Author's Note: Special thanks to AnnMarieJ for pointing out some pretty stupid blunders on my part from last chapter. I''ll be sure to clear those up as soon as I post this chapter. I hope I don't disappoint fans of ALB, considering this is a much lighter work. Thanks for reading! Hope you like Edward's point-of-view. I'll try to switch off fairly regularly.

Stephenie Meyer: Thanks for letting us deface your intellectual property.

Edward:
Diner Dinner Theater

At six-thirty in the evening, I was finishing up my first 36-hour shift as one of the newest surgical residents at the UCLA Medical Center. I was beat. I wanted to go home, avoid Alice so that I could sneak in a quick dinner in peace, and go to bed. Unfortunately, a half-hour later, when I got out of the shower in the doctors' locker room, Carlisle had just finished wrapping up his rounds and told me he wanted to take me to meet some of the older surgeons and "show me off." It was an offer that I knew wouldn't be extended to any of the other residents and I would be stupid to pass it up. So, I followed him around, introducing myself while he talked me up. A few eyebrows were raised which helped stroke my ego. I knew my resume was impressive: I had been number one in my undergrad class at Dartmouth and my med school class at Harvard, I had also done a summer with the Peace Corps in Cameroon and two summer clinical rotations during med school at the Mayo Clinic. I looked pretty good on paper.

By eight-thirty, I was ready to go home. Carlisle, again, had other plans. He insisted on taking me out for a celebratory dinner, claiming that our mothers would never forgive him if he didn't. In his defense, he was probably right. I only had an extra pair of scrubs, so I turned down his offer to take me to Ruth's Chris and suggested we do something within walking distance, where my dress wouldn't be so out of the ordinary. I was grateful when he proposed a diner in the area, mostly because diner food was quick and because I knew he'd want to toast if we went anywhere where they served alcohol. In my exhausted condition, I knew I'd fall asleep at the table if I had so much as one beer.

I nearly groaned aloud when he said he'd meet me there, wanting to check in on his patients one last time before calling it a night, though, knowing Carlisle as well as I did, I knew he'd probably check in on them again after dinner. You couldn't deny the man's compassion or fault his dedication. It was only my first day on the job and I had all but ran out of the place when I finished my rounds. I sighed as I walked down the street, knowing I'd probably end up peeking in on some patients before I went home, too. I turned the corner and saw the bookstore at the end of the block, looking across the street, I found the diner exactly where Carlisle said it would be. Forks, Knives, & Spoons. Alice would probably get a kick out of that.

I walked in and stood in the entryway, next to a large, modern jukebox. A tall blond man behind the counter greeted me and told me to sit anywhere. Only five tables were taken and it looked like everyone had already gotten their food. I went for the booth in the corner, sitting facing the wall with my back towards the door, knowing Carlisle would have to walk past the window I was sitting at before he got inside. I picked up a menu from the end of the table and looked it over quickly. Typical diner grub. I decided to treat myself to the extra calories of a cheeseburger, fries, and onion rings.

The same blond man came to take my order, but I only asked for a water, explaining to him that I was waiting for someone. I had put my messenger bag on the bench next to me and I opened it up, preparing to do some reading for the conference I had tomorrow, but knew that I wouldn't remember a thing I tried to memorize right now. Instead, I pulled out a book that Alice had been nagging at me to read for months. She had taken the dust jacket off of it before she gave it to me, telling me that I wouldn't read it if I read the synopsis. If that wasn't the biggest clue that I wouldn't like it, I don't know what was. The night before my first day on the job, however, I hadn't been able to go to sleep and needed to do something that would take my mind off of the busy day I was just now ending. So, I had picked up the book without a cover and dove in. As far as I could tell, it was a love story. The writing wasn't spectacular, whoever this Marie Higginbotham was wasn't going to be winning a Pulitzer anytime soon, but it was entertaining and better than most things on TV nowadays.

I had gotten through another chapter when my water was brought to the table. I didn't look up as I thanked the man, so I was surprised when I heard a woman's voice. "Good book?" she sounded amused and I figured she'd recognized the book I was reading.

Cursing my sister's very existence for making me look like the kind of guy who enjoys romance novels, I slammed the book shut and tried to play it cool as I saw Carlisle walking across the street. "It's great at putting me to sleep," I said with a smirk before tilting my head up at her. Instead of laughing at my joke, she hmph'd and spun on her heel. Before I could see her face, she was storming off, her long, brown hair swaying against her too-large, men's flannel shirt. That was weird. Usually girls at least pretended to laugh at my jokes. She must have really liked the book.

I put the book away as Carlisle sat down and picked up the menu. "How were your patients?"

"Good," he said, nodding. "I was waiting on the results of an ESWL."

"Nice," I said, drinking some water. He shook his head at me with a smile. There were side effects of being a doctor that no one ever really explains to you in med school. Like the fact that you could casually talk about waiting for a patient to piss out their kidney stones. Nothing phases doctors. It can't. "Get them all?"

"The sonogram looked good, but we'll know more when the X-rays come back. I think I'm going to get breakfast..." He trailed off as he continued to survey the menu.

I had just picked up my water when the door to the diner flew open and I turned in my seat as the largest man I have ever seen came through it. He was wearing a UCLA football shirt with cargo shorts and if he hadn't looked older than me, I wouldn't have doubted for a moment that he was one of their linemen. He set down a plastic bag on the counter as he went behind it, slapping the blond man on his back. "What's up, Jazz?"

"Hey, Em." The blond man, Jazz, I guess, was surprised and turned to glance up at the clock. "You're here early."

"Just excited about my date tonight with our girl." He walked to the kitchen doors and stuck his head in. "Hey, Bellsie. Ready for our date?" He opened the doors more and I saw a pair of arms wrap around his waist.

"Hey, Emmett." I could tell by her voice that this was the same girl who had given me my water earlier. "What do you have planned for us this time?" She didn't sound too enthusiastic and the guys laughed at her tone. I tried not to think about it too much, nothing this girl did made much sense.

"I think I'm getting some hard-boiled eggs and toast." Carlisle put down his menu across from me and noticed the direction of my stare before I turned around to face him. "I've been meaning to come in here for a while. Kate Martin works here."

"As in Dr. Martin's daughter?" Carlisle nodded. I was surprised. Dr. Martin and his wife were loaded. That's saying something coming from someone who grew up in the world Carlisle and I did. "Why does she work here?"

Carlisle shrugged. "She graduated two years ago with a degree in Russian Studies and she has no clue what to do with it. I think she just wants to gain some independence by earning her own money. It's not like Carmen and Eleazar wouldn't give her an open-ended bank account." He continued looking around the diner until his eyes found mine again. A smile slowly filled his face. "So, Doctor...how was your first day?"

I let out a deep breath that sounded more like a sigh. "Long."

He laughed. "And med school didn't prepare you for sleep deprivation?"

"Not enough, I guess."

He chuckled, again. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't get you a better dinner. I'll take you out the next time you get a break."

I laughed, mirthlessly. "You mean in five years?"

"Oh, come on, Edward. The hospital couldn't have broken your spirit already."

"No," I sighed out the word. "I'm just tired."

"Well, if we can't toast with champagne, how about we buy celebratory milkshakes."

I managed a smile for his sake. He was proud of me and I should be basking in it, not ruining the mood. "You're on."

The blond came up to our table then, introducing himself as Jasper, and took our order. I wasn't too sure how you got Jazz from Jasper, but whatever. Carlisle raised his eyebrows at my order. "We just got through talking about kidney stones and you order onion rings and fries?"

I would've said something smart to him, if our attention hadn't been diverted to the big guy screaming through the open kitchen door. "Burn one, wax it, and make it cry with frog sticks and fried breath in the alley. Whiskey down with..." He stopped to carefully read the paper Jasper had taken our order on and then he laughed. "...with a crowd of berries and drown the kids!"

"'Kay, Em," A small voice responded from the kitchen.

Carlisle and I slowly turned away from the scene and looked at each other. Disbelief painted both of our smirking faces. When we heard the large man pleading with the blond to let him make our milkshakes, we tried to laugh quietly. "This place is weird, Carlisle."

"Agreed."

We spoke for a while about my day and the surgeries I had sat in on. I bemoaned the invention of paperwork and he laughed. We sipped at our milkshakes when Jasper brought them and then, not more than five minutes later, our food came out.

Most of the tables that were full when I had come in had emptied, and not many people had taken their place. A group of female undergrads took the table behind us and I could tell by the way Carlisle kept his head down on his plate that they kept stealing glances at him. I felt bad for the guy, but was glad that I wasn't the one facing them. It was bad enough that I could practically hear their lewd thoughts towards my friend.

Carlisle Cullen and I had grown up in the same social circle within Chicago. He was born in London to a British father and an American mother who died during childbirth. His father, a pastor who had no idea how to raise a child on his own, sent him to live with his aunt in Chicago. His aunt had married into money but was made a widow in her late twenties, not long after taking Carlisle in, when his uncle was in a car accident. Knowing her since birth, he considers her to be his mother. He visited his father once a year in London and he lived with him for a nearly a year after high school before abruptly coming home. As far as I know, they haven't spoken since.

When my father, Edward Masen, Sr., had married my mother, Elizabeth, the two women befriended each other, being two of the only wives who had not come from money themselves and were not young enough to be their husband's daughters. He was seven when I was born and has been a constant presence in my life ever since. As children, we had been too far apart in age to really be considered close. By the time I had actively been seeking a brotherly relationship with him, he was finishing up high school. He'd always made time for me, though, and it was his example I always tried to follow. While messing around with others my age at the parties and banquets that no little kid should ever have to endure, I'd always kept one eye on Carlisle to see how he was acting. Most adults, my parents included, used to tease me for being serious and adult-like once I hit adolescence. Only Alice had known that I was mimicking Carlisle's mild-mannered and demure public persona.

Like all fraternal relationships, there had been a time when I resented him. He seemed to me to be everything I was not. I have a temper that I try hard to control, Carlisle could never hurt a fly. His compassion knows no bounds, whereas I have been characterized as misanthropic on more than one occasion. He's always amiable and pleasant, I'm sullen and moody. Choosing to grow up in Carlisle's shadow, I had been bound to fail.

The resentment grew when Carlisle went off to London and then to Harvard, and I'd felt alone in our world for the first time. I grew cynical and jaded. Everyone I knew had money and liked to show everyone else just how much money they had. Everything trivial became a competition between the adults in my world and my peers, who would one day grow up to take their place. While my perfect grades and piano-playing skills, the accomplishments I was proud of, had been shunned by my classmates, the new body the swim and track team afforded me had garnered me more attention than I could imagine. I became even more disillusioned and dove into my teenage rebellion whole-heartedly.

If there was anything Carlisle and I had in common, it was our good looks, but even those are a study in opposites. Carlisle and I are tall, both six-two, and have the same slim build. The similarities end there. He has light blond hair and mine is a dark auburn. His blue eyes are dark, clear sapphires, whereas my green eyes are light, opaque glass. His face is chiseled and manly, mine is angular but still boy-like. His movie-star smile is full and straight, whereas I can only ever muster up a half of a crooked one.

By the middle of junior year, I had decided that if the vapid girls at my school were offering up their bodies to me to rise up in their petty class system, then I would be willing to accept. I'd left the few nice girls alone, focusing on the ones who threw themselves at me. I discovered an even seedier side to the world I lived in, one in which everyone was screwing everyone without affection or commitment, but not entirely without agenda. Girls rattled off the names of the guys that had had them the way young boys bragged about baseball cards and I soon found that in my quest to stay out of the game, I was the rookie card every girl wanted to have. I used it to my advantage.

I began the game cautiously, making weekly trips to the cafeteria instead of hiding at my usual spot deep within the stacks of the school's library. On these days, girls that had usually sat huddled together left a chair open beside them, hoping I'd fill it. I became some sort of deprived benefactor, handing out the most valued currency in this horrible excuse for sexual Monopoly. In my deranged computations, sitting at the girls' table was like throwing them all some change while handing a nice, crisp bill to the two girls I sat between. Those girls were usually mid-level players, and I had inflated their status without allowing them to enter the arena where the real game was taking place. I'd throw winks and smiles, petty change really, at the low-level players, allowing them to save face, while ignoring the main ones.

I had always been very aware of the thoughts of those around me, so much so that I could tell the role each girl played within the game. There were some who had been dragged into it only because their friends were doing it. These girls I considered the weakest players, yet my brethren in a way. We were in the game to get what we needed out of it. I got sex, they got status. Fair trade. Then there were the girls who were in it to win. These girls were the strongest players, using sex to assume the upper-hand over the male players. With these girls, I went out of my way to show them that I was in fact running the show. Like chess, I had played the game with strategy, knowing my next ten steps and predicting the next ten from everyone else.

At sixteen, I gave my first kiss to a mid-level Senior by her locker before lunch. I had chosen her for three reasons: she was the prettiest girl in school but hadn't given up her virginity until she was a junior, losing out on two years where she could have been making a name for herself, which I respected in a way; she had been Alice's lab partner in chemistry the year before and had been nice to her and my mother the one time she had come over to work on a project; and, her locker was in front of the cafeteria, ensuring everyone had seen our make-out session. It was a very calculated choice. I had made lists. By the end of the year, I had gotten to first-base with four girls and second-base with three of those four. All of them had been chosen because they had their own cars and most were surprised when I suggested we go to dinner or a movie first and that I stopped myself when I did. I'd like to say that I did it because my mother had raised me to be a gentleman, which she had, but, in truth, it was all part of the plan.

Three days after school let out for the summer, I turned sixteen. By the end of the week, I had my driver's license and a car. It was time for stage two. My parents had been surprised when I asked for an SUV, considering I had no friends to fill the seats with, but relented, like I knew they would. They still had had no idea of my involvement in the game, as was my intent. After all, in the past six months, I had only gone out with four girls, another calculated effort. My father had thought his late-bloomer of a son was finally looking at girls the way he ought to. He had no idea. So, it never once had crossed their minds that I would be using all that extra back-seat space as a portable bed.

My first hand-job was on a late Tuesday morning two weeks into summer in a lounge chair by my pool. I had invited a just-graduated, low-level senior over for a dip while my mom was at her weekly Women's Club meeting. My second was three hours later in a high-level, now-sophomore girl's drive-way after taking her to lunch where no one would see us. My third was at a drive-in movie theater in the suburbs that night with a mid-level girl in my class. Each hadn't seemed surprised that I chose not to reciprocate and each had had shit-eating grins on their faces when it was over. I had counted on the difference in ages of the girls and the summer's distance to slow the spread of the news. By the time the stories reached the other girls through an elaborate game of teenage telephone, each was convinced that they'd gotten to me first and that the other girls had been lying. No one believed I had been with three girls in the same day, especially when I was so new to the game. As soon as the suspicion of lying had been introduced, the stories grew until they were each claiming to have given me blow jobs. The other four girls I had been with earlier in the year, not wanting to be left out, began embellishing the details about those dates, too. I had successfully, and on my first attempt, pitted three girls against each other and given myself the credibility of having more experience than I actually had.

I had spent the first half of the summer carefully monitoring the stories going on about me through other girls, only clarifying stories that put girls at a higher ranking than I was comfortable allowing them to have. These public retractions only gave credence to those I seemingly didn't correct. Instead, I handled all false accounts personally, so that no girl thought I was happy with their fabrications, even when I was willfully allowing the rest of the population to believe they were true for my benefit.

I became an expert at these kinds of conversations: "Look, (fill in the girl's name), I've been hearing rumors about us." Here she would adamantly deny having heard or spread them, to which I would sigh over the phone, loudly. If I really hadn't minded the rumor, I might tell her something like, "I know it probably wasn't you who started it, all I'm saying is that I would hate for this to have an affect on our friendship." Which she and I both knew was code for, "I might tell everyone I'm taking you out of my rotation." And then she would plead to allow her to make it up to me and nine times out of ten, I would get the blow job that she had claimed to have given me in the first place.

Girls who had alleged that I had reciprocated, an honor I had not yet performed and had not yet wanted to dole out, or girls who were major players and wanted to claim me, got a very different Edward Masen when they answered the phone. Those conversations had usually started with a sigh on my end and an uncomfortable silence on hers. I would then give specifics: "Look, (fill in the girl's name), I heard from (fill in name of random girl) that you were saying that we (fill in appropriate sex act). Now, you and I both know that (that didn't happen/I didn't touch you). I don't know where you get off..." Then there was groveling on the other end or fake, self-righteous indignation. And, eight times out of ten, I had gotten a blow job knowing that, if she told anyone about it, their credibility was already shot.

It had been the middle of that summer when phase three went into effect. As one of Alice's many graduation gifts, my parents had paid for a two-month trip around Europe. The caveat was, she had to take me. My sister and I had never had the closest relationship because our personalities were extreme opposites. She's loud and I'm reserved; she's affectionate and I don't do hugs; she's cheerful and I'm moody; she's adventurous and I'm cautious. Yet, we always manage to get along and have fun when we're together. My parents had trusted me to take care of her under five-foot, petite self and to keep her from doing anything too thoughtlessly reckless. In a way, I think she'd been happy to be taking me along instead of her girlfriends. She had known I would actually enjoy the sights with her and would still appease her by carrying her bags around the shopping districts, which I had. I had used the trip as the perfect opportunity to lose my virginity. What better place to fix all of the kinks in my form and to perfect my technique than with willing strangers I would never see again? I had been purposefully waiting not to reciprocate with the girls at school until I trusted myself to perform well.

Two months and nine girls later, one girl in each country we visited, I had returned for my senior year of high school, ready for phase four, the end game. I'll be the first to admit, I might have taken it too far in the end. It was hubris that led to my downfall. I had gotten it in my head that by playing the younger classes, I could control who would be a major player in game for the next few years. Like I said, pure hubris. The sick thing is, I didn't even care, really. I had just become addicted to the manipulation and was sick that generations of girls were growing up to fill the shoes of the girls I had tried to keep down for a year and a half.

I thought I had everything under control, but I ignored a crucial element that I shouldn't have. Playing the game had not made me any new friends. In fact, while I was considered to be the most popular guy in school, the only people I ever spoke to were the girls I was playing and the girls I had already played. So, it shouldn't have surprised me that my demise came in the form of the other male players in the school. I had stepped on one too many toes without even realizing it and, by the beginning of spring, had gotten into three fights with guys I hadn't even known existed.

My parents had begun to have some idea of what I had become involved in and, needless to say, were horribly disappointed. For the first time in a few years, Carlisle came home that spring break. Looking back now, it's obvious that my father asked him to come talk to me. I'd expected the same lecture I had been getting from every other adult for the past month. I should have thought better of him. Instead of being angry, Carlisle in his infinite patience asked me why I did it. Not what or how or even whom, but why. It was a relief to tell my side of the story for once. I hadn't been a malicious predator, hunting the weak and defenseless, I had used and been used in kind. My only vindictiveness had been aimed at those who were themselves exploiters. Carlisle had listened to it all in quiet acceptance.

When I had finished, he had seized upon the underlying problem immediately: I hated this world and, upset at being trapped in it, I had used my baser instincts to enact the only form of retaliation I had at my disposal. He had made me acknowledge that I had been playing god and enjoyed it, which I had and I did. Then he had said, only half jokingly, that it was a good thing I was going into med school. We had talked for a while longer, not necessarily about what had happened, just about life and the way we had grown up. I began to feel a new level of respect for Carlisle. Like me, he had only looked popular. The difference was, he had kept his dignity by abstaining from the game altogether.

When he couldn't hold his curiosity in any longer, he had asked me how I had done it. By the end of my five-phase story, his eyes had been wide and his jaw had been on the floor. "You know, you're entirely too smart for your own good." I had shrugged, but I had also smirked. That summer, after graduation, I'd gone to stay with him in Boston. We'd been best friends ever since.

After sneaking a glance behind my shoulder, Carlisle went back to intently eating his eggs. Poor guy. Over the years he had confessed to me that he had never actually been with a woman. He was waiting. I don't know who had it worse off. I had wholly given into my desires back in high school but had gone eight years without, whereas Carlisle had never known it. We were both masochists, but I guess we both had our reasons.

I heard someone approach the girls' table. "Hi, I'm Bella. Welcome to Forks!" It was the waitress, again. Or was she the cook? "What can I start you guys off with today?" Each girl gave her her drink orders and then Bella said, cheerfully. "Great! I'll be right back."

One girl didn't let her leave right away, though. "That's such a cool bracelet! Where'd you get it?" I wanted to roll my eyes at the girl's saccharin-laced venom.

"Oh...um...," she sounded nervous and I wondered if she was uncomfortable. "It was a, um, a gift actually." She cleared her throat. "Let me go get those drinks for you." I could hear her footsteps as she scurried away.

When she was out of earshot, the girls started in on her. "She should be embarrassed, did you see that? Who would get a piece of leather, tie it around somebody's wrist a couple of times and call it a present?"

"Some cheap-ass guy who thinks that counts as jewelry." Snorts of laughter rang out around the table.

"Can you imagine if someone gave that girl real jewelry, though? What goes with plaid flannel?" A few of the girls giggled. "It would be a better investment to just buy her some saline." They all cackled over that one.

Across the table from me, Carlisle kept his eyes on his plate as he sighed and shook his head in frustration. I gripped my milkshake tightly in my fist. Fucking bitches. That's why I can never really get myself to regret what I did to all those girls in high school. They deserved it.

I turned my head slightly to watch the girl behind the counter. I felt a surge of pity for her and I wanted to protect her. Probably because she was so obviously ill-equipped to stick up for herself.

She started to turn around from the soda fountain and I quickly turned back to Carlisle. "How's your dinner, grandpa?" I emphasized the last word sarcastically. Who orders rye toast and hard-boiled eggs at a restaurant?

"How's your heart attack?" He countered.

I laughed good-naturedly. "Remember that dive bar in Cambridge that had that really bad pub food?" During my years in Dartmouth when he was still in med school and later when I was in med school and he was doing his residency at Beth Israel, we made it a point to catch up with each other a few times a month. More often than not, once I turned 21, it took place over a pint of beer.

Carlisle grimaced at the memory. "I've never had such soggy fish and chips in my life."

"Neh-vah?" I threw on an Cockney accent, mocking his British roots. He rolled his eyes.

"Here you go, ladies!" Bella was back, sounding just as pleasant as she had when she first took their order. Huh. She's got that passive-aggressive thing down pat. "Now, what can I get for you?" She was polite as she took their orders, making sure of their preferences before repeating the entire table's order and ending with a, "No problem! That should be out in just a bit." Weird. She really didn't seem upset. How did she not know those girls were being underhanded with her? Again that urge to protect her rushed though me. She really has no sense of self-preservation.

I watched her as she made her way back behind the kitchen doors with the large, round drink tray tucked under her arm. The blond man had disappeared, though the book I had seen him reading earlier was still open on the counter. The large man was loading ice into the top of the soda fountain.

Carlisle and I continued to talk as we finished up our food. I got up to use the restrooms, which were back by the front door, when I heard Bella call out from the kitchen, "Guys...order up!" Both of the men practically jumped up and ran. I laughed to myself. She obviously had them wrapped around her finger.

I was coming out of the bathroom when I heard her talking on the other side of the half-wall, behind the counter. "Seriously, like movie-star good-looking." I stopped to listen...well, to eavesdrop, really.

"Hey!" An outraged, deep voice called out. "What about us?"

"Pssh," she snorted, obviously not above hurting either one of their feelings. "Sorry, Em, but pretty doctor guy bumped you down on the tall, dark, and handsome list. And, Jasper, all I can tell you is that you were, hands down, the best looking blond man I have ever seen...until that guy walked in here an hour ago.

"Whatever, Bella." The larger waiter, from the sound of it, made a big show of stomping away and she giggled.

"They're too handsome for the rest of us mere mortals, but they're perfect for them, aren't they, Jasper?"

"You were serious about that, Belle?"

"Of course I was. I told you I was. It's a good plan."

"I don't know, doll face. I get the feeling that this is all going to blow up in your face. You should just leave well-enough alone."

He sounded persuasive enough and there was a pause while she thought over what he had said. "I think I'll go give them their check."

He sighed as he chuckled softly and muttered, "Stubborn girl."

Their conversation was over, so I turned the corner and headed back to Carlisle, still mulling over what I had heard. It's clear that there's something definitely off about that girl. She just didn't react right to situations. She didn't try to get on my good side by laughing at my joke which, while refreshing, I have to admit it made me take a hit to my ego. Then, she seemed to be offended by how the girls were talking to her, but a minute later, she was cheerful as hell. And I don't think that was an act. Now, she admits to finding Carlisle and I attractive, but completely dismisses herself as being out of our league. Since when has that ever stopped a girl before? Not only that, but it sounds like she wants to set us up with her friends. Maybe that big guy really is her boyfriend. He didn't seem too upset that she was checking us out, though.

As I walked by the table of co-eds, their eyes roamed my body. I sat down in the booth and I heard them giggle. At least that was a normal response.

"You okay, Edward?"

"Uh huh."

I heard footsteps coming towards our table and I knew from the conversation I had overheard that it would be her. "Can I get you guys anything else?" For the first time, I glanced up at her face.

"No, thank you." Carlisle answered, amicably.

Thank god he did, because there was no way in hell I couldn't speak at the moment. I was too busy staring at the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Which was momentarily shocking to me because, objectively, I could tell that there was nothing exceptional about this girl. She had long, straight, dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. No big deal, right? Except that her hair seemed incredibly soft and shiny and her eyes showed depth and were richly colored. She wasn't tall, but her petite frame made her appear shorter and smaller than she probably was. Her shape wasn't defined in the over-sized jeans and long-sleeve shirt she had on, but the tank top she wore underneath hinted at a narrow waist and small curves. Everything, from her heart-shaped face to her bitten-down fingernails was drawing me to her. I wanted to laugh out loud because, after years of self-induced celibacy, the girl who was tempting me like Aphrodite herself was this girl? Except that I wasn't laughing, because I wasn't amused. I was pissed.

She turned to me with a small smile that was gone when she saw my face. "So, uh..." Though her speech faltered, she didn't break eye contact with me. "Here's your check." She set the tented piece of paper down on the counter and, sending a questioning glance in my direction, made her way back to the waiters at the counter.

The blond looked up at her and smirked while he asked her something, softly. She just shrugged her shoulders and waved an arm dismissively in the air. "C'mon, Em. It's date night. What've you got planned?"

Carlisle was leaning in his seat to grab his wallet and I half-heartedly thanked him for dinner before slyly turning my attention back to the maddening curiosity that was my personal femme fatale wrapped in this woman-child's body.

The man she called "Em" held up a book with a "Ta da!"

She took it from him. "Scoubidou?" She had a confused look on her face as she looked up at him. "Huh? Like the dog?" She didn't wait for him to respond, though, she started flipping through the first few pages of the book before she cleared her throat and read, "Scoubidou originated in France in the 1950's...."

He came up behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder, reading over her shoulder. It looked a little too cozy and I had to remind myself that she had told him earlier that I'm more attractive than he is. Doesn't matter, I guess. It figures that the one girl I would be into in eight years has a behemoth of a boyfriend. That just infuriated me more, though. Why should I care if this girl thinks I'm attractive or not? Why should I care if she's seeing someone else? Even if they're not dating, she obviously has enough suitors as it is and I am not interested, even if my dick is.

"Named after the cartoon...." She kept scanning the page, reading to herself until she seemed to catch the gist of it and shut the book. "Lanyards, Em? We're making lanyards?"

He took the book back from her. "Oh, c'mon, you know it'll be fun. I bought tons of boondoggle." They both stared at him, incredulously. "What? That's what it's called." He started flipping through the pages, ignoring the fact that their faces hadn't changed. "Ooh look, they named one after Lil' Em, king cobra." He nudged her with his elbow, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

She laughed. That's it, I needed to get out of there. "Let me go get scissors." And then she disappeared into the back.

Carlisle was oblivious as he scooped the last of his milkshake out of the mixing cup with a long, iced tea spoon. "Ready to go?" I asked. I had a small window of opportunity to leave before she came back out. For some reason I didn't think I had it in me to leave if I could see her.

As Carlisle went up to the counter to pay, I heard outside noise drift in through the open door and turned towards the entrance. A tall, muscular Native-American man walked in and went straight up to the large waiter, who was unrolling different colored strands of plastic from their spools. He put his motorcycle helmet down on the counter and an old, worn, black duffel bag across two of the built-in stools. He cleared his throat, causing the waiter to look up. "Excuse me, is Bella Swan here?"

Jesus Christ! Who is this guy now? The waiter seemed to have somewhat of the same response I had had to the question because he straightened his posture and looked down at the man. "Who wants to know?"

The man grinned arrogantly, obviously not intimidated. Nor should he be. Though the stranger was shorter by an inch or two, both men's obvious muscle mass, which they were only trying to highlight by crossing their arms tightly, were nearly identical in size. "Relax, man. I'm an old friend. I take it that means she's here?" Carlisle and the blond waiter who was helping him with the bill, and the rest of the patrons, apparently, had all taken an interest in this new development. The entire diner had gone quiet. This place should bill itself as dinner theater.

The two waiters shared a look and when the blond one shrugged, the large one went into the kitchen. We could all hear him as he yelled, "Hey, Bellsie?"

She answered at the same volume with a, "Yeah?"

"So, this big Indian guy walked into the diner and—"

"That's not funny, Emmett!" She snapped back at him. "In fact, that's really racist and I'm not in the mood."

I noticed that a few of us were sporting matching smirks. She thought he was telling a joke! This girl was too much.

Emmett, which I guess Em is short for, huffed in frustration. "Fine. This big Native-American guy walked into—"

"Please, Emmett," she cut him off. She wasn't screaming anymore, so they must have been in the same room. "I don't want to hear a racist joke right now, okay? Look, I found scissors in the office."

"Joke? I'm not kidding, boss. An In—I mean, a Native-American guy just walked into the diner and he's asking for you. Cocky son of a bitch, too," he chuckled once and then stopped. "Bella?" There was a pause before, "Jazz?" His voice sounded panicked. "Get in here! She passed out or something!"

Before I knew what I was doing, I was out of my seat and running towards the kitchen.

The tall, dark stranger followed after me, chuckling.

Bad-boy Edward Recommendations:

/s/5180793/1/Emancipation_Proclamation: Mob-prince who manages to maintain his edge even after changing his ways for our fair Bella. Plus, he speaks Italian.
/s/5143291/1/Clipped_Wings_and_Inked_Armor: Tatted and pierced, he can't rein in his cussing, but still calls Bella's vagina her "kitty."
/s/5007065/1/Bad_Habit: He's been keeping Bella on the sly since high school. Flashback fic as the gang heads back home to the Cullens' house in Forks for a long weekend.
/s/5100876/1/The_Blessing_and_the_Curse: All-Human, but he still has his telepathy, which he's been using against Bella since childhood.

Most are pretty well-known, but hopefully you'll find something new.