And the game continues.

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Thanks to:
Di, my editor,

Paige, Aileen, and Renee, my prereaders.

Stupid Little Game
Chapter 8

I wasn't crazy. My boss—the boy I'd once known as my tormentor—was deliberately pursuing me. Something that filled me with dread, fear, and an embarrassing tinge of excitement that raced up my back like a fingertip's nail.

There was something seriously wrong with me.

Deciding to take the back stairs to my apartment instead of the elevator, I raced up the steps in my heels. By the third floor, the balls of my feet were beginning to ache, but I pressed on. If anyone had been in the stairwell with me, they would have heard what sounded like a madwoman, huffing like she was dying, and quick, loud shuffling on cement.

I'd suspected it before, but now I knew for sure. Edward had admitted to following me, even though he claimed he didn't know why.

But, I knew why: because there was still a bit of the bully in his behavior, his concern notwithstanding. And because he was essentially ignoring that I wanted to be left alone; it kind of felt like harassment.

So why hadn't I called him out on it?

Probably because when I was around him, I was either too consumed with anger, or confusion, or fighting an utterly ridiculous, humiliating attraction to him. Even now, I could still feel the tingling warmth of his touch on the skin of my arm. Still feel the power of his eyes, still see the curve of his mouth. And his deep, unexpected laughter . . . .

I burst through the steel door on the fifth floor, feeling like a traitor to myself. As it thumped closed behind me, I limped over to my door, panting. When I found my key, I stabbed it into the lock above the doorknob and shoved open the door, pretending it was Edward's chest I was poking as I drove him back in outrage.

After my horrible history with him, how could I be attracted to him? While he wasn't the same person he was in high school, I still wasn't even close to comfortable around him. It couldn't simply be his appearance, overwhelming as it was. He'd been just as overwhelming in high school, but after that first day, I had definitely not been attracted to him.

So, was it because he was polite now? Because he spoke in a soft, gentle voice? Because he'd learned how to use his eyes and his touch to influence me?

Was I really that shallow?

He made me want things I shouldn't want from him. It terrified me that I'd liked his hands on me, but at the same time, it infuriated me.

I stepped out of the torturous booties, kicking them aside, then slid down the door until my ass hit the wood floor. My head fell back and I stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing but the evening's memories in my head.

Edward was the consummate professional at work, even though I thought I'd caught him checking me out a couple of times. He was male, after all. At least in that regard, he was predictable. But why the hell was he giving me the full court press by following me? Was my forgiveness that important to him?

My breathing picked up again as I remembered his behavior tonight—as if he was attracted to me. His lingering touches, the long stares, the inconvenient concern. A sense of horrendous, excited fear filled my chest again. Or maybe it was just fear and horror.

Was he putting on an act? I wouldn't put it past him, even though it was unprofessional and damn stupid. Then again, an act like that seemed beneath the man he was today. But if it wasn't an act, what was he doing?

Maybe he thought if I thought he found me attractive, I'd be more susceptible to an apology.

I wouldn't.

I wouldn't, because I knew there was absolutely no way he could be attracted to a girl he'd abused in school. It defied reason and common sense. We were different people now, sure, but I was still me and he was still him. We still had that ugly history. Everything I did or said probably reminded him of it.

Not to mention, a beautiful face couldn't hide true ugliness. That was a lesson I'd learned the hard way.

But he didn't seem ugly inside anymore. That was the thing. He'd done an about-face from the kid I used to know, and our roles had reversed. Now I was the angry one, and he was the one trying to get me to see reason. All the anger he'd once demonstrated seemed to have transferred from him to my own gut. Either that, or the anger had always been there, and now I'd been given the opportunity to express it openly.

I didn't like being angry. I wasn't an angry person by nature. Dad called me daring—well, damned impulsive—and intelligent. Rose thought I was intuitive and creative. Neither of them had ever referred to me as angry.

I climbed to my feet and bent to grab the booties, then headed for my bedroom behind the large, open shelving unit. Just beyond my bed with its dark green patchwork quilt was the sliding glass patio to my small balcony. It faced North LaSalle Street and the ugly side of the Supreme Court Building, but I was restless and stepped outside anyway.

The noise of the traffic below echoed the noise inside my head.

A part of me acknowledged that maybe I was withholding forgiveness as a way to punish Edward. It put a sense of power into my hand, power that I'd never had with him before. Even though I thought I'd resolved my issues in therapy, apparently, I hadn't gone deep enough, because I was still angry with him. Still hurt. Still a bit broken, I guessed.

Damn it.

Mostly, it was because I wasn't ready to let go of the old feelings I had about him. Feeling hate, anger, and distrust was easier, safer, and less terrifying than giving in to other feelings.

Forgiving him meant I'd have to face all that past ugliness, humility, and resentment again. Just the thought of it made my stomach tense and the saliva pool in my mouth.

But what was the alternative? Just keep feeling this way? Having to go on the defense around him all the time was exhausting, especially when he was deliberately working to get past my defenses. No matter how much I tried to resist, I could feel myself weakening.

And losing that sense of control with him was damned scary.

Someone was laughing. I heard it distantly as another wave pushed its way up my stomach into my throat, and I retched.

"Jesus, she's gonna pop," someone said just before I vomited.

I'd gone through the rest of junior year hoping my peers would notice me for different reasons other than what Edward Cullen wanted them to see. Maybe for the old Ford truck I drove and took care of—I could change my own tire, for God's sake; maybe for the weight I was beginning to lose, or the braces that had finally come off my teeth; or, maybe for my portrayal of the bullied girl in the I Don't Want To Talk About It school play.

It had been a risk, that part I'd chosen to do—talking about being bullied, and the fear, depression, and loneliness that arose from it, and the fact that too many kids killed themselves over being bullied. Terrified, yet hoping for the best, I'd wanted to shake up those who picked on me, but they hadn't even come to the play.

I guessed I'd been preaching to a choir of parents, because my peers only noticed me now, after I'd collapsed on the running track outside. It was after school, so thankfully, most of them were gone, but I'd been noticed by the kids across the field practicing baseball. A kid ralphing was too good to ignore.

"Are you turning into an anorexic?" Tyler wanted to know. "Are you going to barf when we dissect frogs next week, too?"

I blinked away tears of exertion and tried to catch my breath.

"I can't wait to see what Cullen does if you barf on the table!" Mike laughed.

"He'd go ballistic," Tyler replied. "The frog is, like, eighty percent of our grade."

I lifted my head to glare at them. "Anorexia is a disorder where you refuse to eat because you're obsessed with losing weight."

"Well, aren't you?" someone asked from behind me.

With dread, I recognized Cullen's voice.

"Obsessed with losing weight? Because if you aren't, you really should be."

Apparently, baseball practice was over if he was over here, too.

I coughed and spat on the cement below me, willing the cramps away. "I just thought I'd provide a distraction for your practice. I heard you guys suck."

A vacuum of silence met my statement.

"Here, let me help you," Cullen said, and reached down for my arms.

I was so shocked by his turnabout that I let him touch me and begin to pull me up. Before I was halfway to my feet, he suddenly let go, and the motion made me pitch forward. As the palms of my hands slid into my wet pile of vomit, laughter erupted.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Cullen said, laughing along with everyone else.

"Edward," someone said with reproach in her voice. "What are you doing?"

And then I was being helped up by a tall, thin blonde girl. Victoria Daniels. Cheerleader, prom queen, honor roll student. Through my tears, I saw that she was also in running shorts, although I hadn't seen anyone else on the track.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Not even close, but I nodded.

"You're an asshole," I heard her say as I walked over to the grass in the middle of the field to wipe my hands off.

"She doesn't matter, Vic. Leave it alone," Cullen replied.

A burst of pain exploded in my chest at his words, and even more tears gathered in my eyes. A scream rose in my throat.

I didn't matter?

"Asshole," I said as I passed him, infusing all my hurt and anger in that one word. It was the first time I'd ever called him a name.

His gaze flickered, then went cold and dead.

"That's right," he answered, unrepentant. "Don't forget it."

. . .

A few days later, Ben and I had lunch at Goodwin's, the deli on the lobby floor of the building where we worked. Although they were busy, we got lucky and found a booth at the back.

Ben was a gentleman, and let me choose the seat facing the front of the restaurant. I slid onto the bench and placed my tray on the table.

"This is a sign," he said as he slid onto his seat.

"Of what?"

"That our lunch is meant to be," he answered, and I chuckled.

"You're a sentimental type, aren't you?"

I watched him smile as he tucked his tie between two buttons of his shirt. His eyes were liquid dark brown, and without the glasses, he looked young—early twenties—but I was guessing he had to be at least twenty-five. He was a Senior Account Manager, and I was sure that didn't come without a few years of experience.

"I collect Indian Head pennies and save them in coin folders," he confessed teasingly. "I still have all the model toy cars from my childhood. Sometimes, I even carry a rabbit's foot."

"Oh, that's deep," I said and laughed. "It certainly tops the monogram sweater I have packed away."

"Do you still wear it?"

I couldn't fit into it anymore. "No, it's about three sizes too small. I keep it because my mom made it for me."

He smiled. "Are you and your mom close?"

Well, shit.

"We were close," I said. "When she was alive. She died in a car accident when I was still in high school."

"Oh." He looks like I sucked all the air out of him. "Bella, I'm so sorry."

I shook my head. "Thanks, but there's no need to be sorry. I'm close with my dad. He's great. Still lives in the small town where he was born."

"What town? Would I have heard of it?"

"Probably not. Forks, Washington. It's about three-and-a-half hours west of Seattle."

Just past Ben's shoulder, I saw the unmistakable color of bronze hair. Four booths away from where we sat, Edward had joined the line of people in front of the deli's counter.

Although his attention was focused on the wall menu, it was just a matter of time before he saw us sitting there. The place wasn't that big, and the line was four people long, so he'd probably get bored and start to look around.

"Where are you from?" I asked Ben as I slid slightly to the right, unobtrusively trying to hide behind him.

"I grew up here in Chicago, in Wicker Park. My dad's a political science professor at the university, and my mom's an art curator for the MCA."

I took a small bite of my turkey and swiss. "You have interesting parents."

"I have demanding parents." He laughed.

It caught Edward's attention.

As Ben launched into a description of their expectations, Edward glanced our way. I kept my gaze on Ben, but saw Edward turn to face us from the corner of my eye. With his hands in his pants pockets, I watched him roll back onto his heels. I even thought he was smiling.

I blinked, trying to focus again on Ben and what he was saying.

"—and threatened to enroll me in a boot camp unless I got a job." Ben chuckled. "So, no high school summers off for me, but it kept me out of trouble."

I met his gaze and felt myself smile, but I was too damned aware of Edward and couldn't concentrate. When I moved slightly to the right to put Ben in front of him, Edward moved in response. When I adjusted to the left, so did he.

It was like a game to him, and I dropped my gaze to my plate and kept it there.

"Bella, what is it? What's wrong?"

My head snapped up to see Ben's curious, worried gaze.

"What?"

"You had the oddest expression on your face just now."

Fuck.

"I guess I was just remembering how my mom used to keep me occupied in the summers, too," I lied. "I'm sorry, Ben, I don't mean to be a rude lunch date."

Ben's eyes flickered, and his mouth curled at the word date. I internally swore again because I didn't want to give him the wrong impression, but my brain was a mess at the moment. Maybe I should just tell him what was wrong.

"Edward's over there," I confessed with a sigh. "He keeps looking this way and it's . . . unnerving."

Ben frowned and began to turn in his seat.

"Don't look," I warned. "I'm trying to ignore him."

"He's usually pretty easy-going," Ben told me. "Nothing to be scared of. I like him as a boss a lot."

"Well, the jury's still out for me. He wears too much gray."

Ben coughed and grabbed his drink, taking a long swallow.

"Are you making a reference to Fifty Shades of Gray?" he asked in amused disbelief.

A surprised laugh burst out of me. "How do you—?"

"Oh, come on, everyone knows about that, Bella."

My laughter died as I imagined Edward as a Dominant, and heat crawled up my neck to my face. I'd meant the he wears too much gray comment to show Edward was conceited, that he knew how well gray looked against his skin tone and hair. But now, I wondered if maybe I'd been thinking of the Dom thing unconsciously.

"You're blushing."

I grabbed my bottle of Sprite and held it against one of my hot cheeks. As I did so, Edward's head cocked.

"It's an embarrassing thought," I said with a grin, trying like hell to ignore the man four booths down.

As the line moved, I was grateful to see Edward's attention diverted by a woman in line behind him. It looked like they were in deep conversation. I wondered if they knew each other, because it looked as if she was flirting with him. I mean, who wouldn't?

"—and my sister decided to become a prostitute, but my parents are totally okay with it."

There was a heavy silence, and I looked away from Edward and the woman to see that Ben was giving me an amused look.

I blinked. Did he–did he just say his sister was a prostitute?

"What?"

He shook his head at me. "I knew you weren't paying attention. Is it Edward?"

I felt my mouth open, but nothing came out.

"It's okay, I get it," Ben continued with a small shrug, and his eyes carried a look of disappointment in them. "He's the type all you women seem to go for. Tall, broody, good-looking."

Oh, hell no.

I took a long drink from my Sprite. "Well, he's not my type. A little too conceited for me. Plus, he's my boss."

And I hated his guts once.

Ben sat back in his seat and gave me a sad smile. "Yeah. A taboo romance is even more appealing."

"Ben! I'm serious. I'm not interested in him that way."

"You're blushing again."

"I'm embarrassed by your assumption."

And angry and torn and maybe even a little heartbroken, because Ben was who I should be interested in. If I wanted to date a coworker, which I didn't. I was pretty sure that would be frowned upon. So, while I might be attracted to Edward fucking Cullen, I was not interested in him.

"Don't be embarrassed. It makes sense why you'd notice Edward and feel uncomfortable about it," he said with a regretful tone, totally ignoring what I said. "You know, I think he might be interested in you, too."

I swallowed air and choked.

"Uh, no. No, he's absolutely not."

Ben simply smiled. He was seriously pissing me off.

"You're out of your fuh-damn mind. Not to mention I work for him. It's ridiculous."

"Maybe, but I think you're both a little too preoccupied with each other," he said, drawing out the word.

Of course, I was preoccupied with Edward—my internal radar seemed to pick up on where he was at all times. It wasn't because I was interested in him, but I couldn't exactly tell Ben that without having to explain why.

"I don't know what to say, other than to tell you that you're wrong," I said sharply, as Edward finally reached the counter, turning away from the woman behind him in line.

Frowning, Ben raised his hands. "I'll drop it."

"Thank you," I said, and pushed away my plate, having lost my appetite.

At his look of concern, I rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes. If only Ben knew how very off base he was. But his opinion concerned me, because it probably meant others had noticed that behavior also.

I wondered what I'd done at the office to suggest I was preoccupied with Edward. Had I been too awkwardly standoffish? Blushed one too many times? Or, horror of horrors, stared too long at him in the meeting?

As the lady behind the counter handed Edward his order and I saw it was wrapped to-go, I began to relax. It meant he would be leaving, and I could concentrate on Ben.

As long as he dropped the insane line of questioning.

But no, Edward stepped away from the counter and headed straight for us.

Shit, was he putting the we'll be friendly acquaintances thing into practice? That meant I'd have to smile and pretend everything was just hunky-dory.

"Ben," Edward said as he drew close enough, then he turned to me. "Bella. I don't want to interrupt, but I didn't want to ignore you, either."

"Edward," Ben said. "You can join us if you want."

No, Ben did not just say that.

In response, Edward turned to me with a gorgeous smile. "Yes?"

I cleared my throat and smiled back, feeling a bit mechanical. "Yes, of course."

Don't you dare.

My reply made Edward's smile widen, as if he heard my unspoken threat.

"Thanks, but it looks like you two are almost finished. Besides that, I have some work I have to do over lunch. I'll see you back up there."

With another sidelong glance at me, he turned and left.

I released a slow exhale, then faced Ben's knowing gaze again.

"What?" I asked with an edge.

Instead of taking offense, he smiled annoyingly. As if he knew everything I wasn't saying.

"We were enemies once," I snapped, finally losing patience with the look on his face. "He picked on me in high school, okay? Beyond that, there's nothing."

Ben was visibly surprised. "He was a mean kid?"

More like a spawn of Satan.

"The worst," I said shortly, then cringed, kicking myself for having said anything. What the hell was I thinking? "But he's different now. I mean, obviously. Please tell me you're not the gossiping type."

If it got back to Edward that I'd told Ben about our high school days, I shuddered at what he'd do or think. It certainly wouldn't reflect well on me, not after I'd agreed to act professionally.

"I'm not," Ben said heavily, his eyes serious and concerned.

"Thank God. Forget I said anything, okay?"

He paused. "I'm not sure that's possible."

"Why not?"

"I was picked on in school, too, and I know what it feels like."

My eyebrows raised.

"It only lasted about a year," he said with a heavy tone in his voice. "The kid who used to pick on me blew his brains out in the tenth grade. It was awful and unexpected. Rocked the entire school."

Unbidden, the comment my therapist made once about bullies usually being bullied themselves, raced through my mind. I remembered the first time I'd seen Edward, remembered the scowl on his face. Despite his popularity in school, he obviously hadn't been happy. He'd even said there was a reason why he'd been unhappy. When I thought about it, his actions back then had hinted at more than the usual angry teen against the world crap.

"Wow, I guess that's one way to get out of being bullied," I muttered.

Ben nodded, obviously feeling badly for his bully. "Yeah. It just goes to show you never know what a person is going through."

Damn, he was a much better person than I was. But, he had a point.

Fleeting thoughts of why Edward might have been unhappy tugged at my conscience as we emptied our trays into the trash, and left the deli. My therapist had explained that bullying was a learned behavior, but was there really an excuse good enough for how he'd treated me?

I knew there were different kinds of bullies—physical and verbal abusers, and sexual and prejudicial attacking. And, if verbal bullying was something Edward had learned the hard way—if that pain was something he'd actually experienced firsthand—why the hell would he have deliberately made someone else feel that way?

One day, I needed to ask why.

Why had he been such a rotten asshole bastard?