Sometimes he thinks that Bella wants Charlie to shoot him.
"It's okay, Edward," She says "I just have to take a ten minute shower and then we can head out. You can wait in my room." There's a mischievous glint in her eyes that says she knows exactly who's listening- or, for that matter, pretending not to be listening.
The father in question sits in his easy chair, eying the couple warily over the sports section. One hand is a little too close to the butt of his gun for Edward's comfort level, so he nods tersely and motions with his head that she should go ahead of him.
Bella favours him with a tight-lipped 'do-you-want-to-die?' look, one which he considers deeply. No, he decides, of all the ways for Charlie to find out that he's a vampire, this is probably the less favourable one. He follows her up the stairs.
She stops at the hamper, pulling out a towel and a change of clothes "Care to join me?" Bella's voice is so conversational, she might as well have been asking him to stay for dinner. Which, come to think of it, is probably a purposeful means to get him to say yes.
The girl is getting craftier.
"Go take your shower, Bella." He murmurs, placing an icy kiss on her forehead. His lover pouts but doesn't say anything more as she grumps down the hallway to the shower, reminiscent of a child. Edward watches her leaving the door slightly open, a silent invitation.
If you keep dwelling on this, she is going to be the death of you. Puritan Edward drawls disapprovingly.
But what a way to go! The other 90 of his brain encourages. Sometimes he really hates being a guy.
Deciding to take the safer route, he heads to her bedroom (slightly messy, but not too. So perfectly Bella) and shuts the door for safety reasons (amongst others). There's a deep silence. He's never been in her den alone before- he finds himself petrified that he might find a thong hanging on the bedpost or something.
But why, the rational section of Edward asks, would sweet, innocent Bella own a thong? And moreover, if she did, why would she leave it hanging on a bedpost?
He checks, just to be sure.
"Edward? What are you doing to my bedpost?" Edward turns around, and immediately wishes he hadn't. Because there's Bella.
There's Bella in a bra and jeans.
And nothing else.
"Sorry." She says sheepishly "I forgot a shirt."
"Sure." He mutters, trying to look serious even though he's currently talking to a spot 5 inches above her head. In his peripheral vision, he sees her smirk self-satisfactorily and turn around, reaching for her drawer.
She bends over to snatch a shirt from the bottom
It's too late. His Y-chromosome has failed him yet again.
"AHA!" Bella shouts, not missing a beat. She turns to him, clutching a T-Shirt to her chest and pointing wildly. "You were staring at my butt! Score one for team Seduce Edward!" Does that girl have a pair of eyes on the back of her head or what? "And the crowd goes wiiiild!"
"Sports commentary isn't a turn on, Bella." Except it totally is. Damn his maleness!
"Sports commentary isn't a turn on, Bella." She mocks in a high-pitched voice, strutting over to the door. "Well, y'know what? Neither is doing a convincing impression of Mother Theresa!" And she slams it shut.
Thud thud thud slam. Squeak. Wooosh.
The bra was lacy.
That's the only thing Edward is thinking about as he sits on her bed. He makes a mental note to throttle Alice, because this was surely her doing.
The bra was lacy.
Ugh. He's going to die. He's going to snap and jump her and get shot by Charlie in the throws of passion. There's no two ways about it.
But what a way to go.
What a way, he agrees. What a way.