Rating: M

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight - I just make Tinder profiles for them.

Big love and thanks to my Tinder Roni's - Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading.
And to my 2 Legit 2 Quit beta, M.C Grammar AKA Carrie ZM. All right stop, grammar time!

And to my sister D - thanks for consistently (and unknowingly) providing me with material.


"Bella?" Rose shouts from the front door of our apartment. "You here?"

"In the kitchen." I wind the crank of the wine opener until the cork gives with a satisfying pop.

"What's up?" she asks, eyeing the wine bottle while her boyfriend of two months, Emmett, trails in behind her. "Wine o'clock or just a rough day?"

I toss the light pink, shimmery, square envelope across the counter. "Read it and weep."

She carefully pulls the wedding invitation from the envelope and her eyes widen when she sees the name. "Shut up! He's getting married?"

"Evidently." I pour myself a glass of pinot and propose a toast. "To happily ever after."

"Are they for real with this?"

I laugh. "Which part?"

"Pretty much all of it, but this part right here especially," she says, pointing to the elegant script before mockingly reading it aloud. "Just like a page out of a fairy tale, the storybook romance comes true." Looking up, she shakes her head at me and slaps the invite back on the counter. "Like – what even?"

"Right? They've been together all of five minutes." Five minutes. Eight months. Same difference.

Emmett looks between us, confused, holding up the invite. "Wait, who are Ben and Angela?"

Pulling her bottom lip through her teeth, Rose answers tentatively. "Ben is Bella's old friend and sort of ex."

"Sort of ex?" he asks raising a brow. "How does that work?"

Swallowing my wine, I wave my glass in his direction. "Very astute question, Emmett. We were good friends in college—"

Rose cuts me off. "But there was always that 'are they or aren't they' thing going on with them."

"So you were more like 'friends with benefits?'"

"You could say that."

"Ouch." Emmett winces. "Did you know he was getting married?"

I shake my head. "No, but it's been a while since we've chatted."

"I ran into them a few months back," Rose confesses, looking down at her hands.

"You did?" She nods once before meeting my gaze. "Well, what's she like? Is she pretty?"

Rose shrugs and plops down on the barstool. "I don't know, she's all right I guess - tall, brunette with glasses. Kinda looked like Khloe Kardashian, I think—"

Holding my hand out, I stop her mid-sentence. "Okay, wait. Khloe Kardashian as in cool chick with curves in all the right places or—"

"Or Khloe Kardashian," Emmett interrupts. "The Adam's apple says 'dude', but the tits and ass say 'lady.'"

I give him an enthusiastic thumbs up while his girlfriend smacks his bicep. "I like this guy."

Rose taps her finger on one of the inserts. "They have a wedding website if you want to see her."

And cue the eye roll. "Of course they do."

"Let me pull it up," Rose says, pulling her phone from her back pocket. "Em, read me their web address."

"It's www." He pauses, clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing a little quieter. "Www dot Ben loves Ang dot com."

"Aaaaannd barf."

"Okay, here we go." Rose swings the screen around so we can all see the collage of candid engagement pictures of the happy couple. There's a link on each picture, making it easy to find information about accommodations, venues, and their love story.

Emmett scoffs, flicking the phone with his finger. "This guy looks like a tool."

Snapping my fingers, I point to him, but look at Rose. "I'm telling you, girl. This one's a keeper."

Rose blushes, smiling while Emmett continues ripping on Ben. "Seriously though, he's dressed like a JCPenney Father's Day ad."

"What's wrong with how he's dressed?" Rose asks, zooming in on the plaid, short-sleeve button down shirt with pleated khakis ensemble.

"Are you kidding me? No self-respecting man would ever dress himself like that willingly. That's an Easter Sunday outfit that your mom makes you wear to coordinate with your little sister."

"Whatever Tim Gunn," Rose deadpans, waving a dismissive hand at him before looking at me solemnly, her finger hovering over the link to Our Love Story. "Do you want to hear it? I'll read it to you if you want."

"Nope. I don't need a play-by-play. Just give me the highlights."

Emmett makes small talk while she reads. I notice her rolling her eyes and making a gagging motion every now and again. When she places the phone on the counter, her expression is unreadable.

"Well?"

"I don't know, it's just a bunch of cheesy Hallmark, our lives are complete, love at first sight nonsense."

I kind of want to hurl, even though I haven't thought of Ben romantically in ages. "They're one of those couples, huh?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans forward, propping her weight on her elbows. "But get this… the happy couple met on Tinder."

"Tinder? As in the dating app?"

Rose tilts her head back and forth. "Dating app, hook-up app… whatever."

Emmett grabs the bottle of wine and tips it in my direction. "Are you thinking about going to the wedding?"

"I almost feel like I have to. We've been friends for years. Way longer than we hooked up. And it's not like I've been pining for him or anything." I empty the last bit of my wine. "And who knows if she's even aware how friendly Ben and I were back in the day. Like, I'm really not interested in going to a wedding where I'm going to get mean-mugged by the bridal party."

"Good point," Emmett says, refilling my glass.

"He wouldn't do that though." I shrug. "Guess I need to find a date."

"Maybe I can set you up with one of my old frat buddies."

"Bad plan, dude. Right now you're aces in my book, so let's keep this good thing going. I'd hate to have to hold it against you if your friend turns out to be a douche."

"Yeah, most of them are douches. Maybe you should try Tinder."

"That's it!" Rose smacks her hand on the counter, a huge grin spreading across her face. "You need a fella, Tinderbella!"

They exchange a high five, then Emmett starts clapping and stomping, singing his remix of that Ke$ha song. "It's going down. I'm yelling Tindeeerrr!"

"Come on, let's do it!" Rose pulls excitedly on my arm. "Let's make you a profile."

I shake my head knowing that this is going to happen, even if it's the worst idea ever. "Fine. Sign me up."


"Okay," Rose says without looking up from the screen. "It looks like we need three photos, but the first one has to be the best because it'll be your profile pic."

"So should I do the standard bathroom mirror selfie?"

"Gross. No, I'll take it."

For the next fifteen minutes she takes pictures of me, barking orders as she goes. Hair up. Hair down. Smile bigger. Stare into the distance. Stop looking so constipated. The only thing that makes it bearable is that Emmett's behind her, randomly clawing the air and shouting Zoolander quotes at me.

"Head down and chin out, Bella." I hear the click and watch her check it. "What do you think?"

"Uh no, I look like someone stuck a tire pump in my mouth. You're taking it from too close and you need to get higher."

She looks puzzled. "Higher?"

"Yeah, higher. Get on top of the table."

"No way."

"Fine, get on Emmett's shoulders."

Twenty minutes and 157 pictures later, we finally get the shot. Rose makes me pick a group shot to use as well because she thinks it'll make me appear fun and outgoing. She's marginally upset when I choose one where she has a slight double chin, but thankfully doesn't give me too much shit since I look great in the picture. For the last photo, we go with a snapshot of me on a beach in front a sunset. Apparently it gives off the girl next door vibe, and not in the banging Hugh Hefner way, which is good, I guess.

"Finally." She stands and stretches before rubbing her hands together. "Let's polish these up and get your profile going." Rose moves to her laptop to edit, crop, layer, and add at least fifteen filters to each shot. "How do these look?"

"Perfect." And they really do. "Seriously Rose, you're like the Annie Leibovitz of Tinder profile pics."

"Okay so your Bio…" she trails off, sounding unsure.

"How about, 'I'm kind of a big deal?'" Emmett winks, sliding my glass in front of me.

I snort. "Modest. I like it," I say sarcastically, but Rose types it anyway.

"And what about your interests?"

"Just make me sound effortlessly cool and fabulous."

"Gotcha." She speaks as she types. "Pharmaceutical rep, fluent in English, Español, movie quotes and real talk."

Emmett shakes his head. "Ay yi yi muchacho."

I raise my glass to her. "Muy bien."

"Now as far as your criteria, you're interested in males age 25-30?"

"You should probably crank that up to about 35, chief. I like to better my odds."

"All right. Looking for eligible bachelors within 5 miles… and go." She posts the profile and I feel shockingly okay with it.

"Now to find Mr. Right Swipe," I say, wiggling my fingers as potential mates fill the screen. "What about this guy? Jacob B. Tagline: CrossFitter/Bad Ass MC."

Rose scoots in to get a better look. "Eww, no, he's wearing sunglasses. It's like he's hiding something."

"What? Like a lazy eye?"

"No like a wife or girlfriend."

I left swipe his picture and I feel like Jeff Probst extinguishing a torch on Survivor.

The tribe has spoken.

By the fifth profile, things are looking a bit bleak. "There's no way this guy is thirty-five." I left swipe the screen on a geriatric looking man named Aro. "Sayonara, Benjamin Button." Thankfully, the next profile has potential. "Well, hello there… how about James? Tagline: Volunteer firefighter, looking for some hot stuff."

He's a cutie, all blue-eyed and blond-haired. He's shirtless in all of his pictures except for one where he's wearing a tank top that says 'I mustache you to blow me.'

"Looks like a dirtbag." Emmett gives him a thumbs down.

"Seriously Bella?" Rose looks appalled. "It's like you want your vagina to smell like shame."

Forty-two left swipes, six right swipes and two glasses of wine later; I toss the phone into Rose's lap.

"I can't anymore." Grabbing my wrist, I slump back into the couch cushions. "I've left swiped so many times; I think I have Carpal Tinder Syndrome."

"Wait, wait, wait." She slaps my thigh a couple of times. "This guy looks normal. His name is Edward, age twenty-seven."

I rub my temples and close my eyes. "Tagline?"

"Six-foot-three, not a serial killer, and willing to lie to your friends about how we met."

"He sounds kinda perfect. Let me see him."

I'm pleasantly surprised at the green-eyed, crazy-haired hottie staring back at me. He's all-around gorgeous, but man, his smile is something else.

Rose and I exchange a look before saying in unison, "Right swipe."


The next morning, I wake up to four Tinder messages. The first three consist of cheesy pick-up lines and thankfully only two are accompanied by a full on dick pic. I smile when I reach the last one from the green-eyed, non-serial killer.

E: Your tagline made me laugh – figured I should introduce myself. I'm Edward.

I click on his profile wanting to take a closer look. Twenty-seven year-old consultant, Chicago born and bred, Chipotle and craft beer enthusiast.

Now that my mind is no longer clouded by wine and clever Ke$ha hooks, I'm not sure that this was such a good idea anymore. But then I stalk his profile pictures again and he's just too cute to blow off without an explanation, so I message him back.

B: I'm glad you got a kick out of that, although I'm kinda not feeling like a big deal this morning. Apparently copious amounts of red wine give you both a hangover and the urge to create a Tinder profile.

E: Ahh, Tinder remorse. I completely understand. I had to have a few beers to get the nerve to make one too. I never do this kind of thing.

B: Isn't that supposed to be my line?

E: LOL. So, you're rethinking the Tinder thing?

I look at the clock and see it's just after 8:00 AM.

B: I don't know. It's still early and I'm not sure I should make decisions without first consulting my Keurig.

E: Probably a good call. I'll let you get to it then. Have a great day.

B: Thanks, you too.


Two Excedrin, a shower, and another perusal of Edward's profile later, I find that my roommate used the last K-cup which means I have to hightail it to Starbucks, a solid five blocks away. After sending Rose a scathing text, I notice the RSVP postcard sitting on the counter.

I grab it and stuff it in my purse only to pull it out about a block later. Tapping the corner of the card against my lips, I silently debate if I should check wouldn't miss it for the world or will be there in spirit. I contemplate it all the way to the coffee shop, until my thoughts are interrupted by Mike, our resident Ed Sheeran wannabe who hangs out in front of the store and plays love ballads while making uncomfortable eye contact with anyone in the general vicinity.

"Bella," he yells and strums his guitar, "this one's for you."

"You weren't kidding, were you?" I hear someone say from behind me and when I turn, I'm shocked to see that it's none other than the six-foot-three, non-serial killer who's willing to lie to my friends. He smirks when I don't respond because I'm too busy staring at him all wide-eyed and open-mouthed, not believing that he's here and that he's just as handsome as he is in his pictures, no filter. "You really are a big deal."

"Um, yeah, uh," I stammer, then recover with a smile and shrug. "Told you."

We laugh and he stands from his table, extending his hand. "I'm Edward. You're Bella, right?"

"Right." I gently slip my hand into his. "It's nice to meet you."

A high pitched whine comes from below his table, and I notice a huge Bull Mastiff sitting there panting and tilting his head at me. "Who's this handsome fella?" I kneel down to pet him, and he nuzzles into my hand. "And why are you even on Tinder? This guy could get you more dates than a hot dad with a baby strapped to his chest."

Edward laughs. "I thought about putting him in my profile picture, but wouldn't that be cheating?"

"I suppose. What's his name?"

When I glance up, Edward's trying to hold back a smile. "I'd like the record to show that the Humane Society gave him this name, and I only kept it because it makes him sound distinguished."

"O-kay."

Motioning between us, he does the introductions. "Bella, this is Charles Lickens. Charles Lickens, this is Bella. She's kind of a big deal."

"Aww, Charles Lickens. That does sound distinguished."

"Yeah, we're just getting some coffee before we hit the dog park up the street." He jerks his head toward the shop. "You want to grab your drink and join us?"

"I don't know…" I hesitate. "You could lure me there and chop me into little bits Jeffrey Dahmer style."

Grinning, he shakes his head. "Didn't you read my tagline?" He points to himself. "Not a serial killer."

One grande non-fat latte with caramel macchiato drizzle and a croissant for Charles Lickens later, we're walking down Third Avenue doing the whole getting to know you thing. I find out he lives about eight blocks away from me and works from home as a Business Process Consultant, whatever that means. Apparently he travels a few times a month, but other than that he's cooped up in his house with his dog, watching unhealthy amounts of Netflix. I admit it; I swooned a little at that.

"What about you? You're a pharmaceutical rep, right?"

"I am, but I don't peddle the hard stuff."

"What? Like Cialis?"

I laugh. "No, like the pain killers and anti-depressants. I sell eye health products. It's all quite glamorous."

Charles goes wild once we reach the dog park, jumping and whining against the fence. A bunch of dogs flock to him, barking and yapping until Edward lets him loose so he can run and play and sniff butts with the others. Edward smiles sheepishly. "He's pretty popular with the ladies."

"I'll bet." I nearly pat myself on the back for not saying something ignorant like 'all the bitches love him,' though it'd be linguistically correct. "So how long have you been doing the Tinder thing?"

"About a week."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know. It's not ideal and it makes me feel like a douche bag making snap decisions based on pictures. I mean, it's a time-saver for sure, but it all seems kind of superficial." He turns to me, looking like he's waiting to be judged. "What about you, how are you feeling less than 24 hours in?"

"Well…" I draw out the word. "I woke up to four matches and two dick pics. Apart from your message, I was feeling a bit disenchanted with the entire process myself."

"So sending cock shots is frowned upon? That's good to know." He makes a check mark in the air. "Noted."

"What about you? How many trainwrecks have you been matched with this week?" I cover my mouth. "Ooh, wait. Is that bad form to ask about matches?"

"Nah, my numbers aren't that impressive. I've only had about twelve matches besides you this week. Four of them were nice, but we had zero chemistry."

"And the other eight?"

"The other eight had videos of themselves twerking on their Instagram. That's a deal breaker right there."

"Totally. I don't unveil that particular skill set until after the second date."

We continue like that for the next forty minutes, back and forth bullshitting and laughing until his phone chirps incessantly with a reminder.

"Damn," he mutters. "I've got a conference call I need to get back for."

With a loud whistle, he calls Charles over before standing and holding his hand out to help me up from the bench. "It was crazy and random, but really great to meet you," he says sincerely, giving my hand a small squeeze with his gaze fixed on mine.

"You too." I smile. "And good luck with your search for a twerkless Tinder match." I give him a quick wave. "So… I'll see you around."

"Yeah, definitely." I turn to walk away when he stops me. "Wait, uh." He fumbles with the leash and his coffee cup, and then reaches into his pocket. "I was thinking since you weren't doing the Tinder thing anymore, maybe I could get your number? We could hang out again or something."

"Sure!" I sound far too enthusiastic. "I mean, that'd be great."

We exchange phone numbers and awkward goodbyes before walking in opposite directions. On the way back to my apartment, I stop at the curbside mailbox, fill in the RSVP and drop it down the hatch.

Bella Swan plus one wouldn't miss it for the world.


The next afternoon, I'm sitting in a waiting room when my phone buzzes with incoming text alerts. I nearly fist pump when I see they're all from Edward. I scroll through the images he's sent of Dick Clark, Dick Van Dyke, and Dick Tracy. His final text has me cracking up. Just a few Dick pics to brighten your day.

I type a text out, but think better of it, opting to call him instead.

"It's too soon for dick pics, isn't it?" he greets instead of saying hello.

"It made me laugh."

"Good deal."

"So listen, I had a pretty big lunch today, but I'm thinking I'll be starving around say six o'clock tonight. I know this great place with the best Sangria and a huge beer selection. And uh, they have food too, if you're into that or whatever. But I wanted to see if you wanted to maybe… hang out again or something?" I cringe at how not smooth I sound, wishing I thought through my big lunch segue a bit more.

"That'd be great," he says. "Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Actually we can walk, it's fairly central to both of us, so… yeah."

"Great, it's a date."


"So they get three minutes to meet, chat, and make a decision if they want to see each other again before moving onto the next table?" Edward asks, watching the speed dating event the restaurant is hosting across the room.

"Pretty much," I say, not looking up from my menu.

"Have you ever done speed dating?"

I shake my head. "I don't have much of a game face. You pretty much know almost immediately what I'm thinking."

"Let's try it," he says, grabbing his phone. "I'll set a timer and we can do three minutes of rapid fire getting to know you." My brows pull together. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"All right, I'm game, but pour me a glass of Sangria before the interrogation."

He picks up the pitcher and fills my glass. "Interrogation is such an ugly word; I prefer to call it wineboarding." He winks and leans in, propping his weight on his forearms. "I'll start. Where are you from?"

"Spokane. You're from Chicago right?"

"Yep. Where did you go to school?"

"Gonzaga, you?"

"DePaul. Game of Thrones fan?"

"Definitely."

"Do you only watch for Jon Snow?"

"He's so hot…"

"But he knows nothing." He smirks. "Why'd you make a Tinder profile?"

"Got invited to a sort of ex's wedding – figured I need a date. You?"

"I'm pretty shy and have zero game. Have you deleted your Tinder profile yet?"

"I did."

"Me too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I met this cool chick at Starbucks. She's kind of a big deal."

The rest of the evening goes just like that until we notice the restaurant closing around us and the waitress side-eyeing us hard.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" he asks, holding the door for me.

"Nah, I ordered an Uber while you were paying the check. They should be here shortly." My stomach flutters when he steps near. "I had a great time."

"So did I," he breathes, leaning in and brushing his knuckles against my cheek just as a car screeches to a halt in front of the restaurant, blasting Justin Bieber.

"Please tell me that's not my Uber car."

He presses a kiss to my forehead. "Your chariot awaits."


The next morning, I wake up to my phone buzzing with a text from Edward. Dog park at 9:30? I'll bring coffee.

I respond with a yes, then do my damndest to make myself presentable after the all night girl talk I had with Rose, recounting every second of the date, including the part where I was cockblocked by a Belieber.

He's waiting at the bench with my obnoxious coffee order in hand, smiling as I approach. "How many times did your Uber driver play Baby?"

I grab my coffee. "Eww, how do you even know the Bieb's songs?"

Laughing, he pulls me close, cupping my cheek in his palm. "Hi," he whispers before leaning in and pressing his mouth to mine. He lingers there for a moment, smiling against my lips before pulling away. "I meant to do that last night."


"Could you guys stop being disgusting for like thirty seconds, please?" Rose smirks then bumps my hip with hers when she catches Edward and me making eyes at each other from across the bar. "Three weeks in and you're already that couple."

"I think it's a little too soon to be using the C-word."

"Wait, what?" She arches a brow. "You haven't had the 'what are we' talk yet?"

"Nope." I take a drink so I don't have to elaborate. Sure, I'd love to know where we stand after a few weeks of nonstop togetherness – but I'm trying to play it cool. "We're just... taking it slow."

"Hi liar."

"Spending time together—"

"Mmm hmm. Every waking minute."

"Getting to know each other—"

"In the biblical sense."

"We haven't done that." My face heats at the thought as I watch Edward lean down on the pool table to take his shot. His eyes meet mine again and the corners of his lips turn up into this smile that makes me melt. "Yet."


We drop Rose and Emmett off first, and then head back to Edward's place under the pretense of letting the dog out. The door's barely closed before we're all over each other, kissing and groping and panting into each other's mouths. I push him down on the couch and stand, pulling my dress off.

"Yes," he says with a clap. "Finally some twerking action."

I laugh. "No twerking, but maybe a little action."

He pulls me down to straddle him, moving his hands over my body and kissing across my cleavage. I close my eyes, taking in every sensation. The feel of his fingertips as they slide down my stomach and slip beneath the lace between my legs. The slickness of his tongue as it swipes across my collarbone and the sting of his stubble when he whispers how much he wants me against my skin.

His fingers are magic and have me moaning out his name in no time flat. My body rocks against his, circling and grinding until he's groaning into my neck. I reach down and palm him over his jeans.

"Wait," he grits out with his eyes scrunched tight, stilling my hips with his hands. When he opens his eyes, they're wild, but pleading. "Bedroom," he says, jerking his head toward his room.


When I wake, he's hunched over his laptop with his phone at his ear. The sun's beating in through the blinds, and when I glance at the clock, I see that it's past eleven.

"I understand," he says, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "We'll get it figured out, let me just book a flight, and I'll be there as soon as I can."

Hanging up, he tosses his phone on the bed and notices I'm awake. "Hey."

I smile up at him. "Good morning. Or not so much?"

He scrubs his hands over his face. "I've gotta go to Phoenix."

"For how long?"

Shrugging, he shakes his head. "Until I get this problem taken care of. Hopefully just a few days, a week at the most."

I give him a pout and he kisses my nose. "Want me to grab some coffee for us?"

"You're the best."

"I know. I'll even take Charles with me so you can pack."

"Shit! I forgot. I need to board him."

"I can watch him for you," I offer, pulling my shirt over my head.

"I mean it." He grabs me around the waist and squeezes me tight. "You really are the best."


I drop him off at the airport that afternoon. We're late, so instead of dipping me and kissing me in the departure line, I get a quick peck and a good view of his ass as he runs into the terminal. The dog and I spend the next four days on my couch watching Sex and the City and Snapchatting Edward until he sends me the text I've been waiting for.

I'm home.

Charles and I nearly sprint to his place. I'm barely through the door when pulls me into his chest and hugs me tightly. "I've missed you," he whispers into my hair before pressing a kiss to the top of my head, "so much."

"I've missed you too."

He fills me in about his trip to Phoenix, and I tell him how I'm three episodes ahead of him on Orange is the New Black and Charles has a crush on Samantha.

"So remember that wedding I told you about?" He nods, twisting the cap on his beer bottle. "Well, it's next weekend."

"And?"

"Aaaaannd, I need a plus one."

He leans back against the counter, bottle dangling from his fingers. "You taking applications?"

"Yep. You've got thirty seconds to sell yourself – go."

"Too easy. I'm a blast at weddings." Placing his beer on the counter, he raises his hand to tick off his fingers. "Proficient in all the slides – Cha-Cha, Casper, and Electric. If we're in a dance off situation, I'm not afraid to bust out the robot, the cat daddy, the nae nae and I can teach you how to Dougie." He widens his arms. "I'm a crowd pleaser, girl. Plus I look phenomenal in a suit."

I pretend to deliberate, tapping my finger to my chin. "I don't know… I didn't hear twerking anywhere in your pitch."

He cocks a brow.

"Fine, you're in. You can be my date."

Smirking, he holds up a finger. "One condition."

"What's that?"

He rounds the counter and wraps his arms around me from behind. "I'll be your plus one, if…" He pauses to trail a few soft kisses over my shoulder and up my neck, making me shiver when I feel his lips at my ear. "You bring me along as your boyfriend."

I turn in his arms, cupping his cheeks with my hands and kiss him deeply. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I kiss him again. "There's just one thing, boyfriend."

"What's that?"

"Are you still willing to lie to my friends about how we met?"


*waves* Hi pals! It's been a while.

This was my entry for the Meet the Mate contest. Huge thanks to the organizers of the contest, the judges and those who voted - we were so excited to place in both the public and judges' vote.

Endless gratitude to Carrie ZM, Planetblue and Yum for all the time and work they put into this o/s. You girls have been so encouraging in getting me out of my writing funk and I can't thank you enough for your help and your friendship.

One more chapter? I don't know, I wasn't planning on it. *Looks at Carrie ZM who has her thumb out, Gladiator style, wavering between up and down* What do you think, fandom? One more for shits and giggles?

Hit me up and while you're at it - rec me a good fic WIP :)

Thanks for reading!