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Portland, Oregon
December 25
10:48 am

I wake up, but I have no idea how because it feels like I should be dead. My head is throbbing, my throat is sore, and my mouth tastes so fucking gross. Like…

Oh.

Like puke.

Yep. It tastes faintly of puke.

It takes more effort than it should to open my eyes. But when I finally do, I see Edward. I'm not even surprised. He's not lying beside me this time, but sitting up against the headboard, typing on his laptop.

"There's water on the bedside table," he says, not looking at me. "And ibuprofen. And a bagel."

Okay, I was wrong. This isn't Edward. It's an angel.

"Why do you look like that?" I ask, groaning as I sit up.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't hate your life."

He chuckles, shutting his laptop. "Because I didn't drink nearly as much as you did."

It's sad I have to ask, but, "We're in Portland, right?"

"Right."

"I don't really remember much from last night. Care to fill me in?" I ask around a mouthful of bagel.

He looks skeptical. And good. He looks good. His hair is a little oily and messy and there's stubble on his cheeks and chin.

"You sure about this?" he asks.

"Jesus, is it that bad?" He chuckles, and fuck my life. "Yes, I'm sure. Tell me everything."

"Well… you puked. In the bar."

I wince. "Like… in the bathroom, right? Not in the actual bar."

"The fact that I have to make this distinction for you is concerning, but yes. You graced the bathroom with your puke, not the patrons of the bar."

"That's not so bad then…" Okay, it is bad. It's awful. I'm twenty-four. I should be able to hold my liquor. But I'm trying to feign a little dignity here.

"What else…" He taps his chin, humming a little. I shove his arm, telling him to get on with it. "Okay, okay. You asked me to give you a piggyback ride, then tried to get me to take you through the McDonald's drive-thru."

"I mean, that's just… being environmentally friendly. You know. Instead of taking a car through the drive-thru…"

"Oh, it gets better. I talked you into ordering inside, where you ate half a cheeseburger then wrapped the rest of it and tried giving it back to the employee behind the counter."

"At least I wasn't being… wasteful." I'm really grasping at straws here.

"We finally made it back to the hotel. You kissed me in the elevator. Talked about being disappointed over your dad, then passed out. But not before jumping on the bed. You almost fell off—"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What?"

"What do you mean what? We kissed?" I'm whispering. I have no idea why.

"Well, you kissed me," he mock-whispers.

I can't believe I practically threw myself at a stranger. That's pretty low. But I mean… I was drunk. And he's Edward. He doesn't feel like a stranger. Not anymore, anyway.

"Did you kiss me back?" I wonder, staring at the bagel in my hands.

He doesn't say anything straight away, maybe waiting for me to look at him. Because when I finally do, he answers me.

"I did kiss you back."

I can't not stare at his lips when I ask, "And that's all that happened?"

"Yes."

"Well…" I blank on what to say now. Do I thank him? Or apologize? "I'm… sorry if my mouth tasted like puke."

This. This is why I don't have a boyfriend.

Instead of running far, far away, he laughs, easing the tension. Bless this man's soul. Really. He's put up with so much of my shit over the past two days. I don't know why he's still here, don't know why he's still nice to me, but he is. And I'm probably just feeling vulnerable due to my hangover, but that doesn't change the fact that Edward is the fucking nicest human being ever.

"No, no. It was… you're fine," he assures me. "It wasn't pukey. Tasted mostly of McDonald's cheeseburger. Which… can sometimes taste of puke. I guess. But your mouth… no."

I smile slowly. He's rambling. Which I'm finding entirely endearing. And he's lying about my puke-breath, which is even cuter.

"Thanks, though. For taking care of me," I say sincerely. "And not… killing me," I add, smiling.

"You're welcome."

I'm about to apologize for not remembering our kiss, but I've made a big enough fool of myself already, so I decide to go with: "What time is it anyway?"

"Almost eleven, I think."

"Can we go eat food? Like really greasy food? I'll pay," I offer. "I feel like I should make it up to you. And then we can figure out everything. Maybe you can still drop me off in Seattle, if it's not too much trouble."

"Yeah." He nods in agreement, then says, "I was actually thinking you could just come home with me. To Forks."

"To Forks," I repeat flatly.

"Yeah. I mean, what's your other option?"

"Flying out of Seattle. Taking a bus. Train. Finding another stranger to drive me back to Denver," I list off.

"Go back to Denver to what, Bella?" he asks, frowning. "Be alone on Christmas?"

Okay, that's fucking depressing. But still. "I can't impose on your family's Christmas, Edward. I'd feel like such a… a stray. A trampy stray."

"I'm inviting you," he says softly. "You wouldn't be imposing."

"That's seriously, like, the nicest fucking thing ever. But I can't. I really can't."

"Give me one legitimate reason why you shouldn't, and I'll drop it."

I think. Hard. For a solid thirty seconds. "So unfair, dude. You know I'm brain-dead right now."

"Fine. Let's go eat, give you some brainpower, and if you come up with a good reason, I'll drive you to Seattle or whatever."

"And if I don't come up with a good reason… you'll kill me?"

"Jesus," he laughs, scratching his chin. "Listen, if I wanted to kill you, I would've done it a long time ago."

"That's not… entirely comforting. But I guess you have a point. Let's go eat."

Hope everyone has a less-than-shitty Monday. Thanks for reading.

Thanks to my Srupy Branch for all their help!