A/N: These two finally started talking to me again. Oy vey. Not long to go, either. Do you even remember what happened last? I bloody well didn't. Had to read that last ten chapters to get back into the groove of it. Jesus, mate, Edward is a complicated bastard. Anyway, remember when I said this fic would be angst free? Erm... Well it is me. Humour and angst tend to creep in regardless of what I'm writing.

This chapter's not edited. It's all me in my unmitigated chaos. It's probably fail on toast, but anywho... Sorry, Kim. I'm an inpatient fucker, I know. Thanks to StarryEyedWriter too MWAH.

Hoodwinked

Chapter 34

"You know what I think?" Alice suggests after downing her third cup of wine. She's definitely reached the realm of tipsy and has abandoned me twice to the sofa to go in search of Jas.

It's been more than an hour and he and Edward still haven't returned from playing pool. I'm beginning to worry something might be cooking. More accurately, something to do with the four people still huddled in the corner of the room. One of whom keeps turning to glare intermittently at me.

I sigh to myself, distracted. "She thinks I was screwing around with Edward when they were still together."

"Huh?" Alice's gaze follows mine to the four of them holding up in the armchairs several feet across from us, and aware of our eyes on her, Lauren turns her head and openly scowls. It's directed at me, but Alice still chuckles. "Ahh," is her long-winded reply even as she struggles to suppress her laughter. "Yeah, he didn't think that one through very well, did he?"

"Does he think anything through?" I put to her, only semi-teasing. "What do you think?"

"Hm?" she replies, her brows shooting up in confusion.

"You said, 'you know what I think?'," I remind her.

"Oh, yeah. I think you should record him and then show him when he's sober so he knows the world won't end if he admits it."

"Admits...?"

"I love you," she pointedly explains.

"Yeah, I don't think that'll go down too well," I say ruefully.

Alice shrugs a shoulder noncommittally. "Just a suggestion—how long does a game of pool take?—honestly," she snaps, as her gaze pulls around the room in search of her boyfriend.

"They're not planning anything, are they?" I voice my suspicions as my eyes again draw subconsciously back to Lauren.

"Nah," Alice replies, clearly not concerned by the suggestion. "They probably just lost track of time."

Right on cue, Edward and Jas appear in the doorway, and by the flushed hue to Edward's cheeks he's already moved beyond tipsy. Alice waves them over. They pass Jason, Mike, Jessica, and a still-pouting Lauren, but Edward doesn't even acknowledge them. That's when I realise—releasing my breath in relief—that he really has let go of all the bullshit that happened at the formal. One thing you definitely can't say about Edward is he's a grudge holder.

"Hey," he says after flopping down on the sofa beside me and draping a heavy arm around my shoulders. He points to my chest then, but instead of looking down at it, I grab his hand knowing he's half a second from groping me in front of a dozen people. A dozen people whose eyes immediately zero in on us as though we were an anomaly.

"Hey," I echo just as he buries his face against my neck and almost pushes me back against Alice. "What are you doing...?" I ask good-naturedly as I carefully ease him back.

"Hmm..." His hot, alcohol-scented breath washes over my flesh, making it prickle. "I like this," he notes against my earlobe, slipping his index finger beneath the thin strap of my dress.

"I thought you might," I reply with a small smile. Alice helped me pick it out; it's skimpier than I'd normally wear but Edward's confidence is infectious. Plus, I knew he'd appreciate it.

"Except every guy here is staring at you. That, I don't like," he amends, planting his lips to the side of my face before he rests them momentarily against my bare shoulder.

"They're staring at me because they're not used to seeing me at parties. Or with you," I correct him, fighting to hold off the shiver as those warm, supple lips of his continue to probe against my throat.

He scoffs out his reply against my skin. "Bell..."

"Hm?"

"What's this shit about Christmas?" he asks, completely surprising me before sitting himself upright and gauging me suspiciously.

"You're coming for dinner," I say casually after a pause I hope wasn't too obvious.

"Was this your doing?" he asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes a gulp from the bottle of beer in his hand.

"Of course," I admit simply. I knew he was going to grill me over it, so I made the decision not to lie to him. My mother will more than likely spill after two drinks, and it'll only make things worse. Still, I decide to omit certain details.

"Why...?" He cocks a cynical brow because the guy knows me.

"It's our first Christmas together," I state the obvious.

"Why the old man?" He's clearly not satisfied by my answer.

"I couldn't really invite you and Alice and not your dad."

"Yeah, you could," he insists.

"Edward..." I nudge him teasingly.

"Don't think that I don't know you're up to something," he leans fractionally closer and quirks a brow.

I scoff, feigning innocence. "I didn't realise you were so paranoid."

He tsks, and he's not even remotely convinced. "You think I don't know what you and midget get up to when you're together?"

"It got us together, didn't it?" I counter, mirroring his expression.

"I would have fixed that eventually."

"I might not have been as willing."

"I'm a master at wearing you down." He takes another gulp of his beer and winks from behind it.

I roll my eyes, and half shake my head to myself, when he offloads the empty bottle on the coffee table before us and leans in and kisses the curve of my neck and shoulder. His hand is beginning to become a little too adventurous, and it's fast beginning to make me uncomfortable.

"Edward..." I sigh, grabbing it just as his fingers graze against my boob.

"Hmm...?"

"Stop. People are staring," I whisper. Not to mention, Alice is right beside us.

He raises his head to meet my eyes. "Is that deadshit still giving you a hard time?"

"Who?" I ask blankly.

"Pencil dick," he elaborates.

I smirk. "No, but your ex-girlfriend keeps side-eyeing me."

He quickly glances over his shoulder, his eyebrows narrowing, before back to me. "She's not stupid enough to pull anything," he assures me. "She knows I'd beat her boyfriend to a pulp if she tried."

"I don't think she's over you."

He snorts as though it were ridiculous, and then replies in the complete opposite. "I'm pretty hard to get over." He winks a second time.

"You are so up yourself," I say wryly, nudging him again. "How long do you want to stay?" Truthfully, I'm over it already. Loud music, mass consumption of alcohol, and people practically fornicating publically—definitely not my thing. Nor is having Edward grope me with his ex-girlfriend ten feet away.

"We can leave whenever you want," he says shrugging a shoulder.

"Hmm... Is this what you do every weekend?" I ask dubiously.

"Yeah." His reply is casual. "It's relaxing."

"You don't want me to accompany you to every party, do you?"

He draws his breath and releases it very pointedly. "No."

"They're just..." I make an effort to explain but he gets me, so I abandon it.

"What?—don't you want to be one of those couples that spend every waking second with each other?" he teases me, hooking his elbow around my neck again and pulling me flush to him.

"I'd probably keel over from mental exhaustion," I reply, easing myself back from him so I can breathe.

"You love me," he mumbles with a smirk, bringing a can of beer to his lips. Where he got this one from is anyone's guess. "What?—you want a drink?"

I only shake my head.

"You want to go somewhere more private?" he ventures, and I pause for a moment, unsure whether he's messing with me or not.

I prod my elbow into his side and sigh. "I'm not having sex with you in some stranger's bed."

"I didn't mean here, you pain in the neck," he says dryly, rolling his eyes this time as he takes another gulp of his beer.

"Where?" I ask.

"Your old man at work?" His brows raise high with interest as I break into a grin.

"You know he is."

His smile quickly mirrors mine. "Just checking. Alright, give me a few..."

. . .

"Heeeey, Mrs Swan," Edward greets my mother—a little too enthusiastically—after she opens the door to us. He's drunk—and horny. The latter has been glaringly obvious all night. I resorted to standing in front of him to hide it; like I'm doing now. It doesn't help that he's leaning into me and constantly poking me in the back.

"Hey, hon," my mother replies with a smile and half, semi-concealed wink. "What brings you two back so soon?"

"Was getting boring, and snotface was all over me. It was embarrassing," he quips like the complete and utter arsehole he is.

I immediately elbow him in the ribs, and even as he jolts he continues to laugh; my mother joins him. "Projecting, you shithead!"

"You two are so cute," she says in a gushing tone like we're kittens before she sashays happily toward the family room. "I'm going to bed soon, and I have my Soothing Sounds app on—pretty loudly," she feels the need to blatantly add.

"We're just going to watch a movie!" I insist, convincing no one, least of all her while wanting to pre-emptively muffle whatever it is Edward's about to blurt out. I grab a handful of his shirt instead.

"Of course, sweetie—of course," she openly patronises me, while beside me, Edward snickers. "Do you need a coffee, hon?" She turns her attention back to him, along with a barely hidden reference to the sex we're about to have in my room.

"Nah, should be fine," he answers, because he's more than likely aware of the innuendo behind it as well. Arsehole.

"Okay, well, have fun, but don't wake Jake up." She places her index finger to her lips and winks again. She does it a lot; it's something they have in common.

I only sigh; there's not much else left at my disposal by way of reactions, after all.

"Your mother is pretty cool," Edward notes after she disappears behind the doors separating the bedrooms from the living areas.

"Shut up—and don't call me snotface!" I snap, shoving him in the direction of my room; he almost loses his footing and trips over. "We're not five anymore!"

"Touchy," she says lightly after righting himself. "What are you bitching about, this time? I didn't call you snotface."

"Snotface was all over me," I quote back to him, arching a brow when he glances at me over his shoulder.

"Ah...erm...habit?" he offers up with a smirk.

"I hate you." I pout—for pretences only—and shut my door behind the two of us.

"See, this is the boog I like," he says, a cheeky, half-drunken grin in tow after he flops down on my bed.

"Just don't...encourage her," I reply, releasing my breath heavily and sitting beside him. It's less exhausting when I'm not constantly fighting him.

"Something tells me she doesn't need much encouragement," he adds, his grin momentarily broadening. "You right?"

"Fine," I say simply with a shrug, and turning to him I point my finger against his chest. "Don't be too rough."

He quirks a confused brow. "When am I rough?"

"When you're drunk."

"Ah, shit—well, why the hell didn't you say something?"

"I...I dunno. I mean, you're not that rough—"

"Oy?"

"What?"

"You stalling?" he puts to me suspiciously.

"Why would I stall?" I ask, tilting my head slightly.

"How the hell would I know? Pain in the neck." His tone softens with affection and he flicks my forehead.

"I'm not stalling," I promise him jokingly before nudging him back against my bed. "Stop giving me shit."

"You don't take my shit..." he murmurs, draping his forearm over his eyes. He releases a humming breath. "We don't have to have sex."

"What?" I ask sceptically.

"Unless you want to..." He peeks beneath his arm, his grin resurfacing.

"Reverse psychology?" I cock my brow, and he chuckles.

"Nah. Bell...?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you, right?"

"I know," I say softly, smiling subtly to myself.

"And...I can have more than just sex with you." For whatever reason I get the impression he's attempting to convince himself more than me.

I'm not drunk, but if I was, I'd be immediately sobered up. "Can you?" I ask.

"Yeah..." He covers his face again and groans lazily. "I just told myself I'd stop stressing over it."

"Over what?" I ask, reaching over to pull his arm free so I can see his eyes.

"Over worrying about losing people. It's fucking...pointless anyway." He smiles, but this time it's a little too forced, and one-hundred percent vulnerable.

"Edward..."

"No getting weepy." He clamps my nose. "'Kay?"

"Okay."

I am, though.

. . .

He falls asleep on me. Literally, and halfway through. I knew something was amiss; he was clumsy, uncoordinated, his arms were quaking and his face kept slumping and dragging over mine.

"Give me a sec," he murmured, completely stopping and resting his weight fully over me, only to start snoring within three of them.

I did get another I love you out of him, so calling it even, I roll his hot, heavy—and limp—body off me and throw my sheet over him.

I fall asleep beside him almost as instantly, only to be awoken again by something that makes the blood turn to ice in my veins. It's the sounds of my father's keys, and his heavy footsteps coming across the driveway toward the entrance of the house.

I have exactly twenty-five seconds to get Edward out of my bed and hidden from my father's suspicious gaze or we're both dead.

Shoving him roughly awake, I quickly clamp my hand over his mouth to muffle his protest.

"What?" he mumbles croakily from behind my palm.

"My dad's coming—quickly!" I blurt, just barely managing to keep my tone below a whisper in my growing panic.

His eyes immediately widen in alarm, and just as the sound of the key turning in the front door lock breaks the silence of the house, he leaps from my bed—completely naked in the semi-obscured moonlight—and throws himself into my built-in wardrobe.

With bated breath, and my heart hammering wildly behind my ribs, I fall back down against my mattress, cover my bare skin fully with my sheet, and clamp my eyes shut. Not a second later, my bedroom door creaks quietly open and my father's still presence remains on the other side of it for what feels like eternity.

I'm positive he knows exactly what's going on, as well as the whereabouts of my very naked boyfriend, but just as quietly, he retreats, closing my door as he does.

Only when I hear his footsteps venture further into the house do I allow myself to breathe, but I can't fully relax until he leaves for work again. Something he does roughly half an hour later after moving about noisily in the kitchen; more than likely grabbing himself a serving of whatever my mother left out for him.

"Fuck!" Edward utters, after appearing from behind my wardrobe doors the instant the sound of my father's car fades down the street. "That's ten years of my life I just lost."

"Christ, I know," I murmur in full agreement, still unable to breathe freely.

Bending down Edward retrieves his underwear from the floor and clumsily pulls his legs into them. "What time is—wait!" His expression turns dazed and his eyes drift vacantly toward the window as though he's suddenly confused. "Did we...?"

"No," I answer, smirking slightly to myself. "You fell asleep on me."

"Well, that explains..." he leaves it unfinished, his head dropping in emphasis to the discernible bulge behind his Calvin Kleins, "this."

I eye him sceptically, but I'm unmoved. "After the heart attack I just had? No!"

"Bell—"

"No."

"You can't leave me like this," he protests.

"You shouldn't have fallen asleep."

"I was drunk," he replies as though it's justification enough.

"And?" I add unconvinced.

"Bell..." He tilts his head and pulls out the charm, and the shithead knows exactly what he's doing.

"You have a hand." I hold strong—just barely.

"I have..." planting his palms to my mattress, he climbs deliberately over me until his face is inches from mine, "a girlfriend."

"It's"—needing an excuse to sever his gaze, I turn and grab my phone from my side table, switching it on—"almost 3am. I'm tired," I put up somewhat of a defensive.

Closing the distance, he plants his heated lips to my bared shoulder and then again along the curve of my neck. "I'll give you another hint," he barters against my ear.

"That's extortion," I reply, my voice softening, making it evident that I'm already wavering. And he knows it.

"It's quid pro quo," he responds, slowly dragging his lips across my face to my mouth.

"Stop... Oh, fuck it," I completely cave, and that's how long I hold out for.

"You've come a long way, boog," Edward gently teases me after, lying beside me, a sweating, breathless puddle of water. "You don't kiss me like a twelve-year-old anymore." There's laughter behind his voice and in reply I elbow him.

"Shut up." Clearing the still lingering arousal—and affection—from my voice loudly, I roll to my side and face him.

"Daddy had you chained to the sink three times over."

I scowl at him, and in response, he pulls out that sunny grin of his and clamps my nose. "Leave me alone, you arsehole."

He chuckles softly beneath his breath, and turning to gaze up at the ceiling, he groans languidly. "Fuck, it's hot."

"Want a drink?" I offer, snuggling closer to him until he opens an arm for me.

"Nah." Closing his eyes he releases a humming breath. "Bell—"

"You owe me something..." I refresh his memory.

He groans again, pointedly this time. "Let me think..." he mumbles, sounding as though he's drifting back to sleep.

"No trying to get out of it." I tug his bottom lip playfully.

He swats my hand away. "Stop that. I'm thinking."

"You could just tell me," I hint; I know it's futile, but it's still worth a try.

"Shut up," he mutters, opening his eyes as a wry smile curves on his lips regardless. "Okay..." he begins, pausing to expel a deep breath this time, "I told you never to say it..." His voice fades and becomes distracted before he softly clears his throat.

"Repeat how you said it," I urge him in a whisper, and feeling like I'm on tenterhooks with him.

"Bell..." he complains, raising his hand to drag tense fingers over his forehead, but with a wavering sigh, he relents. "I said, 'never say it'."

I consider it for a moment as once again the memory, fleeting and buried by time, flashes through my mind and is immediately gone. I draw my breath, desperately attempting to hold onto it, even as it persists, teasing me with recognition that isn't quite there. "Dammit!" I mutter a little too loudly.

Rolling to his side he pulls me flush against his chest. "What time does he usually get home?" he asks, changing the subject.

"6:30-ish," I answer, biting on my bottom lip as my thoughts continue to chase shadows.

He tugs me closer and tightens his arms around me. "Better set your alarm."

"Yeah..." I mumble, stretching out to grab my phone even as I remain distracted.

Edward's aware of what's plaguing me, but he doesn't bring it to my attention. Deliberately is my guess. All too quickly, he falls back asleep, hugging me securely to him, his face pressed to my chest, but as is becoming habit, I don't follow him. I can't; I deliberately stay awake attempting to force eroding memories to the surface that seemingly don't want to be unearthed.

. . .

"So...it's Christmas Eve," is Edward's rhetorical reminder, complete with cheesy grin, as we're seeing each other off at his front door. He's still half asleep and his bed-hair is beyond chaotic; it's stupidly adorable. "Buy me anything?"

"You'll have to wait and see," I allude, tugging on his unevenly-buttoned shirt.

He flashes me a dubious brow as his smile resurfaces. "You're not really going to drag me out tonight to look at Christmas lights, are you?" he adds, referring to the plans Alice made with us the week before. We're double dating with her and Jas. Christmas lights first, followed by carols in the park. Needless to say, Edward's not exactly sold on the idea.

"Yes!" I immediately shut his objections down.

"It's lame."

"It's Christmas."

"Still gay..." he mutters.

"You're going. Or no sex for a month," I counter, but I'm not even minimally serious.

He snorts ironically and hooks his elbow around my neck. "You couldn't go that long."

"You couldn't." I shove him off me.

"Kiss me and bugger off already—geez."

Rising on my toes I plant my lips clumsily against his. He attempts to deepen it, but with the knowledge that my father could drive around the corner at any moment, I pull away. "We're meeting at eight."

"Righto." He sighs, and turning to glance away he drags his hand to the back of his head.

"It'll be fun," I insist, nudging him.

"Fun..." he echoes begrudgingly, before his expression becomes sedate and his gaze returns to mine. "You remember anything?" His eyebrows pull high.

I huff, and it's answer enough.

"I told you," he adds, clamping my nose, "don't force it."

"I know," I murmur, shrugging a defeated shoulder, because the reality that I'll never remember is becoming more of a probability with each passing day.

"Okay..." He expels a deliberately heavy breath, "I'll see you later." He flicks my forehead before bending down and replacing his fingers with his lips.

I break into an immediate smile and nudge him again, filling with affection for the shithead. While ninety-percent of him is pure smart arse, he's still capable of being sweet.

I return home, beating Charlie by barely two minutes, and climb back beneath the covers of my bed. I'm exhausted, and once again conceding defeat on this memory that is so significant to Edward that he can't repeat it, I close my eyes and steadily drift into oblivion.

I sleep and I dream. I dream of Alice cowering in the corner of her room, her knees to her chest and both palms clamped over her ears. And of Edward. Of Edward with tears running in rivers down his cheeks as he stands stock-still, looking broken and lost, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Never say it!" he cries in a voice wracked by pain and anger and unbroken by puberty. "Never say it, Bella!"

I bolt upright before I'm fully awake, my hand clutching my heaving chest as I glance hastily around my room in an effort to gain my bearings. The echo of that voice—that voice that was once so familiar—still lingers on the periphery of my dream, sparking the recognition I've desperately been searching for.

My memories are right there within reach but they're disjointed and almost nonsensical.

I shake my head, along with the confusion from my thoughts, but it's futile. "He never called me Bella," I mumble to myself, attempting to make sense of...something. "It was always...snotface..."

As though that one word was the trigger it needed, my mind begins to race so fast I struggle to keep up with it. Again, I shake my head, as fractured images and voices from the past slowly begin to piece together.

Alice cowering in her room, and the sound of glass breaking...

Realisation hits me like a wrecking ball, and taking me by so much surprise, I suck in my breath so sharply I start to gasp.

"I remember!" I burst into my empty room even as my voice fails.

A moment later my door opens and my mother pokes her head into my room. "Want coffee, sweetie?"

"Mum!" Leaping from my bed, I make my way to my wardrobe and throw on the first articles of clothing my hands find. I need to tell him. This instant.

"Sweetie...?" My mother's voice is laced with concern as she gently lays a hand to my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I remember!" I turn to her. I feel manic, my heart is absolutely rampaging, and I can only imagine my expression is reflecting it.

"Remember what?"

"Why he can't say it!" Completely flustered and unable to centre my thoughts, I take a step to move past her when she grabs my hand.

"Bella, you're hands are shaking—slow down. Why he can't say what?"

"I love you!"

A/N: God cliffhanger, right? I'm almost done with chapter 35, so I won't make you wait too long. I hoped you liked it and thank you for reading.