The Twilight series belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Use of her characters in this fanfiction story is for entertainment purposes only, without monetary gain. No copyright infringement is intended. All original content belongs to maniacalmuse. Please do not alter, copy, repost, or distribute without permission.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, locales, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner, or exist in the original Twilight universe, which is also a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.


Well hello, and welcome to a new adventure I've cooked up for my two favorite Twilight B-characters, Emmett and Rosalie! This will be a fun, mostly fluffy tale with lots of shenanigans and swearing (Emmett's a whole mood) and very little drama. I've pre-written all 7 chapters of this story, so it will post 2x per week on Mondays and Thursdays until it's complete. I know a lot of you out there are strictly BxE readers, but I hope you'll all decide to stick around and enjoy this silly little slice of sexy fun! I promise to make it worth your while!

Much love to my awesome pre-readers: Mel Cee, PearlyFox, and Princess Treacle! They're all the most fabulous friends and their support and encouragement helps fuel my fire in a way I could never properly express! XO



When the boss is away, the dogs will play.

Or something along those lines.

For the boys and me here at Arov Construction, that means taking five to lean back and sip a soda or smoke while watching for eye-candy to pass by.

Yeah, it's cliché and we know it, but it's a bright spot in an otherwise dull Seattle day, so we take what little sunshine we can.

"Oooh, lookie here!" exclaims Jared as a lusciously curvy brunette saunters our way. She's tall and proud in a tight black suit and stilettos, a slick red briefcase swinging in one hand. The guys are trading thoughts on what's beneath her crisp business attire when her hips jiggle in a familiar way.

"I think I fucked her," I say, squinting my eyes to focus better as she passes by fifty feet in front of us. Yep. I'd never forget those thighs wrapped around my face. "Jennie. No, Janet. Jess? Jane!"

That woman had some seriously twisted kinks. I still have a scar on the inside of my right thigh from when she . . . You know, it's probably better left unsaid. I'll just throw it out there that she fucks like a demon, and it's probably because she's got one locked up inside her.

"Damn, Emmett. You said that about the last two!" Tyler crows, and the guys all laugh and rag on me some.

Unabashed, I just grin and shrug. I'm leaving my mark on this city, and sometimes the city leaves a mark on me—in Jane's case at least.

"You slip it to her, too?" Paul asks snidely, pointing to an old lady tottering away.

"Nope, left her for you," I quip, unaffected by the jab. "Don't say I never did anything nice for you, either."

Paul huffs and looks away, too much of an uptight asshole to be interested in our games.

"Whoa, check this one out," Embry says, nodding toward a heavily-tattooed honey walking past. "Think she's got 'em on 'er tits, too?"

My gaze rakes over the woman, appreciating her bouncy blonde curls and long, slender-yet-curvy shape. She's got a stunner of a face, all round with soft angles, big eyes and full lips that I can't help but imagine wrapped around my cock. Dressed in tight ripped-up jeans and a studded belt, a plain black sleeveless t-shirt gives us full view of the tattoos covering her arms. The colorful floral designs look more delicate than hard-edged, but the way she struts past us with a bounce in her boots and her head held high makes me think she can hold much more than her own.

Hot fucking damn.

Now let me be the first one to say that I know this is a total asshole thing to do, but sometimes I just can't help myself . . .

"Hey, baby!" I shout, curving a hand around my mouth and directing my voice straight to her. "Show me your tats!"

The guys are full of snickers and guffaws at my play on words, laughing like a pack of sex-starved teenage boys, and when Blondie turns and her eyes lock on me as the offender, I flash her a cocky grin.

Honestly, I expect nothing less in return than a scowl and a rude gesture, but to my amazement this little slice of fine art does me tenfold fucking better—she turns to me face on, flips up her shirt and bares her fully-inked chest and torso, pierced nipples glinting in the sun as she walks backward and shoots me two fistfuls of middle finger.

It's gone dead silent all around me, the guys' laughter choked off by shock, while I can't tear my eyes away from the woman of my unknown dreams. I have never seen anything so incredibly sexy, not just in her beauty or exotic nakedness, but the absolute force of her attitude is everything.

She holds my gaze with a blazing strength of character and conviction, wordlessly telling me to fuck all the way off with her stare, and then she turns, pulls her shirt down, and flounces away without a look back.

I drop the sledgehammer I'm holding, a silent "Ow," squeezing through my lips as I hear it thump atop my steel-toed boot, but I don't know if it's for any pain in my foot or if it's for the strange tightness in my chest as I watch her walk away from me.

Don't let her go! my messed-up mind screams, and without a rational thought in my head, I leap over the concrete foundation we were working on and take off on her trail. Everyone's yelling at me from where I left them back at the site, but I just wave a dismissive arm behind me and keep going. I make it to the sidewalk and spot her bouncy blonde hair just as she turns the corner a block down.


I hurry my steps, not wanting to lose this masterpiece of a woman, but when I reach the busy street I watched her turn onto, I don't see her anywhere. Scanning the crowds in a rush, I finally catch sight of her again, the last one in a line climbing onto a city bus. I'm just about to start forward again when the door closes behind her and the slow, lumbering vehicle starts to move. I panic. My work boots are goddamn heavy but I break into run, chasing the bus like a lunatic with my arms waving while I'm shouting for it to stop.

It doesn't, and I'm left standing in the gutter, panting and clutching at a deep burn in my chest as I watch it drive away.

Fuck, now what?

Outwardly cursing my bad luck, I turn and trudge back to the construction site. The guys have all returned to work without me, and the look on my face keeps anyone from stopping to ask just what happened while I was gone.

I throw myself into the hard physical labor, every swing of my hammer an attempt to obliterate the disappointment and frustration I feel. This is ridiculous. So some badass hottie with more fortitude than anyone I've ever known flashed me her tits in the middle of the street in broad daylight. That's no big deal. It was amazingly cool, but it could've happened to anyone. There's no reason to look too far into this. I need to shake it off.

Ah, that face, though. The fire in her eyes, the daggers in her stare piercing straight into my heart—it was fucking special, and I know it. I need to see it again. Which means I have to find her. But how?


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