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Edward quickly realizes that sitting on the floor of the hallway in a blissful stupor is counterproductive and conspicuous. He's hearing the confused mental chatter of his entire class and they are primarily focused on the implications of his Bella-Swan-stare-down. The more innocent, sweet members of the class are contemplating that she probably just looked familiar to him, like an ex-girlfriend or something. The devious minds, namely Mike Newton among others, are considering a tawdry and illicit affair between the two of them. The images he's conjuring, despite the offensive and personal nature of them, are quite appealing to Edward. Which he immediately feels guilty about when he remembers that the girl is just that: a seventeen-year-old child.
Regardless of the moral or social implications of his attraction to her, he can't banish the memory of her heart-shaped face from his mind. The depth of her dark-chocolate eyes, the uneven fullness of her lips, the light red stain adorning her cheeks and the way her wavy, full, multihued hair frames the delicate perfection of her face is ingrained in his mind. He is filled with irrepressible joy and hope.
As he rises up off the soiled linoleum floor he's struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation of his behavior. He assumes the best approach is a forthright lie, or at most a perversion of the truth. He gives a thought to asking Alice what to do, but decides against it considering recent events. When he pushes the classroom door open, the gossip immediately ceases and it eases his anxiety slightly; he's laughing to himself because he knows what all but one of them are thinking whether they verbalize it to their rumor-monger friends or not.
He attempts to recreate his relaxed and nonchalant position leaning back on the front of his desk but he can't seem to banish the tension in his body. "Sorry about that, class. Uh... Isabella just reminded me of someone I knew once. Caught me slightly off guard. I apologize... Let's get started with the syllabus."
Pressing on seems sensible, but the thoughts of the teenagers around him are offering very little solace. Edward had forgotten the imaginative power of teenage sexual fantasy. Nearly all the boys are imagining he and Bella in coitus, and some of the girls are, too. While he flounders at the front of the room, distractedly searching his briefcase for the syllabus he needs to distribute, it occurs to him that when he was looking at Bella the others thoughts nearly disappeared. And despite the attention it will draw Edward feels trapped and frazzled by the bombardment of sexual fantasies.
He casts a surreptitious glance under the shield of his shaggy coif only to find Bella doing the same thing; her eyes are cut sideways and guarded by the soft waves of her mahogany locks but she's looking right at him with a blush reddening her pale skin. Edward can barely contain the cocky, lopsided grin thats growing in direct proportion to the red on Bella's cheek. He's immensely pleased at the thought that she might not be averse to his advances.
Just as Edward begins to move from the front of the room to pass out the syllabus, his phone signals a text from Alice. It reads: Get someone else to pass out the syllabus, and try not to smell her. Edward's confusion is only matched by his aggravation at Alice but he knows not to bet against her. He complies, and assigns a student on the first row the duty. She better have a damn good reason for all this. And he focuses on his decision to grab the little sprite by her ankles and spin her over his head until the answers come out. Her second text is purely to annoy him: Good things come to those who wait, brother. And patience is a virtue. Seeing Alice's smirking face through the mind of her Spanish teacher is helping neither his patience nor his focus.
Once the syllabus is distributed, Edward launches into his semi-prepared spiel on the requirements of the class. Which then flows effortlessly into his first lesson in biology. The momentum he's built by talking and teaching is only part of his successful recovery from the debacle Bella created at the outset of class. The other, and perhaps more pertinent factor, are the constant and pleasurable bouts of eye contact he shares with the dark-haired beauty at the back of the class.
If he had to guess, Edward might be tempted to say that she's as enamored with him as he is with her. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but he thinks probably not, when he considers the constant blush she's burdened with, the slight acceleration of her pulse and her reluctance to break their gaze. By the time he dismisses class, a scant few seconds before the bell Edward is giddy; in his lovey-dovey daze he's forgotten Alice's warning not to smell her. In fact he's looking forward to it and is quite intrigued as to what she might smell like. Most humans have stopped smelling like food to Edward but he can still appreciate the subtle aromatic variances.
Bella is the last one to leave the class, and Edward notes that she moves very deliberately, almost comically slow. He detects a slight hitch in her gait and wonders what injury could have caused a young person to limp, even if only a little. As she approaches him at his place near the door, outside the safety of the flowing air-tunnel Alice created, her blush and heart-rate spike noticeably. The scent of her blood and body reach him just a moment before she does, and it revokes every last bit of restraint, from both man and vampire, that he's cultivated over the last six centuries.
With impure intention, he surges across the gap between them and pulls her into his arms; one snakes around her waist and the other gently cradles her head at the base of her spine, exposing the soft arch of her ambrosial neck which he nuzzles with his lips and nose; the taste of her skin is unforgettable and unprecedented. He pulls her close, gathering her impressible form against every hard line of his body. For a few moments he drowns in Bella's delicious sensations: the supple warmth of her denim covered waist, the delicate silk tendrils of her hair surrounding his hand, the undiluted ecstasy of her form molded to his, her almost imperceptible sounds of pleasure, the fiery caress of her lips on his jawline... wait, WHAT!
Her actions awaken his conscience at the pinnacle of the most potent bloodlust Edward has ever felt. He doesn't let go of her yet, but he pulls back to in an attempt to read her facial expression. It's a look he will always remember with pleasure, as Bella's eyes are dilated, her perfect mouth is slightly parted, she's practically panting- short shallow breaths are all she can manage and the flush usually contained on her face has reached down her neck and fanned out to spread over her clavicle and sternum. Edward has to resist the urge to lick along her blush.
At this point, his own thoughts shock him so thoroughly that he releases her and takes several hasty steps back, holding his breath against the onslaught of her blood's scent. He can see the confusion, shock and hurt on her face but knows he can do nothing about for the moment.
"Go, Isabella. Leave please," he chokes out with what remaining oxygen he has. She begins to protest, but he knows he can't tolerate her scent swirling so close around him much longer. So he points toward the door with a gnarled fist. His demeanor must be horrifying to her because he can tell his eyes are devoid of any color but black, his jaw is clenched impossibly tight and he's begun to growl low and uncontrollably.
With an indecipherable look over her shoulder, Bella stumbles through the doorway, which is partially obscured by Alice's dainty form. She closes the door behind the rapidly retreating human with a stern expression. "Get to the window," Alice barks. Edward breaks a pane of glass in his attempt to get fresh air into his lungs.
"Did anyone see what just happened?" His words escape in breathless gasps.
"Just me, E.C." His audible sigh of relief makes Alice giggle.
"What do you find funny about this?"
"Plenty, you silly man. You're worried about whether or not someone saw your little indiscretion when you ought to be worried about how close you just came to killing your first real romantic interest. You should have listened to me."
"I was a little distracted Alice. Maybe I would have been better of with all the information you've been keeping from me." His acerbic tone doesn't discourage Alice.
"No. I saw her dead every time I told you about her. It didn't seem to matter if I decided to tag along with Emmett and Jasper as backup. When you smelled her for the first time, you evaded us all, every time. It was impressive actually: such singular purpose! The only way to keep her alive was to let you meet her in class, and interfere as little as possible. But now that we've gotten that out of the way, I can help you court her!"
The idea is extremely appealing despite the precarious situation between teacher and student, vampire and human, old and young, predator and prey. Edward cranes his neck around from outside the window, and flashes her a brilliant grin. "I think she likes me, Alice."
The sound of their relieved laughter floods the room almost as quickly as Edward's unbridled joy. His mind drifts to the object of his affection, and he worries about their abrupt separation. He's relatively sure he hasn't done irreparable damage towards a future relationship but he feels anxious to alleviate her fears and answer her questions. With Edward in tow, Alice makes her way toward the faculty parking lot. She's practically dragging the distracted love-struck vampire but every time she turns to scold him she's infected by his dopey facial expression and all they can do is laugh.
Juxtaposed by his joy is the turbulent confusion that Bella is experiencing. Edward would be horrified if he knew that at this moment she is silently sobbing in the cab of her antique Chevy, incensed and flustered at the recent turn of events. And if Jasper were in proximity he'd have emotional whiplash. But she's surprisingly comfortable breaking the rules if it will bring her Edward. When she comes to terms with what she thinks and feels later in the evening she'll decide that Edward needs to know that she is not that other girl; he owes her an explanation. And maybe, if he's lucky, there will be some physical reciprocation...
A/N: This couldn't be contained. Took me less than an hour to crank this chap out; I suppose B and E were anxious to interact. I've heard it said that the blush thing is overdone and/or unrealistic, but I dated a girl in high school who blushed just like that. Anytime we... ahem... were close she would flush from the roots of her hair to her stomach. It made making out when her parents were around very dangerous. Unfortunately I found out her dad got red like that, too, but for vastly different reasons. I learned then that love overcomes all things... except angry, protective fathers.