The Twilight Saga Collection part 1(24)

“Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle — and I can read a map, don’t worry about it.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

I tried to be crafty as I hid my horror.

“That’s all right, Dad, I’ll probably just be in dressing rooms all day — very boring.”

“Oh, okay.” The thought of sitting in women’s clothing stores for any period of time immediately put him off.

“Thanks.” I smiled at him.

“Will you be back in time for the dance?”

Grrr. Only in a town this small would a father know when the high school dances were.

“No — I don’t dance, Dad.” He, of all people, should understand that — I didn’t get my balance problems from my mother.

He did understand. “Oh, that’s right,” he realized.

The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn’t want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing him a new car. Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edward Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.

“How do you do that?” I asked in amazed irritation.

“Do what?” He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.

“Appear out of thin air.”

“Bella, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant.” His voice was quiet as usual — velvet, muted.

I scowled at his perfect face. His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.

“Why the traffic jam last night?” I demanded, still looking away. “I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.”

“That was for Tyler’s sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance.” He snickered.

“You . . .” I gasped. I couldn’t think of a bad enough word. It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn him, but he only seemed more amused.

“And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” he continued.

“So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Tyler’s van didn’t do the job?”

Anger flashed in his tawny eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.

“Bella, you are utterly absurd,” he said, his low voice cold.

My palms tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I was usually a nonviolent person. I turned my back and started to walk away.

“Wait,” he called. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.

“I’m sorry, that was rude,” he said as we walked. I ignored him. “I’m not saying it isn’t true,” he continued, “but it was rude to say it, anyway.”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” I grumbled.

“I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me,” he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humor.

“Do you have a multiple personality disorder?” I asked severely.

“You’re doing it again.”

I sighed. “Fine then. What do you want to ask?”

“I was wondering if, a week from Saturday — you know, the day of the spring dance —”

“Are you trying to be funny?” I interrupted him, wheeling toward him. My face got drenched as I looked up at his expression.

His eyes were wickedly amused. “Will you please allow me to finish?”

I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn’t do anything rash.

“I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride.”

That was unexpected.

“What?” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“Do you want a ride to Seattle?”

“With who?” I asked, mystified.

“Myself, obviously.” He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking to someone mentally handicapped.

I was still stunned. “Why?”

“Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I’m not sure if your truck can make it.”

“My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern.” I started to walk again, but I was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger.

“But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?” He matched my pace again.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.” Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.