For someone who virtually had never existed in the same manner a human did, I must admit, I was quite the restaurant connoisseur.

I effortlessly could’ve been one of those pompous celebrity dieticians – back in the days where I could care about such pettiness – with the amount of knowledge I had on the topic of human food. However, my clientele would’ve consisted of vampires and not humans. ‘If you’re looking for an easier swallowing session with a human audience, then steak or any other undercooked cooked meat is ideal’ I’d tell them. ‘Order your steak rare, and if you’re lucky, then the little bit of blood left in the meat is enough to keep a straight face while eating’. I also knew for a fact that spaghetti was the easiest type of pasta to get rid of when no longer possible to keep down – provided you’d kept chewing to a minimum – and to avoid salads because they brought no good news.

And who, you might say, had endowed me with such useless knowledge? It certainly didn’t surprise anyone in the know that it was Edward.
No, scrub that thought; Edward didn’t give me the information, he just provided me with the situation to learn it all myself. I’d turned into a master at human food. But, to say that it was only I who knew how to be a decent food critique would be unfair; Rosalie and Emmett surely had an equal amount of knowledge to me in that area. If not, then they had more than me. After all, they’d had a few more public restaurant experiences with Edward than I. And when I looked over to my left, along the back seat of the booth, I saw that they were no more pleased than I was. Had Edward not understood that, through Rosalie’s never-yielding glare, we did not appreciate the burden of eating in a show for his latest ‘girlfriend’?

I still don’t know the answer to that.

He looked me square in the eyes from across the table at that particular moment, unconsciously smug with his arm draped over the human girl next to him. Though this girl was nothing special, and nothing Edward would have considered doing if it hadn’t have been for our dare, he was still smug; he knew I could never be that close in proximity to a human without thinking of nothing but the blood, yet he could. I knew it too. Everybody knew it. I practically had a big ‘F’ printed on my forehead for Cullenism. Edward kicked my leg for thinking that.