looking at his arm, I itched to rip it the fuck off, imagining the blood squirting out of a gaping wound in his shoulder like in some sick psycho movie. He'd be screaming, and I'd raise the limp limb up over my head in victory, yelling something manly and impressive.

"Why?" she demanded again. "You wanna tryta get in mypants? Is that it, Mister Newton?" Her eyes narrowed as she spoke.

Mike looked around to see who might have heard, then returned his eyes to Bella, scowling.

"Bella, I don't…I was just trying to…damn it! Why do you have to be such a bitch?"

"Natural talent?" She glared in response. It would have been much more intimidating had her "natural" not sounded more like "nashurul."

My name being sternly intoned broke my reverie.

"Huh?" Looking up I saw Bella glaring at Mike, but clearly addressing me.

"Edward, you'll take me home. Right?"

"Of course," I said simply. The fewer words the better when Bella was in this mode. She was glorious in her "Bitchtastic" mode, but let me tell you what is sub-funny: Being on the receiving end of Bitchtastic Bella. That is unfunny, frightening, and occasionally physically painful.

Mike scoffed. "Bella, that's ridiculous. Cullen doesn't even have a car. You can't take the bus ho–"

"Why not?" she interrupted.

"Well, for starters the buses don't run this late."

"Actually they do," I countered quietly.

"Bella, I don't want anything to happen to you. You need someone to walk you to your apartment, make sure–"

"Look, Mike," I had to step in at this point, she was trying to get through to him -- had made herself clear -- but for fuck's sake the dinglenut couldn't let it go, "seriously, let it go. I'll get her tucked in safe and sound with a glass of water, some Tylenol, and a bucket."

"Absolutely not! Bella you can't seriously–"

Bella's foot stomped—stomped—on the floor. Oh, nice, we'd moved on to Tempertastic Bella! I loved this Bella.

"Mike Newton, I don't wanna go home with you -- or have you take me home, " she added quickly, seeing he was about to speak, "I'm gonnago home wth Edward. I don' care if I hafta walk—on my eyeballs—to get there, I'd rather walk with him than go in your skeezemobile."

Mike looked like he'd been hit with a two-by-four. The very naughty part of me wished he had. Wow...when did I become so violent?

"Lessgo Edwrd."

At her command, I turned, walking out of the arcade section, heading for the main doors. A moment later I heard a soft thud behind me, followed by a giggle. Turning, I saw Bella in a wasted pile on the floor, giggling at having tripped over...herself, apparently, as there was nothing around her.

"Edward, can you, ya know," with an unsteady hand she pointed at her feet, then me, then vaguely at herself, "help me?"

I chuckled. "Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"

Bella turned her wobbly pointy finger at herself, somewhere in the direction of her tits, jabbing four times, slowly. It took me a minute to realize she was pointing to each of the letters on her t-shirt: S-T-F-U.

Laughing, I reached down for her, pulling her to her unsteady feet. As I turned to walk out the door, she almost felled me by a surprisingly accurate leap onto my back.

"Piggy back ride!"

Fucking hell. Bella wants to ride me home. Oh sweet baby Kermit, my karma bank must be full tonight. But wait, stay calm...stay calm...just do it and stay the fuck calm.

"Bella, I'm thinking that's probably a good idea. Your feet are about as trustworthy as Oprah with a box of Ding Dongs." OK, I couldn't hide my grin, this was going to be good.

Her knees were wrapped around my hips—firm, sexy, intimate. Her arms were wrapped around my neck—soft, lovely, asphyxiating me.

"Mellah..." I choked out.

She giggled, loosening her grip around my throat. "Sorry."

I walked through the doors, drunken, hellishly sexy object of my affections on my back, wondering how the hell I was going to hold her up and not grope her. Or at least, not grope her in any obvious way...

I had just started mentally chanting "dead kittens", mixing it up this time with the impressively alliterative "baby bunnies bathed in blood", when I felt Bella's hot tequila-scented breath on my ear.

"Thnkyou Edwrd," she whispered. "You're my superhero."

Thinking about my semi-wood, and the fact that my hands were technically on her ass, I didn't exactly feel like the good guy in this scenario. Chuckling quietly I asked her, "What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?"

"Then it's win eithr way," came her response, almost imperceptibly quiet.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, Edwrd," she was still slurring her words, but sounded a tad more coherent, "thingis, if you're the goodguy? You rescue me. Win!" She tugged at my ear for emphasis. "If you're the badguy? You haveyur wicked way wthme. Win!" Tugging at my ear again, she broke into helpless giggles, tucking her face into my neck to stifle the sound, sending shivers down my spine. I brought back the bloody bunny chant, with renewed vigor.

Let me tell you something. I know for an absolute fact that I'm a social retard. Always have been. Believe me when I say it's been a point brought up at every Cullen family gathering for the past...well...since I was born, pretty much. So, given my permanent status on the social bench, I'm never quite sure if I have "signals" right, but it seemed to me that Bella was...being…flirty? With me?

I decided to forego the bus, preferring to haul a hundred-and-something pounds uphill for ten blocks; or as I liked to think of it, having Bella ride me for twenty minutes. Something I never thought I'd actually get to say.

For her part, Bella was exceptionally quiet once I started walking in earnest. I was beginning to wonder at it, when she finally spoke. Her voice was calm and clearer than it had been in hours, warm breath drifting across my ear.

"Edward?"

"Yes, Bella?"

"I'm pretty certain I'm going to–"

Vomit rained down the front of my shirt as she puked over my shoulder and down my chest.

Fuck me.

Well, at least I wasn't hard any more.


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