Chapter 10

EPOV

"This is so good, Ma. I'm gonna get fat if I keep eating your delicious cooking."

"Then stop inviting yourself over for dinner, asshole," I grumbled under my breath, stabbing a piece of lettuce with my fork.

"Don't take your crankiness out on me," Paul said with a laugh. "I can't help it if Ma likes me best."

The big jerk gave my mom a sweet smile and then shoved a heaping forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. I kicked him under the table.

Though he didn't react to my direct hit on his shin, Mom somehow knew what I'd done. "Edward! Be nice to Paul," she admonished playfully. "He is my favorite, after all."

When said favorite smirked at me, I had to fight down the urge to shove his face into his plate. I didn't normally get so pissed off when we gave each other crap, but it was hard to stay cheerful when comparing one's bowl of grasses to everyone else's mouthwateringly fragrant bacon-wrapped filet mignon.

It wasn't even the good kind of grass.

Dad caught me eye-fucking his leftovers and frowned. He pushed his plate in my direction. "I'm full. Why don't you finish it off?"

I shook my head resolutely, even though I was practically drooling at the idea.

"Come on, Son. You know this isn't good for your body. You've already lost 30 pounds and hardly look better than some of my cancer patients. I don't want you to suffer permanent damage, if you haven't already."

"I'm not talking about this again," I muttered. "It's a done deal."

"Edward, nothing is worth—"

"Dr. Cullen, could you pass the salt?" Paul interrupted loudly.

Dad stopped mid-sentence and glanced between me and Paul. "Fine, I get the message. I'll drop the subject," he said, nodding at the salt shaker, which already sat in front of Paul's plate. "For now, anyway. But don't think that—"

"So! Did you hear the latest, Ma? The Cullen Crusaders rode again today."

I dropped my face into my hands and groaned. While I appreciated Paul's continued attempt to distract my dad, his choice of a new topic wasn't much of an improvement.

"Oh?" she said eagerly, leaning forward in her chair. "Did they have any new tricks up their sleeves?"

"Yeah! They were all still wearing the lights, but this time, the two big guys were carrying a blacked-out version of those riot gear shield things. And get this: they'd painted "Paps Suck" on the front. Hilarious!"

"Oh, so now you're on their side, huh?" I said with a scowl.

"I told ya, as long as I don't have to worry about lawsuits happening on my watch, I'm all for it."

"I don't understand why they're still being called the 'Cullen' Crusaders, though," my dad mused out loud. "Yesterday, it was Ariana Grande and Christie Brinkley. And then today…well, it obviously wasn't Edward. Who were they helping today?"

"Michael B. Jordan, and holy crap was it funny!" Paul flashed a mischievous grin at me. "The guy was laughing and cheering the whole time, especially when your little brunette got in a shouting match with a pap twice her size."

"She's not 'my' brunette, you moron," I retorted. "And Dad's right. It doesn't make any sense to keep associating that group with me. How can the rags even spin it that way?"

Paul had pulled out his phone and was flicking his finger down the screen. "According to National Examiner, the kids are working under your orders to get the paps back for harassing you so bad. They're the Angels to your Charlie."

"Even the boys?" my mom giggled. "Oh, Edward, see if you can get those muscly young men to wear black leather pants and high-heeled boots like Cameron, Lucy, and Drew. That'd be so sexy."

"What are you talking about, woman?" Dad said, smacking his fork on the table in dramatic fashion. "I've got all the sexy you need right here."

Mom giggled again and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Don't I know it," she cooed.

"Aw, hell no. I'm not gonna sit here and listen to my parents' twisted version of foreplay." I picked up my empty salad bowl and got to my feet. "I'll be watching TV in the living room."

They both laughed at me as I walked to the sink. After thanking my mom for dinner, Paul put his own dishes away and followed me out of the kitchen.

"So what's the deal?" he asked. "Are you staying here tonight or heading back to your place?"

"Eh, I might as well crash here." I flopped down the couch and tried my best not to pout. "It's not like I have anything else interesting going on."

"Jesus, man, this whiny bitch thing is getting old. I know you're hungry and depressed and shit, but you made the choice to take on the role of a meth addict. Next time, pick something where you get to eat a lot, like a heavyweight boxer or something."

"When you see the finished film, you'll know why I couldn't pass it up. It's the part of a lifetime."

"Yeah, well, let's hope this crash dieting bullshit doesn't shorten your own. I'm not a doctor like your dad, but even I know this isn't good for you."

I picked up a pillow and heaved it at him. "Seriously, man? Didn't you just rescue me from this kind of torture? Leave it alone, or I'll show you whiny bitch like you've never seen before."

"Alright, alright! I'm shutting up. Let's just find a game to watch."

I tossed him the remote and stared at the screen while he flipped through the channels. A basketball game soon caught his attention, but my thoughts were all over the place.

"Hey, Paul," I said after a while. "Those guys…you know, the Crusaders or whatever…no one got hurt, did they?"

"Huh? The kids? I didn't hear of anything bad happening." Paul side-eyed me. "Why? You worried about your girl?"

"No, Kate's fine. I talked to her this afternoon, thank you very much. With how much you're up my ass, I'm surprised you didn't listen in on the conversation." I paused and then shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "I was just curious. After all, it's important that I keep track of my Angels. So, did anyone ever figure out who they really are?"

"I think one of the big guys was ID'd as a USC student who was on the football team his freshman year until he got injured. The others are probably from USC, too, but I'm not sure if their names are out there yet." He turned his head toward me and raised his eyebrow. "Are you wondering about anyone specifically?"

"Fucking A, Paul!" I yelled. "Would you get off my fucking back already?"

Paul just stared as I fought to keep my temper under control. I knew I was overreacting yet again but couldn't seem to help it. The constant ache in my stomach was driving me nuts and making me want to lash out at everything.

"Look, I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head at my stupid behavior. "I know I'm being a huge dick these days. Shooting starts in 2 weeks, and if you can just keep from killing me for that long…"

"Yeah, I'm not sure that's possible. Maybe a distraction is in order." He tapped the remote on his chin. "I think you need to take another trip, but this time without Ms. Anal Retentive."

"Watch it, fucker…" I threatened.

"You know it's true," he said with a smirk. "Anyway, how about we crash at Eric's place for a few days? It's been a while since we've partied in Colorado."

"I can't believe you're six years older than me. You're like a perpetual child on steroids."

"Cool. So I'll let Eric know we'll be there on Tuesday, and you'll have Terry book us a flight?"

"Whatever. I guess so."

"Want me to drop a hint to the paps so your cute little brunette will—"

"Paul?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll go all whiny bitch on your ass again."

"Shutting up, sir."

Sorry I'm a day behind. RL is just...yeah.

Next week will be a busy one for me on top of everything else, so I'm going to hold off on posting until Mon the 30th. To those who celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you have a wonderful day. I'm very thankful for this fandom and all of you!

Much love,

Rachel xxoo