A/N: I hope you all remember what happened last chapter. I fail, I know.

This chapter is unedited, unbeta'd, unpre-read yada, yada.

Hoodwinked

Chapter 33

"The old man was pissed," is Edward's second clue, and while I stare at him, realising it's not nearly enough, he raises his eyebrows clearly expecting me to instantly get it.

"That's it?" I huff in frustration.

"Bell, come on..." He sighs, and I'm not sure of the medium of it, but it only increases my irritation.

"I did what I did to you," I burst a little too loudly before I catch myself and lower my voice, "for that?"

"What did you do to me?" he asks, grinning to himself in full amusement as he lays back against his sheet and tucks both hands behind his head.

I shove him, but I'm not angry at him and he knows it. Still, I'm beyond frustrated, because while it's there on the edge of my memory, it's still beyond my reach.

Releasing an arm and snaking it around my back, Edward pulls me closer to him, and sighing to myself in defeat I allow myself to go completely fluid against his chest.

"Why I can't remember!?" I bemoan, burying my face against him and breathing in the scent of his damp skin.

We're up to seven now, and the fifth time in his bed. Soon I'll start losing count, and I'm not so certain that'll be a positive. I like that this is still new to me; new to us.

"You do remember, you pain in the neck," he insists, tightening his arms around my waist. "Just stop trying to force it."

"It'll be a lot easier if you just tell me," I mutter behind a gushing sigh. I'm exhausted almost as much as I'm frustrated. Sex twice in the space of as many hours on four hours sleep... I'm almost tempted to call my mother for a B12. God knows she'd only be all too happy to hand-deliver one.

"You'll understand it a lot more if you remember," he counters against my brow, beginning to sound distracted.

I expel my breath a second time, moaning softly behind it. "The more I can't remember it the crappier I feel," I admit.

"Stop that. I told you, I don't want you to feel bad."

"But you're certain I remember?" I glance up and meet his gaze dubiously.

"You remember," he says matter-of-factly.

I moan again helplessly, but with an impatient shake of my head, I let it go. He's right; trying to force it is getting me nowhere. "Hey?" I speak up after a couple of minutes of psyching myself into it.

"What?"

"I forgot to add something this morning..." I speak to his bare chest.

"What...?" he openly complains.

"All this stuff with your dad... Just don't do it in front of me," I say quietly, as he immediately scoffs.

"I wouldn't anyway, you dork!"

"You did last week," I remind him, and when he scoffs again his emotions aren't nearly as low-key

"Didn't I tell you to stop hanging onto shit?"

"I'm not. I just...forgot to mention it," I repeat myself sheepishly.

"It goes without saying, you pain in the neck," he mutters.

"Asshole," I reciprocate, pinching a fine strand of his chest hair between my fingers and tugging.

"OW!" He jerks, and pulling my hand free, he props himself over me on his palms. "There's ways of shutting you up, you know," he warns me, his eyes deliberately drifting to my naked chest before he clamps my nose.

I impulsively shove him off me, and rolling to his back again, he again draws me to him.

"Sorry," I mumble, draping my arm over his chest and releasing another exasperated breath.

"Shut up," he replies, his tone flooding with affection whether he's aware of it, or not. "You talk too fucking much."

"Only to you..." I say, closing my eyes as a shuddering yawn erupts from me.

"Why didn't you sleep last night?" He wipes my hair off my forehead and angles his head to meet my gaze.

"I had to make sure you didn't choke on your own vomit," I say dryly.

He rolls his eyes but breaks into a small smile. "I'm flattered, boog."

"You should be," I tease him.

He chuckles in reply. It rocks gently from his chest and practically lulls me off to sleep. "You can crash if you like," he says, the tenor of his voice dropping. "I'm going to get something to eat."

"Hmm... What time is it?" I mumble behind closed eyes.

"Just after eight."

"Wake me up in a couple of hours."

"What would be the point of that?" he asks, his warm fingers grazing against my ear as he tucks my hair behind it.

I hum softly in reply, not sure I even heard him properly, as I feel myself begin to drift into obscurity.

. . .

"EDWARD!" The loud, reverberating anger of Carlisle's voice startles me immediately awake. I snap upright in shock, glancing around me in clouded confusion as Edward leaps from the bed beside me.

In the semi darkness I watch dazed and disorientated as he hastily pulls on his jeans and reefs the door open; momentarily blinding me by the light behind it.

As my thoughts slowly turn coherent and more centred, my heart begins to pick up in panic, as on the other side of the door, my fears quickly unfold.

"What have I told you about leaving the kitchen like a pigsty?!" Carlisle roars, his irate-sounding voice appearing to echo off every wall in the house. "Clean it up—NOW!"

"Uh—that was Alice!" Edward replies, sounding almost as equally pissed off on top of indignant. "Why do you always assume it's me?" he demands.

"Because most of the time it is!"

"Well, this time is isn't, so go yell at her, and by the way, Bella's in my room and can hear everything!"

"I thought that was over?" his father replies after a blatant pause, and there's something accusatory about his tone.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? —to see my heart ripped out."

"Oh, stop your whining, Edward!"

"You're the one who woke up the entire street!" Edward fires back, as I instinctively hold my breath.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I was tired—I forgot." Alice suddenly cuts in to the sound of plates and cutlery clanging noisily as she no doubt crams everything into the dishwasher.

"Just hurry up and clean it," Carlisle replies, his voice is notably softer.

"Reckon I can go back to bed, now?" Edward says sarcastically.

"Watch your tone, Edward!"

"Thanks for the apology, Dad," he snaps dryly.

"And that's exactly why you don't get one!"

"As if I would have anyway," he mutters, the volume of his voice increasing as he makes his way back to me.

In the next second his bedroom door flies open before it's slammed again loudly behind him. In the silhouette of the moonlight, I just make him out, standing against it, his arms folded across his bare chest.

I don't say anything; I only watch him closely with bated breath, waiting for any signs that he's going to react as adversely as he did the last time.

Expelling an impatient-sounding breath he kicks off his jeans and practically throws himself back onto his bed beside me.

I don't move; I only continue to gaze at him, his sheet pulled up over my still-naked chest.

"Are you alright?" I brave as he grabs me around the waist and attempts to pull me back down against him.

"I'm fine," he replies, an obvious edge of anger remaining behind his voice. "Sorry, he woke you up."

"It's okay," I whisper, and yielding, I lay my head to his shoulder and drape an arm over him. "It's not your fault."

"He's a fucking prick..." he mutters darkly, expelling a heavy breath.

"Is he always like that?" I ask in a quiet voice.

"Sometimes. I gotta get out of here—I have to move out!" he says with sudden conviction.

"I know..." I reply, not quite ready to breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

"I can't afford it, though," he continues in a mumble, but he doesn't have to explain it further. While he's still an apprentice, his wage wouldn't be a lot, plus his truck would have cost an absolute fortune. The repayments alone would no doubt take up a large bulk of his pay.

"You can stay at my house," I propose as he laughs impulsively, struggling to keep it beneath his breath.

"Your old man never meant that literally, boog."

"He never says anything he doesn't mean," I emphatically state, because nothing is truer.

"Yeah, but he said I could stay over, not move in," he points out.

"Still..." I begin when he squeezes his arms tighter around me, effectively cutting me off.

"Two more years, then I'm set."

"Would...he have hit you if I weren't here?" I venture cautiously after Edward takes another momentous breath and falls quiet.

He hums sounding momentarily lost in thought. "No, and stop getting fixated on it. He only hits me when I really push him."

"Then," I turn and prop myself up against his chest, "why do you push him? —make me understand," I appeal to him.

"I told you—because he pisses me off," he says candidly, shrugging a shoulder as his gaze drifts towards his partially open blinds, "and it's just not in me to take his bullshit lying down."

"Edward..." I sigh.

"Shut up and stop talking—aren't you tired?" He makes a deliberate effort to change the subject, and knowing it's making him on edge, I let it go.

"Yeah," I say softly; I'm really not anymore, though. "Are you?"

"No. Now I'm wide-fucking-awake," he mutters.

"What time is it?"

"Hang on." He stretches his arm toward his bedside table, picks up his phone and unlocks it. "One-thirty."

"You didn't wake me up!" I protest.

"Why would I do that?" I can hear the smile in his voice without the need to see it.

"If I go to sleep early, I'll wake up early," I explain simply.

"That's not a bad thing."

"I like sleeping in," I mumble, and sighing again, I lay my head back against his chest, closing my eyes to the echo of his heart. "Edward...?" I speak up after a moment.

"What...?" There's a teasing exasperation behind his voice, this time.

I angle my head up to see his eyes even as mine struggle to adjust in the darkness. "If you give me another hint, I'll do stuff to you?" I'm deliberately coy.

He groans again, but he's not serious, and it's obvious he's contemplating it. "If I give you any more hints, I might as well just tell you."

"That would be good, too."

He groans a third time, lowly and to himself and again changes the subject; he's good at deflecting. "How come your old man is all of a sudden okay about you staying over with me?"

"He's on night shift for the next month."

"Ah..."

I sigh beneath my breath. He's still uptight; I really should probably do something to him.

"What are you thinking about now?" he pipes up ruefully, and he really does have an uncanny ability to read me.

"Hurry up before I take the offer back," I say wryly even as my tone hedges with affection.

By morning we're another point up, and the eighth time wasn't in his bed. Nine and ten take place back in bed though; in my bed. Edward had a rostered day off the following Monday and Renee invited him to stay Sunday night. He gave me no more hints after, but then, I'm sure the shithead kept me deliberately distracted.

I make the decision not to fixate on it, as he accused me of. Mainly because my thoughts are monopolised by just being with him again; of finding that niche together.

By Christmas I've lost count, and Edward's confident he's got me on par with where I should be. The asshole. We're also past the stage of using condoms, and I like that more than I'd ever admit to him.

He's kept his promise, though. His run-ins with his father, while still pretty frequent, have been little more than minor arguments, and he hasn't taken a single one out on me. Though, I've kept my promise, as well. I don't insert myself into them when they happen, but I'm still not comfortable with the relationship he has with his father. While he'll never admit it, I know it upsets him, and by default it upsets me, as well.

That's when I make the decision to break my promise and absolutely insert myself. Completely on the sly, of course. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I tell myself repeatedly as I execute my plan.

The first step is my mother. I ask her to invite Edward, Alice and Carlisle for Christmas dinner.

"Of course, sweetie—of course." She's overjoyed by my request, and the following afternoon when Mr Cullen arrives home from work, she applies her lipstick, grabs the plate of Christmas cookies she made, and heads next door.

"Well...?" I practically pounce on her when she returns.

She flashes me a puzzled look as if the prospect of Carlisle turning her down was ludicrous. "Of course he's coming. He's bringing lobster." She winks and sashays her way into the kitchen as I head toward her and my father's bedroom where he's busy getting ready for work.

"Hey, Dad," I greet him, reaching up on my toes to fasten the top button of his shirt. "I need to ask you something," I add cryptically.

"Ask away." He folds his arms across his chest and gauges me suspiciously.

"Mum invited Mr Cullen, and Edward and Alice over for Christmas, and—"

"I know," he interrupts, continuing to eye me sceptically.

"I was wondering... Will you get Edward and Carlisle drunk?" I blurt hastily before I can talk myself out of it.

"Bella..." He sighs.

"And then get them talking?"

Closing his eyes, he rubs them slowly, his ensuing groan becoming audible. "Fine," he concedes, clearing his throat roughly. "Are you going to that party taking place tonight?" His suspicion this time is for a completely different reason.

"You know about that?" I ask surprised; to which he only arches a dubious, all-knowing brow.

Angela Weber's brother is throwing a Christmas party tonight. He was in the same year as Edward, so naturally he's invited, while Angela was in the same year as me and Alice. And Jessica and Mike. I made Edward promise me—repeatedly—that there'll be no sequel to what happened at the formal, but I honestly think he's already over it. He doesn't hang on to things for long, at all.

I can't say the same thing for me, though. Something he's always bringing to my attention.

Still, the two of us are together and Edward exacted his revenge on Mike and his brother for what happened when he broke up with Lauren. He's more than done, and Mike would be an idiot to keep it going. He can't jump him tonight, either. Emmett's going, not to mention Jasper and most of the guys Edward used to hang out with at school. And Edward was, as he likes to constantly remind me, popular.

Plus, I want to get him drunk. He tells me he loves me when he is. Right now, it's all I've got. At least until I can remember.

If I ever will.

Alice is no help. She remembers less than I do from back then, but I'm pretty sure that's by design. Both she and Edward had such a hard time.

"Yeah," I sheepishly answer my father's question.

"Edward's going, no doubt."

"Yep."

"You taking a cab?" He's already removing his wallet from his back pocket, and just as I'm nodding in answer, he thrusts a fifty-dollar bill into my hand. "Be sensible."

"I will."

. . .

"Must be nice being Daddy's girl," Edward teases me as we exit the taxi together. I paid for the fare before he could reach for his phone. I'm not sure he's really happy about it, but then, Edward and his ego...

I nudge him with my shoulder, and grabbing my hand he pulls me toward the two-story house already overrunning with scores of people. Music is blasting from every opening, and almost subconsciously, I inch closer to him.

"It's not too late to back out. We can find somewhere quiet and make our own fun," he alludes with a wink

I shake my head adamantly even as my smile pulls broad. "It's fine. Just don't abandon me."

"Midget's here. Somewhere..."

"She barely remembers my name when she's around Jas," I point out dryly. Add alcohol and she becomes oblivious to any other person within a five mile radius.

Scoffing, he releases my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulders. "God, you're a pain in the neck."

"I'm okay," I insist. I'm not really. I'm not really into crowds, let alone parties, but Edward is, and I don't want him to have to change the way he lives for me.

The instant we walk through the front door, several voices chorus out Edward's name. I glance up and immediately spot Mike and his brother with Jessica and Lauren in the far corner of the living room.

Edward doesn't appear to notice them, though, and once more grabbing my hand, he tugs me behind him and proceeds to introduce me.

"I don't think I've ever heard your voice before," one of the guys comments after I, too shyly, reciprocated their greetings.

"Get her going and she doesn't shut up," Edward adds with a discernible edge of affection to his voice, before he clamps my nose. In front of them. I thought it was something he only did when we were alone; apparently, I was wrong.

"Want a drink, Bella?" Riley, Edward's BFF from his grade, offers after shoving a beer in Edward's hand.

"Um, sure," I reply, lowering my head to stare at the floor as Edward nudges my foot with his white converse. Chucks and work boots; they're the only shoes he owns.

"Fuck it's weird seeing this side of you, boog," he leans down and whispers in my ear.

"Shut up," I murmur, nudging him in the side, as a plastic cup of god-only-knows-what is placed in my hand.

"Tequila," Riley answers my silent question.

"Ah, yeah, maybe not..." Edward comes to my rescue, taking the drink from me and downing its contents. "She's not too pro on tequila," he further explains when Riley quirks a curious brow at him.

"I'm not," I agree in a mumble, secretly relieved as my eyes once again find my feet. After the first disaster of drinking it, I've never been able to come around to the taste of it or the effects it has on me.

"I can get you a Coke," Riley suggests instead.

"Okay. Thanks," I reply.

"Would you relax?" Edward berates me when Riley disappears from view.

"I'm fine!" I insist. "Stop stressing about me."

"Well, Jesus, you're uptight as fuck."

"Would you stop hassling me!?" I turn to face him with a huff.

"You're gonna make me worry about you all bloody night!" he adds in some kind of accusation.

I open my mouth to continue arguing when I pause and break into a knowing smile. "Don't worry about me, babe," I tease him, reaching out to pinch his cheek.

He grabs my hand and tugs me closer to him; his smile way too charming for his own good. "We don't have to stay long."

"Would you shut up!?"

He only winks, his grin inching broad just as a cup of Sprite is thrust into my hand.

"Wanna play pool?" Riley asks Edward, who immediately hesitates, a frown knotting his brow as his gaze almost subconsciously finds mine.

I nod slightly and half shrug. I have no objections to it, so long as he doesn't leave me stranded. If I was Alice—or anyone else—it wouldn't be a problem, but I never mastered the art of making conversation with people I barely know.

"Yeah, give me five," Edward answers, glancing over his shoulder; he's clearly searching for Alice. He finds her, and promising Riley he'll return he leads me toward where she and Jas are seated on a modular sofa with several other people from our school year.

"Look after boog for me, will you?" he asks Alice seconds before flicking her forehead.

"Idiot—"

"I don't need anyone looking after me!" I immediately object, cutting Alice off. "I'm not a two-year-old."

He only smirks as Alice grabs my hand and pulls me beside her.

"What's happening?" Jas pipes up with obvious interested.

"Pool," Edward answers simply.

"Count me in." Jas jumps to his feet.

"Since when was he so...maternal?" I state in wonder, shaking my head as I watch him retreat from the room.

"Edward? Maternal?" Alice replies, quirking a dubious brow.

"All worried about me like I'm an infant," I elaborate.

"He's always worried about you—what are you drinking?" She leans closer and takes a sniff of what's inside the plastic cup I'm still clutching.

"Lemonade," I answer.

"Bella, it's Christmas!" She states the obvious. "Have something stronger."

"If I drink too much he'll say it and I won't remember," I explain simply.

"Say what...?" she asks puzzled.

"I love you," I say, taking a sip of my drink.

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs. "God, he's so high maintenance."

"Leave him alone," I say, nudging her shoulder with mine.

"Has he been a shit?" she enquires, both eyebrows raised.

"He's been fine. We had one fight—you're too hard on him, Al," I point out.

"Did he tell you?" she adds, angling her body to face.

"Tell me...?"

"The Facebook post he wrote about you when you were pretending." She quotes with her fingers.

"No..." I reply, instantly curious.

"He thought if he could get you to hate him, it'd stop the two of you from becoming the two of you," she says cryptically, rolling her eyes again.

"What?" I utter in complete bewilderment. "Why...?"

"Then he realised he didn't want you to hate him, so he deleted it. You weren't supposed to see it."

"God, you're right. He is high maintenance," I concede, dropping my forehead to my palm.

"I think it's pretty cute." She shrugs and takes gulp of her wine.

"Cute?" I echo unconvinced.

"You got him to admit something that's really close to him. I've never seen him so serious in my entire life."

"What—when did he tell you that?" I'm almost without words, and I'm beginning to suspect I'll never understand him.

"Day...hmm...five of the silent treatment you gave him. He burst into my room all agitated and demanded I get you to call him. I told him he deserved everything you were dishing out to him, and then he sat down on my bed, and started confessing all this shit to me. I thought he was high, but nope, he was stone-cold sober."

"What...?" I begin, but decide to let it go, completely without words.

"I told him he needed to tell you all that in person, and he said he'd have to get drunk first."

"Yeah, well, he was drunk, and I think he alluded to something to that effect—how he tried to back out. He hides it well," I muse, chewing on my lip in thought. "You could have told me this, you know."

"I swore I wouldn't." She snorts and breaks into a small grin. "I've decided I like you going out with my idiot brother."

"It's nice to know we entertain you," I say, my voice droll.

"Sure you don't want a drink?" she asks, ignoring anything else with a smirk.

"Not yet," I assure her, but I'm adamant.

Not until the first I love you, at least.

MWAH xoxo