“You don’t do this, do you?”

He’s vague intentionally.  Edward knows it isn’t polite to inquire of a lady’s previous suitors, and the last thing he wants to do is offend her. But they are in Atlantic City, and luck is on his side.  Somehow, Bella understands what he’s asking.

“No,” she admits.

“Neither do I.”

Her eyes widen, and she stifles a laugh.

“Yeah, right. Look, I know I’m a bit younger than you, and I’m not even going to pretend to be worldly or sophisticated, because  I think we both know that I’m not.  I’ll own being  inexperienced—especially compared to the women you typically date—but I’m not naïve.  I know you’re lying.”

Edward has no illusions about himself. He’s a pervert with a fetish—at least, that’s who is while on his best behavior. Despite the advantages of his immortality,  he’s not unlike his human counterparts in the sense that  he doesn’t usually put forth the amount of effort his best behavior requires of him.  On a typical day, he self-identifies as a killer.  In knowing exactly who he is,  he also manages to know who he is not.

And he’ll be damned (more so than he already is) if Bella thinks of him as a manwhore.