I rolled down the window and leaned back into my squishy, leather seat. Pretty Boy's car had new car smell — which, I guess, is what happens when you're actually older than your car. I wouldn't know.

I felt saturated in hangover. The cool breeze through the crack at the top of the window was the only thing stopping me from throwing up into the glove compartment, but the chill from outside threatened to give my nipples frostbite. Edward had the heaters running at full blast — we were fighting a war; the higher he turned the heat, the lower I rolled the window.

Pretty Boy didn't seem to appreciate how close he was coming to having the new car smell wiped out permanently by the contents of my stomach.

He bitched: "Duckling! I can't change gears if my hands are paralyzed from ice."

"That's what you get for having a European car. What's wrong with an automatic?"

He rolled his eyes and hit the override switch to close my window. Instantly I jabbed at the switch on my side so that the glass did a little jig up and down. "Just close it a little — the backseat looks like fucking Narnia."

"Those aren't snowdrifts, you dick, more like your dandruff."

He threw up his hands in frustration and let them smack back down on the steering wheel. "Fuck you, seriously."

I let my head thump back against my headrest. My insides felt like they were churning around and the tight corners that Pretty Boy kept taking sharply were not helping. "Shit, I'm sorry, MC! I feel sick, okay? Just stop shouting at me!"

"Well that's what happens when you replace half your blood count with tequila."

"I'm sorry!"

When he spoke again, Edward sounded more upset than angry: "I just — I don't get you. I thought I did, but I don't. You're such a bitch sometimes."

"Only sometimes? You're a dick most of the time," I parried back.

Pretty Boy didn't reply. We continued on in silence for another ten minutes. It unnerved me. I wished I had just stayed at the dorms and napped. I thought the iced latte we picked up on the way would settle my stomach, but combined with movement it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

I picked up the cup out of the holder and rattled the ice inside it before holding it against my temple. It made me feel better for a second before I started to get brain freeze. Pretty Boy was still giving me side eyes and for a moment I considered pitching the cup at his head for old time's sake.

I would have done it too if he weren't holding my life in his hands. Knowing my luck he would crash and my side of the car would get run under a trailer rig slowly crushing me to death while he stepped out of the driver's door unscratched.

I crushed the plastic cup a little in my fist instead.

A drop of melty ice-water leaked out and hit the leather interior. Pretty Boy's expression darkened. "We're almost there — can you just pretend to be nice to my sisters? Then we can get the fuck out of there after dinner and forget about all this."

The way he said 'all this' made my stomach bottom out. It didn't sound like he meant the car ride, and the bitching. It sounded like Edward had actually had enough of me completely. We'd known each other for less than two weeks. Was that really all any one person could possibly take of me in large doses?

My voice was contrite, and quiet when I replied: "I said I was sorry."

His tone wasn't venomous or bitchy when he replied; it seemed resigned: "You're always sorry; it doesn't ever stop you from being a bitch though." He shrugged and swung the wheel so that the car flew up a well maintained side road.

Their house had a circular drive. The building itself looked light, and clean, and very, very big.

"Shit son, Alice's hubby must do okay."

Pretty Boy stopped the car in the middle of the drive like he owned the place and didn't give a shit about blocking anyone in. He climbed out and slammed his door, but still made it around to open mine for me while I was gathering up my stuff.

"This isn't Alice's place. This is home — Esme and Carlisle live here."

"Where you grew up? MC, this is where you grew up?"

"No shit," he sniped. "Esme moved back in when my mom and dad died."

My face fell, and I felt like the biggest idiot. "You could have warned me. Now I have to meet the woman who's pretty much your mom and I look like a crack addict. I'm not parent-ready. I thought it was just your sister."

"It is just my sister. She's not gonna care."

I climbed out and he shut my door behind me. He was being a pissy bitch, but he still had manners — it would have been endearing under other circumstances. When we got to the front of the house he pushed the giant, glass-panelled door open; it wasn't even locked.

Edward took my coat and threw it up on a rack in the foyer along with his own. I looked down at what I was wearing and grimaced. It wasn't my morning after uniform — even I knew that you didn't go meet people for Sunday lunch in a grotty hoodie — but, it wasn't great: skinny jeans, a little too big, and a t-shirt. Pretty Boy was decked out similarly (minus the skinny part on the jeans front) and looked immaculate other than his face being a little paler, and his hair a little messier. Urgh, he sucked.

He lead me down the hall and around the corner into a large, open space full of scattered, tastefully coordinated furniture. As we stepped across the thresh hold of the room there was shouting, really loud shouting.

"Surprise!"

There were not two incredibly gorgeous women related to Pretty Boy in the house — there were four, and they were all clustered around a large glass coffee table, near a huge shiny piano, showing off sets of incredibly white, incredibly straight teeth.

Pretty Boy's face scrunched up a little at the noise. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked.

Alice piped up: "T was flying in so we made Rosie visit too! Everyone just got in this morning."

Fuck, and now I was crashing a family reunion. I could not have been less impressed with life if I tried.

"This is my friend, Bella." Pretty Boy introduced me with a nod, but didn't stop to introduce everyone back to me. The two eldest women stood next to each other, one blonder and skinnier than the other. The one with darker hair had a disapproving expression and that familiar cocked eyebrow. She didn't look best pleased with Pretty Boy.

She moved toward us, and landed a quick kiss on Pretty Boy's cheek as she spoke: "Edward, baby, don't be a dick — you can't expect your friend to guess who everyone is."

Pretty Boy looked pissy again. "Sure, Mom."

The woman stepped around him, her hand outstretched toward me. "Esme — pleasure to meet you, Bella."

The skinny woman who had been next to her came forward too, slapped Pretty Boy upside the head, and then ruffled his hair affectionately — causing him to grimace. "You're such a little shit sometimes, E." She rolled her eyes at him and looked to me conspiratorially. "He only calls her mom when he wants something or he's being a brat."

Despite myself a little smirk crept into the corners of my mouth. I tried to cover my laughter with a very fake cough. "You have no shame," I hissed at him. It was pretty hilarious watching Pretty Boy get harassed by his sisters. I was actually beginning to enjoy the visit.

The skinny one offered me her hand, which I took awkwardly. I think the last time I shook so many hands someone gave me a high school diploma at the end of the experience. "Tanya — nice to meet you. Glad you see you're not letting this one get away with anything."

The next sister was taller, blonder, and built like a swimsuit model. She didn't stand but waved from her perch on one of the many love-seats. "Rosalie."

Alice inclined her head with a quick flutter of her fingers to complete the circuit.

If you put them in a line up: Alice, Esme, Tanya, and Rosalie — they got taller, and blonder from beginning to end. Then there was Pretty Boy — taller than them all, with dark hair like Alice but the reddish tint that Tanya shared. They all had startling eyes — Tanya and Rosalie's were ice blue, the others had Pretty Boy's deep, bright green.

It was vaguely painful to look at them. There was still shampoo in my hair cause I hadn't rinsed it properly, and I definitely had a deathly glow about me that any zombie bride would be proud to sport.

The rest of the day was a blur of awkward moments, embarrassing moments, and ridiculously good food.

Things went a little like this:

"So, Bella, what are you studying?"

"I don't have a major yet. Probably English Lit — that's what everyone who doesn't know what the hell they want to do takes, right?"

Alice sighed, and leaned back in her chair, twisting the twizzle stick in her glass. "I think I majored in the scientific studies of how much abuse one trust fund can take."

Tanya leaned over her to steal a chip, and added: "Didn't you max out a no limit AMEX your sophomore year?"

"It wasn't maxed out... they just thought it'd been stolen," Alice defended.

And a bit of this:

Rosalie wandered into the room — with a fresh glass — and perched herself on the edge of Pretty Boy's couch. "Oh, Edward, they're picking up your Bösendorfer from the brownstone next week. You won't have to be parted from your sweetheart much longer."

Pretty Boy's eyes lit up despite his shitty mood. "My baby! Did you take good care of it?"

"Completely — the guy in the store tells me this spray wax they sell will get the water rings out of the surface no problem."

"Why do you say things like this," he grumbled. "I thought you loved me."

"Are the rest of you musical?" I asked. I hadn't spoken for awhile; it was unusual for me and I figured I should probably remember to chime in every now and then — other wise Pretty Boy's sisters were going to think he was friends with a selective mute.

They all laughed, and I suddenly wished I hadn't bothered trying to speak at all. My last blush had just subsided and another one was starting already. Tanya raised her hand in a little wave and Pretty Boy pulled Rosalie's free hand into the air.

"I'm no virtuoso like Baby E but I work as a scout back in Cali," Tanya explained.

I replied, awkwardly: "Oh, cool."

Alice piped up just as Rosalie had wrestled her arm away from Pretty Boy. "Ro plays though — violin, and piano like E."

"Yeah," she admitted, "under protest."

And a little more of this:

Somehow I was alone with Esme in their mammoth kitchen. I could not have felt more out of place. Unless every crisp, white cabinet was secretly packed full of Red Vines and microwave popcorn I was going to be no help.

She kept darting between a hidden spice wrack in one of the higher cupboards and a roast in the oven that looked better dressed than I was.

Ostensibly I had wandered in of my own accord to get another Coke since their wet bar in the lounge was completely devoted to liquids of another sort. I had a horrible feeling, though, that I had been herded in there without realizing so that Pretty Boy's remaining trio of sisters could gossip to him about me.

I had already been cornered by Alice — while she showed me the way to the nearest bathroom — who wanted to know exactly how Pretty Boy 'caught' me, and was it romantic, and was he behaving himself because otherwise she would kick his ass. I think I mumbled something about her having the wrong idea, and promptly turned scarlet. Thankfully she wasn't waiting for me when I came out after splashing copious amounts of water on my face in a lame attempt to cull my blushing.

Esme, on the other hand, hadn't said anything about a possible relationship between me and the pretty one, but seemed to have a habit of calling people "lovely" and "sweets" without realizing it. She had this warm, fuzzy aura about her — like you would totally want her when you scraped your knee, or drank too much and ended up with your head in the toilet. She still made me so nervous I though I would puke though.

"Sweets, Coke is in the fridge — help yourself — or there's Red Bull, I think. Could you grab some ice, too? Oh, and there's condoms in all the upstairs bathrooms, under the sink, in case you ever need them. Do you think these potatoes look crispy enough? I don't want them to burn."

I froze with my hand half in the refrigerator wrapped around a can of Coke. "Excuse me?"

Esme looked totally non-plussed as I turned to face her. She shook the pan of roast potatoes — and even that looked suggestive to me — and asked again: "Crispy enough?"

I blinked hard, and clutched the can to my chest. "Uh, sure."

She smiled, gave me a little wink, and shooed me away. "Thanks, Sweets — go enjoy your drink, remember the ice, you look a little flushed. Get Edward to turn on the AC if you're uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable had reached a whole new level of meaning.

After dinner, and drinks, and hours of Pretty Boy's sisters assuming we were doing the nasty — we finally headed back to town. The journey back was as excruciating as the one there.

Eventually I tried to break the awkward silence. "Your sisters are cool."

"Yeah, they are. They gave up a lot for me."

"Right."

After another agonizing silence, he continued: "T wasn't always a scout. She had a record deal when our parents died."

"Oh wow. But she came home?"

"She came home," he agreed. "Rosalie plays, but she doesn't really... well, she pretty much gave up when she got to college. T's the one who wanted me to take lessons."

"But she moved back, right? You said she moved back not long after... so, couldn't she have just started again?"

His tone was still disagreeable: "Two years is a long time in the industry. People had pretty much forgotten about her. I mean, she didn't have her album finished or anything. They hadn't started promotion. I don't know." He shrugged tightly. Pretty Boy obviously didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"Well, they all really love you — you can tell. It's nice."

Pretty Boy snorted but didn't look my way. "And you can suddenly read human emotions? Alert the media."

I sighed and leaned my head against the window again.

The rest of our ride was silent and when we finally got back to town Pretty Boy didn't even detour so that we could pick up my car from Mike's where we'd left it. He drove straight back to the dorms, screeched into the parking lot, and repeated his grumpy car slamming.

Once we were both outside he mumbled a quick "see ya" and began to stomp off toward the building without waiting for me.

I pulled him back by his wrist, grabbed his jaw in both my hands, and pulled his mouth down to mine.

I couldn't remember ever deliberately kissing someone before. I mean, I had been kissed — plenty — and I had been part of many a mutual, drunken face-plant onto someone else's mouth, but I couldn't remember soberly initiating a kiss ever in my life — let alone with a boy who barely wanted to look at me, forget kiss me.

For a moment his mouth was tense, his bottom lip unmoving as I captured it between both of mine — then Pretty Boy's breath hitched in his chest and before I could give up my ridiculous attempt at reconciliation his hands were digging into either side of my waist tightly, dragging me up his body onto the very points of my tiptoes as he kissed me back.

His mouth opened against mine — hot, and slick, still a little sweet from dessert at his sister's. I thought my head might explode.

I felt all the air in my lungs leave me in one sharp gasp, and I couldn't seem to draw any more in to replace it. Pretty Boy's belt buckle was digging into my stomach. One of my arms looped around his neck to try and balance myself; I hadn't realized before quite how much taller than me he actually was. My neck was craned right back. My other hand traveled up past his high, sharp cheekbones into his hair. It was soft and dry, definitely not dandruff-ridden. It was beautiful.

His tongue stroked mine — softly, just teasing flickers of it. His left arm wrapped around my waist, holding me upright, pressing me to his chest, while his right hand tangled up in my hair.

When we broke apart I didn't let go.

We were toe to toe, his arms still around me. His face only inches from mine as I gazed up at him. I probably looked more earnest in that moment than I ever had. I definitely felt that way — less angry, less bitter, less disconnected.

It didn't matter that my parents were a-emotional, awkward robots, or that I didn't have a date for my high school prom. It didn't matter that people sometimes didn't get my jokes, or thought I was cruel, or that I couldn't name one place on earth that really felt like home.

"I don't mean to be a bitch," I whispered near his mouth, "not all the time."

He brushed my hair back off my face, cradling my head with one hand. "That's your way of apologizing?"

I shrugged as best I could in our entanglement of limbs. My mouth quirked. "Kinda."

I didn't want him to think it was just an apology. I mean who does that? Who kisses someone just because they can't say I'm sorry? I wanted him to realize that I'd been salivating over him since he brought me that bag of muffins... maybe a little before that. I wanted him to get it, and at the same time I was terrified he would.

My heart ricocheted around in my chest. I honestly couldn't decide which would be worse in that moment — rejection or reciprocation.

He ducked his head and kissed me again — just once, holding my bottom lip between his for a few seconds. "Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Apology accepted."

He pulled back and I grasped the front of his shirt, pulling him back to me quickly, one last time before the real world could encroach. "You do get me," I mumbled against his mouth as we broke apart.

He gave me a small smile and a tiny arch of his eyebrow. We walked inside — side by side — our arms bumping together from shoulder to elbow.

"Hey," he asked, "you wanna go watch Chris slaughter Mike at pool? Apparently there are dares involved, Ben texted me earlier."

I grinned — my heart was still hammering but relief was beginning to flood through my muscles. "I am so on that, just let me go change outta my 'Sunday best'."

I moved to turn down the hall to my own room but I was tugged back by my elbow.

"Hey, Duckling." He kissed me, the kind of kiss that had me leaning up against the wall, unable to feel my extremities, unsure if blood was still bringing oxygen to my brain. Breathless, heart-wrenching, completely-inappropriate-for-a-public-setting kissing. He pulled away, grinning, leaving me against the wall. His bright, white teeth were all even and impeccable. His shiny eyes were warm again for the first time since he carried me home that morning.

He moved away, offering a small wave as he headed toward the staircase on the other side of the hall. "See you soon."

"I hate you," I called after him. My breathy tone made his retreating figure laugh affectionately, and the deep tones hit me down low in my gut. Oh boy.

AN: Thank you all for reading! Especially big thank yous to those of you who have been pimping my little story out - you have no idea how warm and fuzzy it makes me feel! As usual reviews get a teaser for the next chapter.