Twilight AF
Chapter 5
I'm late to English. I forgot my locker combination and stood beside it for the better part of ten minutes laughing to myself until I practically cried.
He's tired of staying away from me? What the hell does that even mean?
The teacher makes a snide comment thanking me for joining his class. I hurry to my seat, biting back the urge to call him a fuckface, and am finally relieved to see squinty eyes has vacated his seat beside me.
So the guy can take a hint after all.
Of course, that lasts exactly forty-seven minutes because he's waiting for me at the end of class. He then proceeds to walk me to my next boring me to death by bringing up the weather. Then I realize it's his underhanded way of slipping his surfing trip into the conversation.
I feign ignorance and stared at him vacantly, pretending English is my second language.
The rest of the morning passes with me spending most of it having sexual fantasies about sex hair. I'm still not convinced this isn't all a dream and I haven't woken up yet. In the space of twenty-four hours he went from being a sociopath to asking me out on date.
On a side not, I realize I never answered him.
Jessica's still maintaining the façade of being my friend in her desperate efforts to make sure squinty eyes and I don't get married behind her back. She follows me into the cafeteria, slyly filling me in on so-called rumors that sex hair is gay.
I know what she's doing, and it amuses me to no end. I play along though, sucking in my breath in feigned affront.
"Why that deceitful bastard!" I make a deliberate show of it.
It goes straight over her head, naturally. She gets all giggly and cheerful over my perceived predicament. "I know right?"
"I'm appalled and affronted," I continue on dryly now, counting the seconds until the penny drops. It's probably better that I don't hold my breath.
"Never mind, maybe you can ask Eric. He doesn't have a date yet."
I almost choke but cover at the last minute. Yeah, she'd love that. Besides, I'm pretty sure Angela is into Eric. She's a nice girl and I really like her but she obviously has shit taste in guys. He's almost as lecherous as squinty eyes. "Sure," I mumble distracted as I cast my eyes around the room and right at table weirdo.
His four foster siblings are present, but sex hair is missing.
"Fuck," I fume to myself, but how dare he get all wishy washy on me and then go AWOL.
"Huh?" Jessica makes a half-hearted attempt at interest before going off on a tangent about purple cummerbunds.
I follow behind to the lunch line pouting to myself. I buy a lemonade, and then crash myself down at Jessica's table in a barely concealed hissy. It really pisses me off to know I'm getting all melodramatic over his absence, but I'm addicted to that beautiful fucker's face and I can't fucking help it.
"Edward's staring at you, Bella," Angela leans in close and whispers in my ear. "He's not at his regular table today."
I straighten up so fast I spill my drink all over the table. "What—where?" I follow her gaze and quickly find myself staring into the beautiful bastard's gold eyes from across the room.
He's sitting alone while the table of non-blood related weirdos all scowl at him. Except for buzzcut. She looks as horny as I feel.
Clark breaks into a smirky grin and motions to me with his index finger; winking as he does.
Oh, hell yes.
For a moment I'm rendered speechless, but it's hot as fuck, and I'm out of my seat in a nanosecond; knocking it over in my haste.
"Does he mean her?" I hear Jessica bitch from behind me as I practically skip off toward him.
I stop when I reach his table. I need to time to pull myself together, lest I start hyena giggling like Jessica every time Mike tells one of his lame as fuck jokes.
"Did you just wink at me?" I put to him wryly, and am pleased to know I pull it off relatively easily.
"Shut up and sit down," he says, and his irritation is just as feigned. The creepy fucker's grin is broadening.
I immediately comply, clearing my throat in deliberate innuendo. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" I say ruefully after several seconds of waiting for him to speak.
"You never answered me?"
"Huh?" I say blankly.
"About going to Seattle?"
"Oh, so I didn't..."
He tilts his head to the side, obviously waiting for me to get on with it.
"Sure," I say simply, shrugging my shoulders with overly fabricated indifference, "but just so you know, there's no chance in hell John Boy will make it to Seattle and back, so we'll have to go in your preppy little—whatever it is."
He stares at me in open confusion for a moment or two, before it turns to exasperation. "What the hell did you just say?—who is John Boy?"
"My truck apparently." I take a page out of his book and roll my eyes.
"Why do you...? Never mind," he mutters, obviously catching on. "Pretty appropriate."
"Hmm. So now that I've answered, do you want me to stick around?" I flutter my lashes, hating myself thoroughly, but fuck it. This guy's a once in a lifetime gorgeous piece of eye candy alien, and if he's into me for whatever reason, I'm not about to pass it up.
At this point I'm fully prepared to have his little green babies.
"Apparently," he mocks me again.
"God you're absurd." I follow suit until that smirk is ghosting on his lips again.
"If I'm going to hell, you're coming with me," he says completely straight faced, while I stare at him for a pause too long.
"What?" I eventually put to him feeling my cheeks flame, but I like the idea of that, not gonna lie.
He flinches again and eyes me closely for a moment. "You heard," he goes with; I was almost positive he was going to abuse me again.
I observe him before shrugging it off. He's weird; there's no point overanalyzing it. "And why would I got to Hell with you, Clark?" I say in full flirt mode. I sound unhinged. Flirting is not meant to be a session of passive aggressive insults, but hey, it seems to work with this beautiful, creepy assface.
"Please stop calling me Clark," he says with a pointed glance.
"Would you prefer Man of Steel?"
"Ha-ha," he says humorlessly.
"So you fully expect me to just get over the fact that you can move faster than a speeding bullet?"
"Can you—"
"More powerful than a locomotive."
"Why—"
"Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound."
"You've made your point," he mutters, his face subtly darkening.
"So what's life like on planet Krypton?"
"I can't fly," he says sardonically.
"Oh my god—same!"
He sighs very deliberately before closing his eyes and pinching the bride of his nose. "You are the strangest girl I have ever met," he notes when he turns his blazing honey eyes on me again.
I scoff in disbelief because that's doubtful. "Stranger than that little one?"
"Which little one?" he asks distracted as he follows my gaze and glances over his shoulder.
Buzzcut waves in overt enthusiasm as if she was anticipating this very moment.
"That little one."
"Alice..." he murmurs, a troubled look etching his catastrophically gorgeous face.
"Alice? Huh. She looks like a Bobby Joe."
He shakes his head this time as if I'm thoroughly stumping him. "What?"
"What?"
He sighs again; though, it's more of a frustrated huff. "What the hell am I doing?" he asks himself.
"You expect me to know the answer to that?"
"No," he says lowly, breaking my gaze again to stare down at his perfectly sculpted arms folded across the table. Then out of nowhere he smirks to himself again. His emotions literally change on a dime that I'm beginning to think he's bi-polar. "Jessica doesn't like you, by the way?"
"No kidding?" I say dryly.
"Then why do you humor her?"
I jerk a single shoulder offhandedly. "It makes the day go faster."
He looks like he might laugh, but confusion is once again taking hold of him. "She doesn't like the idea of you hanging with me."
"She'll get over it."
"Maybe I'll keep you," he says like it's some kind of threat.
I laugh lightly, more than liking the sound of that. "Maybe I'll keep you, Clark."
He chuckles as well, except his is sex and triple malt whiskey. "I like you, Bella."
"Do you?" I burst into flames, because I really fucking like the idea of that one. "You're weird."
"So you keep saying." His smile doesn't wane, and he turns the full force of it on me.
My expression quickly turns vacant, and it takes a moment or two before I realize he's put me under his spell again. I force myself out of it, and quickly suck in my bottom lip to make absolute sure I'm not salivating over him. "Will you stop doing that?!"
"Doing what?" he asks, not even remotely convincing, but then, the beautiful fucker knows exactly what he's doing.
"Putting your creepy spells on me."
He laughs again, and Jesus fucking Christ, it's better than porn. "I don't know any spells."
"So what's all this about?" I say my voice wavering as I attempt to pull myself together for god knows how many times already.
"What's all what about?" He tilts his head to the side again, his smile returning.
"You being all chummy with me out of the blue." I clear my throat roughly and swallow past my burning arousal. I really need to make a bucket list; fuck this guy before I die.
"I'm just going to do what I want now," he answers in a tone that sounds almost defiant. "No matter what anyone says."
"Fair enough," I say, because I really have no idea what the hell he's on about. "You want to be friends now? I wish you'd make up your mind." My sarcasm is all a cover. I'll be his friend. I'll be anything he wants.
He locks his eyes to mine and stares intently for a second or two. I hold my breath. No damn idea why. "Friends..." he appears to ponder the word. "You probably don't want to be friends with me, but sure, if you like."
"What are you going to do? Steal my soul?" I'm beginning to squirm in my seat. Okay, he's a goddamn god of sex, but there's something magnetizing about him also. It's making me believe he could get me off with just his eyes alone.
"Among other things," he says after moment, his voice brooding again.
I roll my eyes. "Are you ever going to tell me what you are?"
"Not unless you figure it out." His reply is lightning fast and I consider it for a moment.
"That shouldn't be too hard."
"You believe that?"
"Yep."
"Got any theories?" His head ducks again and his amusement is back, front and center.
"Incubus."
"No."
"Angel."
"No."
"Demon."
He pauses this time, his tone lowering. "No."
"Hmm, fallen angel."
He draws a deliberate breath, his eyes canvassing mine steadily. He really could stare me into climaxing, I'm positive of it. "Fallen angels, demons... Is there a difference?"
"Whatever—nine-tailed fox."
"...What's?—no."
"Alien." I go with my trump card, making his smirk instantly reappear.
"No."
"Warlock?"
"No."
"Fuck!"
"You really shouldn't swear."
"Yes, Dad," I say flatly.
He sighs again. "Do what you like then."
"Elf."
His expression immediately reverses. "Tolkien or North Pole?"
"Tolkien obviously."
He chuckles softly, while my squirming turns to full blown restlessness. "No."
"Well shit."
He appears pleased with himself as I stubbornly scowl at him. "Give up?"
"I'll figure it out," I vow more or less to myself, and when I look up at him I realize he's trying to put me under his spell again. "Stop it!" I slap the table sharply.
"I'm not doing anything," he insists, playing innocent.
I arch a skeptical brow. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing with those weird eyes of yours."
"Shall I stop looking at you?" He's about to laugh at me again and I'm on the verge of throwing my lemonade over him.
"Just stop putting spells on me."
He scoffs this time, his eyes coming infinitely close to rolling again. "Okay," he says in a droll voice.
"God you're an asshole."
"What are you thinking?" he blurts randomly.
"Huh?" I ask taken slightly aback. "Other than that I think you're an asshole?"
"Bella..." he complains.
"What are you thinking?" I turn it back on him.
"That I wish I knew what you were thinking."
"Stop being weird."
He laughs again. It's really becoming foreplay. I should probably go take care of myself before this shit gets any worse, except I couldn't move if I wanted to. "Why aren't you eating?"
"Why aren't you?"
"This is really frustrating," he grumbles, severing his eyes from mine and practically glowering.
"Well, stop bombarding me with questions."
"I'm not a super hero," he says completely out of left field again.
"Huh. I... Okay then...?" I utter slightly dazed. His moods are beginning to make me dizzy.
"I'm not superman," he reiterates, sounding too completely serious. "I'm the complete opposite."
"Lex Luthor?" I tease.
He huffs this time, his expression clouding again. "Never mind."
"Am I making you angry?"
"No, you're frustrating. You never say what I expect you to."
"What do you expect me to say?" I'm suddenly curious. I inch closer to him only for him to lean further back in his chair in response.
"You're the only one here who thinks I'm weird."
I snort in contradiction. "I doubt that's true."
"Trust me."
"Okay..." Not sure I do, but anyway.
He doesn't reply, and for the remainder of lunch break he falls into his usual psycho silence. I only stare at him while he broods to himself looking apocalyptically gorgeous.
The bell signals for the start of period five, but still he doesn't move.
"We going to Bio, or...?" I put to him dubiously. Beautiful or not, he's beginning to creep me out again. I've never seen anyone who can sit as still as him. It's unnerving as shit.
"I'm not going to class today," he speaks to the surface of the table.
"Why not?" I demand a little too desperately. I low key want to plead with him not to leave me vulnerable to squinty eye's advances, but I suspect he'll only use it against me.
He glances up at me, his lip twitching slightly. "It's good to ditch every now and then."
"You are so weird!" I say for the infinite time, before pulling myself to my feet. I wouldn't mind ditching, but I'm too much of a pussy. Charlie would lose his shit, and the office admin lady already has it in for me.
He shrugs like it's no great loss. "See you then."
"Bye, Clark."
I make my way to the exit, turning back to him before I leave the room. He's continuing to sit at the same table, not moving, not eating...
A cold shiver runs along my spine. It's a very strange feeling to be as turned on by someone as equally as I am freaked out.
. . .
Jessica and squinty eyes are staring at me when I enter Bio. Mike looks put out while Jessica is seething with obvious envy. I smirk to myself and take my stool. It feels weird that sex hair isn't beside me, but then, maybe I'm still coming down from lunch.
The teacher enters and gets shit ready for the class. He puts a box of whatever on Mike's desk and tells him to start handing it out to everyone. Going down the aisle, he places two pieces of colored card before me, and tries to make eye contact. I pretend to have an ocular migraine while half listening as the teacher explains what this shit's all about in the background.
That's when it dawns on me, and the blood in veins runs cold. This bald bastard wants to prick my finger and take my blood!
I immediately break into a cold sweat and start wheezing, glancing hastily around for whatever the hell, I don't know. Maybe it's for sex hair to come and rescue me again, but that beautiful freakshow is nowhere to be seen.
The teacher then demonstrates on squinty eyes, pricking his index finger with a lancet identical to the one in front of me. Blood pools, deep red and threatening to drip down his hand. My ears start ringing and I'm three seconds from projectile vomiting.
"Then press it to the card." The teacher smudges squinty eye's finger, leaving a bloody print behind, and suddenly I'm flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling.
There's upheaval again, the same way there was after the parking lot incident. Jessica is hyena laughing at my expense, while squinty eyes practically throws himself on top of me. Mr. Banner pushes through the gathering onlookers and stares down at me with a look of concern on his face. Or maybe it's repulsion, because it's no doubt obvious I'm on the verge of spilling my guts.
"Are you okay, Bella?" he asks in a time-delayed fog.
"No..." I speak past the saliva amassing in my mouth and close my eyes.
Shit's about to get gross.
The next thing I'm aware of Mike's dragging my wet-noodle ass to the nurse.
He drops me multiple times and after the third, I lay on the cool concrete and refuse to move.
"Come on, Bella..." he drools over me, attempting to yank me back in his arms.
"Back off!" I warn him behind closed eyes, but it falls short and sounds like a sob. It basically is, but the concrete is cold against my volcanic body temperature, and I make up my mind to lay here like a lunatic for the rest of the day.
"Wow, you look like shit," he observes.
"What did you do to her, Newton?!" a second voice demands sounding incredibly threatening, and suspiciously like milk and honey.
Oh, for the love of fuck!
"I didn't do anything!" Mike whines defensively with a notable waver, while I pretend I'm dead. "She fainted in Bio."
"Bella?" sex hair's voice is close to my ear now, all soothing and full of concern. This guy and his mood swings. I'm really starting to think he has schizophrenia.
"Great timing, Clark," I whisper, squinting open an eye. I can't manage volume right now. Not while I'm willing my stomach not to heave forth all over his grandfather's leatherbacks.
What person under the age of fifty wears shoes like this?
"Can you walk?" he asks.
I only moan pitifully in reply, and his breath shoots from his nose in what sounds very close to silent laughter.
"I'm supposed to take her to the nurse, but she refuses to go any further."
"I'll take her," sex hair decides.
"That's my job!" squinty eyes argues.
"Shut up, Newton," he retorts, and in the next instant, he scoops me up in his arms and lifts me off the ground.
My eyes fly open and I stare at him in open shock.
"You really do look like shit," he says, that smirk of his edging on his lips.
"Shut the fuck up!" I protest weakly, but then he starts walking, and I feel like I'm on a roller coaster. "Stop!—put me down. Oh god..."
I clamp a hand over my mouth while with the other I cling desperately to him. He's holding me like I'm an infant, and not grunting at all with overexertion like squinty eyes was.
But seriously, does this guy walk around tensing every muscle in his body? He's taut, and his skin's really cool. It's a nice cool, though. A soothing cool.
I pretend to faint again, and it gives me an excuse to curl myself further against his firm, hard chest. He's not warm, at all, but it's reassuring to know I'm not the only one who exists in a permanent state of hypothermia in this town.
"Blood makes you faint..." he muses. "Well isn't that ironic."
I don't say anything; my nausea is quickly fading and being replaced by wanton desire, so it's best if I don't make it known. I bite down on my lip just in case, and force back the whimper.
In less than thirty seconds we're back indoors. The air around me is warm, but smells suspiciously like Windex. Or maybe it's him.
Wait, hold up...
This is when my eyes fly open and I stare at him in sudden revelation. He smells like Windex, my room smells like Windex...
I start hyperventilating, while Mrs. Cope, the office admin lady, takes a look at me and has an episode. She rushes ahead and opens the door to the school infirmary where sex hair lays me down on the vinyl-cushioned bed covered in art paper.
My eyes don't deviate from his even as he stares back, his brow knotted in confusion.
"What?" he mouths before turning to the nurse to explain away my pitiful condition. "She fainted. We're doing blood typing in Bio today."
"Say no more," the nurse says, looking down at me pathetically.
"You...you...you..." I can't catch my breath even as I thrust an accusing finger at him.
He continues to stare back at me as equally confused as he is steadily growing alarmed.
"Calm down, dear," the nurse places a cool cloth to my forehead and tucks wayward strands of hair off my face where they got trapped in my sweat.
"You—he, he, he—the whole time!?" They both stare at me like I've lost my mind, but what can I really say? That the creepy beautiful soul-sapping alien before us has been watching me sleep at night, and probably jerking off while I have erotic dreams about him?
That's when I pass out for real. Okay, maybe I semi fake it, but it's the only alternative I have right now.
It's all over. He might as well just fuck me and get it over with.
My life is so shit.
. . .
"Bella?"
"What?" I mutter behind closed eyes. I'm still in the infirmary and so is he. He's perched himself in one of the plastic chairs and refuses to leave.
Stalker.
"Are you feeling okay?" His voice is soft and responsive, but still oozes with sex nonetheless.
"Fine," I echo stiffly.
"Why are you angry?"
"Because you're a creeper, Clark!" I state opening my eyes and staring him down.
"I saw you from my car," he says out of some kind of justification, obviously misconstruing my meaning. "I thought Newton had done something nefarious to you. I was fully prepared to avenge your death, too." He tries turning the power of his smile on me again, but this time it bounces right off me.
"Well how chivalrous!" I say sarcastically, sitting myself upright.
"You going to tell me what's got you so riled up?" he says expelling an even toned breath and folding his arms across his chest.
"You already know."
"I really don't," he deadpans.
"You d..." I cut myself short as my thoughts suddenly begin to stray. A plan is formulating in my mind. If I outright accuse him, he'll only deny it and act like I'm crazy, but if I catch him in the act... "You! Where the hell were you when I needed you? I almost threw up!" I raise my voice and pretend I'm on the verge of crying. It's still croaky from my near fainting spell and I work it to my advantage. "You can't do that to me again, Clark!" I cover my face with my palms, force myself to think about that creepy bastard watching me get off in my sleep, and burst into tears.
He crosses the room in lightning speed and suddenly I'm in his arms. "I'm sorry, Bella," he croons against my hair, his breath as cool as his skin. I'm starting to question whether he's even warm blooded.
"You should be," I sniff, pressing my ear to his chest to listen to his heart.
Wait...where...?
He pulls me back to arm's length a little too hastily, as if he's caught on. "You feeling okay, now?"
"I'm fine," I reply simply.
"Have you always hated the sight of blood?" he asks, inching back to the chair on the far side of the room opposite me.
"And that metallic smell..." I openly grimace.
"You must have a heightened sense of smell, then." He appears impressed.
I half shrug. "Yeah, well..."
Right at that moment squinty eyes walks into the room looking his usual put out, begrudging self.
"I see you're looking better," he says in some kind of accusation.
"Thank you so much for your concern," I reply flatly as sex hair scoffs back his poorly concealed laughter.
Mike glances at him behind his shoulder and when he turns back to me his expression's outright hostile. "You coming Saturday?" he barks out at me.
"Coming...?"
"La Push, First Beach..." he says in monotone being a patronizing little dipshit.
Oh, fuck, it's this Saturday?
"I'm going with Angela," I remind him, needing to emphasize the fact that in no way whatsoever is my acceptance a reciprocation of his lichen advances.
"Okay." He's turned mopey again.
Edward clears his throat roughly, failing to hold off his blatant amusement.
"Well I'm gonna get back to class." He turns to leave, but hesitates, as if he's expecting me to invite him to stay, but one creep is enough, right now.
"Bye, Mike," I say with an over exaggerated smile.
He leaves in a huff, crashing through the doors and making the entire building quake.
"What the fuck is his problem?" I say to sex hair in complete aggravated bewilderment.
"He thinks I've stolen you from him," he says in full enjoyment, continuing to snort back his laughter.
"What?" I utter, unable to wrap my mind around the abject cluelessness of the boys in this town. Or the creep-factor. Point in case, the ghastly beautiful peeping tom opposite me.
He chuckles openly this time, and in my present frame of mind, the sound of it almost brings me undone.
"Can you kill him?"
His laughter abruptly stops and something behind is glowing gold eyes burns. "That can be arranged."
"Good," I burst. In reality, he probably could, and I'm really not too averse to the idea at the moment.
"Wanna get out of here?"
I meet his eyes and he raises his brows in encouragement, his smile back in full swing. "I have gym," I admit blinking stubbornly past his powers of persuasion. I move to hop down from the bed when he quickly extends a hand toward me.
"Need help?"
"No!" I say a little too defensive.
"Suit yourself," he murmurs half beneath his breath.
"You feeling alright now, dear—oh you have your color back," the nurse notes with open relief as I make my way toward the front office and then the exit.
"Yes, I'm heading back to class."
"Are sure that's a good idea right now?"
"She's still not feeling the best," sex hair speaks up from behind me before I can open my mouth.
I whip my head around and glare at him. He winks and I almost choke on my own saliva. He moves beside me then, and bends down to speak covertly in my ear. "Go sit down and put on your best acting skills again."
Again?
I'm speechless, and knowing all words have vacated me I numbly obey. I slouch in one of the folding chairs in the office and drop my head in my both hands.
I hear sex hair talking to Mrs. Cope then, using that whiskey smooth, schmoozey voice of his on her. "Bella has gym, but she's not feeling too great. I was thinking I can drive her home..."
What?!
My eyes fly immediately open and I snap my head up, but I can only stare at the back of him and marvel how even from behind he's outrageously beautiful.
Great ass, broad back, thick, grabbable hair...
"Do you need to be excused as well, Edward," Mrs. Cope says, openly flustered, her cleavage turning splotchy.
If she wasn't such an old crone, I'd almost feel sorry for her.
"I have Mrs. Goff next, she won't mind," he continues to romance her, sly evil bastard that he is.
"Okay, all done. Feel better, Bella, dear," she glances over his shoulder and calls to me without a speck of sincerity.
I pretend to swoon back into the wall. I hit my head unnecessarily too hard in the process, and turning to me, sex hair smirks.
"Think you can walk, or do you need me to carry you again?" he puts to me, his expression quickly turning sly and underhanded.
I ignore him and pull myself to my feet. He holds the door open for me, and I deliberately slam it on him when I exit through it. It's blessedly cool outside and the air no longer smells of Windex.
"You still mad I wasn't there for you?" he blatantly mocks me as he falls into step with me.
"You're weird and creepy and I can drive myself home, thanks all the same!" I reply sharply, going immediately on the defensive.
I mean I still want him to fuck me, but there's a principle here. He watches me get myself off in my sleep. I'm mortified. And a little turned on, let's be honest.
He groans for my obvious benefit, and just as I'm making a beeline for John Boy, he grabs a fistful of my parka and drags me back. "Get back here."
"Get your hands off me!"
He ignores me and drags me sideways to his lame, generic-looking car while I struggle to keep myself on my feet.
"Um, and what about John Boy?" I remind him, shoving against him until he releases me.
"I'll get Alice to drop it home for you," he says with a small sigh, opening the passenger side door for me.
"That weird foster sister of yours who always looks high?" I blurt.
He breaks into an immediate grin and looks on the verge of laughter again. "The very one."
He pulls himself into the driver's side, and then glances at me suspiciously. "Think about running and I'll drag you back."
"Could you be any creepier!?"
"Just get in," he demands, sounding annoyed for the first time before he slots the key in the ignition and turns over the engine.
I begrudging climb in beside him, and militantly fasten my seatbelt. "Just so you know, this is a girl's car!"
He turns to me with his expression morphing into open indignation. "It's not—"
"Girls car," I reiterate, smug as fuck that I've finally got under his skin.
With his face darkening, he turns back to the wheel, shifts gears and then slams his foot on the gas while I'm thrown around like a gold fish.
"Jesus!"
He arrives in front of Charlie's house in thirty-five seconds flat, and the first question out of my mouth should be how the hell does he know where I live, but that ship has apparently sailed.
"You're a fucking psycho!" I blurt instead before moving to exit his single-female car when he reaches out and grabs my arm.
"Just stay put for a moment," he says, sighing to himself in exasperation again, back to treating me like a fetus.
"Why would I do that?" I demand as his groan becomes audible.
"You are high maintenance," he growls.
"And you're a freakshow!" I immediately retort.
"True," he says simply, his smirk returning.
"What do you want, Clark?" I huff, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't already under the spell of his sex smile.
"To talk!" He imitates my tone, and for a few seconds we glare at each other. Of course I fuck it up by turning dazed, confusing it with sexual tension and leaning subtly toward him.
He immediately draws back until he's flush against the driver's side door. "What are you doing?" he questions, single brow raised. I low-key want to ask him how he pulls that off. When I try it I look like one half of my face has paralysis.
"Talking," I reply like a wise ass.
"Jesus," he mutters to himself, dragging long finger back through his lush hair. He could definitely put those fingers to use if he wanted to. "My name's Edward, by the way."
"No shit. I prefer Clark."
"Should I start calling you Lizzie Borden?" he puts to me in some kind of emphasis.
"Um—who?"
"Never mind," he says quietly, smiling discreetly again, and his constant secret amusement in me is not a compliment. Smug, patronizing fucker.
"Are you rich?" I change the subject, and in doing so, I apparently surprise him.
"Yes."
"I mean were you rich before you were fostered by your teenage foster daddy?" I correct myself derisively.
He opens his mouth to speak but laughs instead. "What?"
"Were your birth parents rich?" I amend dryly.
"Ah... Yes."
"Huh." I guess that explains it then.
"Why do you ask?"
"I was wondering why you have such an old name. Rich people tend to have family names." I shrug.
"That's not always true."
"For the most part it is."
"You think Carlisle is a teenager?" he asks, his laughter continuing to simmer behind his phosphorescent eyes.
"He doesn't look old enough to be a fully qualified doctor."
"He's thirty," he counters.
I almost choke. "Sure he is. While we're on the subject, the wrestler looks thirty-five."
"Who?" He's beginning to sound exasperated.
"Claudia Schiffer's husband."
His laughter is out loud again, as smooth as silk and honey. "How old do I look?"
"Twenty, twenty-one..."
"I'm seventeen."
I snort cynically. "If you say so."
He frowns for a moment, and when he notices me noticing he attempts to cover by putting another rohypnol spell on me. It only half works. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen." My voice clogs in the back of my throat. I clear it in frustration.
"You are very much your age," he says more or less to himself.
"What's that mean!?" I immediately demand.
"You act your age," he answers matter-of-factly.
"How old do you want me to act?"
He shrugs noncommittally, but doesn't reply.
"Can I go now?" I ask petulantly.
"No," he says quietly.
"Gonna kidnap me, are you?" I wouldn't mind that if I'm being brutally honest.
"Maybe," he imitates me again, more mockingly than usual.
"Well, that should make it easier to watch me sleep," I say vaguely, and just as I was expecting, his face instantly smooths out with copious amounts of shock and culpability.
"Ha!" I point my finger at him, inches from his brow.
"I-I don't understand..." he stammers, his ears turning a very conspicuous shade of pink.
"Don't you?" I say skeptically.
"N-no," he breaks my gaze to stare out of his window into the rain. When he turns back to me, it's me this time who gets thrown. "What's your mother like?"
"None of your business," I answer a little too defensively, but I am not going to explain my mother so he can be an elitist bastard and use her against me.
"That was a very strong reaction," he notes with that smirk of his twitching on his lips.
"Well, now we're even..." I grab the door handle to exit whether he wants me to or not.
He grabs my arm again, but I'm not pissed; I'm turned on if truth be told. "Not yet."
I sigh pointedly and turn slow back to him. "You are really weird."
"Apparently."
He's such a smart ass, but I decide to throw him again. "You coming to the beach Saturday?"
He pauses as if he misheard. "What?—I...wasn't invited."
"Now you are."
"Mike doesn't like me," he mumbles beginning to look uncomfortable.
"I don't like Mike," I say categorically.
He smiles, pushing it softly through his nose. "Maybe next time, but thanks for the offer."
"No problem." I shrug nonplussed but I'm bothered, because this beautiful fucker just rejected me. "See you tomorrow, then." I throw open the car door and this time he doesn't stop me.
"I won't be at school tomorrow," he admits.
"Why?" I whip my head back to him and practically challenge.
"Me and Emmett...have plans," is all he gives away.
"Fine." I decide to convince myself I don't care.
"Try not to die this weekend, yeah? I won't be around to save you," he adds as some kind of accusation in a tone I really don't appreciate.
"Fuck you, blowhard!" I pull myself from his lady car and slam the door belligerently behind me.
"Later, Bella," he calls, and when I meet his gaze through the window he winks.
I only scoff and give him the "L" for loser sign. In response he laughs and pulls away down the street.
I think I might be in love with him.