HARD to Get A naughty Twilight retelling

6. Stalemate

6. Stalemate

It was like a stalemate in biology class. Edward sat in his chair as far from me at our desk as possible, wouldn't meet my eyes, and I wouldn't meet his. But, I was damn sure he could feel the weight of my stare of my stolen glances as much as I could feel the weight of his. God, we were pathetic.

After Mr. Banner had given us our assignment, we were supposed to spend the remaining fifteen minutes of class working on it and finish the rest at home, but I could hardly concentrate on a single word on the page. The room was silent except for the occasional sigh and the flipping of textbook pages and notebook sheets. And I was going fucking stir crazy.

He hadn't said a word to me. Since the day before when he had heroically saved my life and then refused to tell me how he single-handedly pushed away a large van with the palm of his hand, Edward had insisted to me that I was going to have to live with disappointment.

And disappointed, I was.

The dream that I had about him last night seeped into my brain and cycled throughout my flesh and into every sensitive part of my body. While the first few seconds of my awakening I had been disoriented, the more I thought about it, the surer I became. And now even after all the silence, I just couldn't keep my mouth shut.

"That was a very naughty thing you did last night, Edward," I whispered, purposely keeping my gaze on the colorful illustration on the page, though I was dying to see his reaction.

Out of the corner of my wandering eye, I noticed his perfect posture straighten even more, as if that were even possible.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered back, his eyes still on his paper.

He was feigning ignorance, and I wasn't buying it.

"The fuck you don't."

"Nice language," he whispered back with the audacity to give me a look of reprimand.

Who the fuck did he think he was? Oh, fuck you, Edward Cullen, I thought, glaring back at him, but for some reason didn't say it. And, dammit, I really wanted to say it. I was holding back a string of other colorful profanities inside my mouth when I saw the slight curve to the corner of his lips turn upward. Asshole...

"What I meant was," I began, trying to not let the rage color my tone, "it wasn't nice of you to leave me the way you did."

He shook his head, his adorable fucking smile melting and enraging me at the same time. "Again, I don't know what you're talking about."

I supposed I was going to have to spell it out for him. "You were in my room last night."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"YES, you were."

Edward shifted in his seat, seeming to angle away from me. "I don't know who was in your room last night, Bella, but I can assure you, it wasn't me."

It was then I decided I would unleash the power of my dizzying logic. "Well, since it was just my dad and I in the house last night when I went to bed, I assume that whoever visited me in my room must have entered through my open window on the second story. And it also seems that someone who could halt an oncoming vehicle with his bare hand would have no such problem accomplishing that." The end. There, I said it. I was feeling pretty darn smug about it, too. After all, even he couldn't argue with cold, hard facts.

"Wasn't me."

Dammit! He didn't argue with me; he just denied it. Instead of arguing with him, I tapped my pencil on my book in quick, repetitive taps, wracking my brain for a way to get him to fess up. This action should have annoyed anyone, but it didn't annoy him, or at least he didn't show it, still keeping his eyes on the page in the textbook. The more I thought about our situation, the more irritated I became. How was I supposed to play hard to get when he saves my life, tells me to forget it, and then mounts me when I'm sleeping?