THE SECOND TIME

Friday night, I agree to go out with Chelsea after work. There's a bar called the Leprechaun that she likes to go to, and since I haven't seen Edward since Tuesday, I figure I'm safe to go out and celebrate surviving another week with a drink.

The Lep is pulsing with music when we arrive. We order gin and tonics at the bar and find a tall table to scope out the place. I pull my black spaghetti strap dress up - it feels too low cut. I move to button the jean jacket over it, but Chelsea stops me. "Your tits look great!" She calls over the pounding bass line.

"That's what I'm afraid of!" I answer. She rolls her eyes and shimmies her dress lower. Chelsea is tall and has a larger body, her hair a short, cropped wavy bob. She looks like a gorgeous Amazon and I'm standing here, short and skinny, my chestnut hair in a crown braid. Feeling like I'm still playing dress up with Renee's clothing.

Chelsea is on the prowl tonight, looking for someone to dance with and probably bring home. I sip my drink and scan the crowd, deciding to be a good wing woman and see that she gets home alright. I daydream about my fuzzy socks and flannel pjs.

The beat of the song changes and Chelsea goes to get us both another drink. When she returns, she's beaming from ear to ear. She leans toward me and explains, "The sexiest man I've ever seen just bought us these."

My heart stops in my chest and picks up double time, thudding like the bass line. "Huh?" is all that graces my lips. What can I say? I have a way with words.

She points him out across the bar, "Tall, dark and handsome there!" She's nearly exploding with excitement.

Of fucking course it's Edward Cullen, standing at the bar with an untouched whiskey, staring at me like I'm something to eat. And maybe I am. He's wearing a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a gray Henley that hugs the muscles I know exist underneath. His hair flops onto his forehead like he's in a shampoo commercial.

"He's been looking at you since I went over there!" She squeals, grabbing my hand and squeezing like I just won the fucking lottery.

I chug the gin and tonic.

Now, I rarely drink, so the world is already starting to look hazy around the edges. My heart is stuttering uncomfortably - every time I look over at the bar, Edward is there, looking back at me. The lights of the dance floor turn his pale skin different colors as I observe him surreptitiously. A brave woman goes up to him and attempts to start a conversation; he doesn't even look at her when he turns her down. He's only got eyes for me.

Even when two college boys come up to us and start to flirt, I can see him over their shoulders, just watching. Kind of hovering in the background. He looks fucking good. I'm just drunk enough to notice that without flinching, without feeling the edges of the hole in my chest. Focus, Bella, focus.

"Wanna dance?" Matt or Mike asks me when Chelsea goes out on the floor with his friend.

"I don't dance," I shake my head and catch Edward's eye over his shoulder. He hasn't moved from his position at the bar.

Max? purses his lips, looking down at my chest. He fucking smirks. I close my jacket.

And then, suddenly, Edward is standing next to us. He slides his untouched whiskey into my hand and puts my empty glass on the table. His skin grazes mine and I wrench my hand back in surprise. It feels like my hand is suddenly on fire, but in a good way. My mind throws me back into my bedroom with his hands grazing my bare back, his lips trailing along my neck. I blink the memory away like it's acid corroding my vision.

Edward's gazing down at me, his eyes smoldering. And I'm dazzled by him. Just completely enamored. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Miles? says something to Edward, who merely steps in front of him, crowding him out with his back turned to him. Poor guy never stood a chance.

"Can we talk?" Edward asks over the music.

"Isn't that what you're already doing?" I ask, still captivated by his dark eyes.

He shakes his head, leans closer to me. "Somewhere private."

I put his untouched drink down and cross my arms over my chest. "Whatever you need to say can happen here."

He sighs and his eyes drop. Momentarily, Edward is lost looking down at my body. I watch as his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows back a rush of venom. He must be thirsty. His eyes trail back up to my face, to my lips, to my eyes.

"Bella, please. I need to apologize." He's doing the smoldering thing again.

"Go ahead," I gesture with an open hand, palm up.

He sighs and meets my eyes. "I didn't mean what I said in the woods in Forks." I unexpectedly flinch. I flinch. My traitorous body. He notices, of course, as he stops and rubs a hand down his face. "I thought I was doing what was best for us, and it has been slowly killing me. I haven't been… right… without you. I will do anything. If you would just give me another chance." He's pleading. His voice is husky and just loud enough for me and only me to hear him. His eyes are so dark.

I'm drunk and not thinking clearly, so I ask, "When was the last time you ate?"

He blinks. Once. Twice. Cocks his head. "It's been awhile."

"That's probably your issue then," I say as I take a gulp of the whiskey he brought over. It burns as it slides down my throat. "Hunger always made you grumpy," I mutter.

He scoffs. "I'm not grumpy."

I glare at him. "Impulsive, then."

"I'm not." He swears, putting a hand on his chest, over where his heart should beat.

I finish the whiskey and make a face at the taste, the sting. "I'm going home." I fish my phone out of my pocket and text Chelsea to tell her I'm leaving, to ask her to text me when she gets home. Then, I start walking out into the street.

My apartment is only four blocks away and it's a nice night, so I'm looking forward to the alone time.

"What are you doing?" Edward asks, worry lacing his tone as he jogs up next to me.

"I'm walking home." I glare up at him. "Alone," I add.

"It's past midnight."

"And I have a vampire -" he shushes me. I continue anyway, "next to me, what do you think is gonna happen?"

He sighs, exasperated. "I'll get you home safely." He promises.

"I don't need an escort." I grit my teeth.

He mumbles something, but it sounds a lot like, "I beg to differ."

I pick up my pace. And because I'm drunk and obstinate, I hiss, "I was fine for four years without you."

Maybe if I keep saying it, it'll make it true.

The night air is chill on my bare legs; goosebumps traverse up and down my skin.

I've forced the conversation into an awkward silence as we walk back to my apartment. The last drink hits me as we walk up the pathway to my building, so I fumble more than a little bit with my keys at the door.

He takes the keys from my hands and effortlessly unlocks the door. I grimace. Then, I stand in the doorway as something niggles at the back of my brain. At least forty five seconds pass before he asks, "Bella?"

It clicks.

I gasp. "You were in my apartment," I whisper, horrified.

When I turn to Edward, he looks sheepish. Bingo.

I'm advancing on him like a lioness. "You. Smelled. My. Shampoo." He backs up, eyes wide.

He just looks at me. He doesn't even look sorry. My heart pounds at my chest, threatening to break out and throttle him.

Instead, I turn and march - alright, stumble angrily - into my apartment.

I slam the door in his stupid, beautiful face, kick off my shoes, and collapse on the floor in furious sobs.