A/N: I'm purging some of my stories... I have so many, that it's crowding up my Word documents. I'll leave this up for a few days, reviews being the deciding factor whether I keep it or not. No, I have not abandoned my other stories..Just doing some spring cleaning. This is a different style of writing from me than most of you are used to. I was just fucking around one day and wrote it.
Top down on the Stingray, wind flirting with my hair, a long stretch of highway, Van Morrison on the radio. I felt energized and renewed, ready for a new start. Six months ago, idle small town gossip and false accusations led me to leave the town of Forks, Washington. The residents of Forks had labeled me the town trouble maker, only because I had no familial or religious ties to the quiet town nor did I go by the rules. I had been bounced around from foster home to foser home since I was eight, courtesy of Children's Protective Services removing me from my chemically dependent parents at age seven.
That's how I ended up in Forks. The Donahue's were the last stop on my foster home trail. Sarah was a wonderful foster mother, unselfish and giving, to the best of her ability despite a verbally abusive husband. Mitch never raised a hand to me, except the one time I defended my foster mother. The scar on my right cheek the only thing he ever gave me.
I didn't leave much behind in the town of Forks. That's to be expected when you have never been in one place long enough to call it your home. An understanding girlfriend, a best friend and an apartment. Like I said, not much. Too bad the residents never took the time to get to know me. I consider myself a pretty likeable guy. Arrogant, no, let me rephrase that, confident, fairly secure considering my lack of a childhood, responsible, great sense of humor. In my short absence from Forks I had come to the realization that it's often best not to take life too seriously. And, to the best of my knowledge, I don't.
Forty-five minutes later, I found myself at a very familiar, lonely stoplight. Shaking my head at the recognition, and a few half-smiles later, I took the left hand turn that led to Forks. Fuck it. Why the hell not. My original plan was to spend what money I had on a few bottles of Grey Goose and a cheap motel room before I paid everyone a visit. The little imaginary troll flashing its big white teeth and doing the hula dance inside my head kept telling me that I may not receive the often expected and clichéd "welcome home" party. But then again, I never bothered to let anyone know I was coming.
I pulled into an empty space next to my best friend and roommate's truck. Mike Newton was the biggest douche bag and womanizer I had ever known. And I admit, I was always a little jealous. Not the douche- bag half of his personality, hell he coined the phrase. But the womanizer, I envied him. Mind you, I had no problems getting my share of pussy, but he just had this way…Ok, enough of that. Now is not the time for self-evaluation and criticism.
Kicking the door open with the tip of my boot, I lifted my cap from the gear shift and folded the bill a few times, flipped it around backwards and put it on. I shut the door and opened the trunk, shouldered my duffel and closed the trunk. I took the stairs to the apartment two at a time while whistling Jailhouse Rock just for the hell of it.
Ah. Home sweet home.
Well, I'd like to shoot the ignorant fuck that, on a rainy day, had nothing better to do than write absolutely ridiculous sayings that, in their original context, were meant to be positive, but instead, were often used superficially and sarcastically. My version of "home sweet home" was used in its superficial and sarcastic form, considering what I discovered when the door swung open.
The heavy breathing. The lustful grunts of a man in the throes of a nice piece of ass. Only the nice piece of ass that was on the receiving end of the lustful grunts looked familiar. And the high-decibel squeals coming forth from that nice piece of ass sounded familiar. The butterfly tattoo on said nice piece of ass's shoulder jogged a few visions in my memory.
Furious? Bent out of shape? Corybantic? On the contrary. I smiled as I watched my supposed girlfriend ride my supposed best friend like he was the most sought after horse on the carousel at the county fair. But what I heard next compelled me to backtrack, go outside and come back in just to be sure.
"So good, Mike. Oh yes!" Jessica whined as she pumped him faster.
With a nod of my head and after counting to three, I opened the door and waited.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
"You're huge! Oh my God!"
Affirmative. It was classic Jess. So predictable. After a brief moment of amusement, I stepped inside, leaving the door open. It would only be fair that I critiqued their performance, right? Three loud claps and with the clearing of my throat, I had their undivided attention. Jessica ceased her efforts at winning the fairy-tale carousel race and turned towards me. Eyes wide with surprise and cheeks a rare shade of pink.
Normally, under these circumstances, I would have understood her expression to be of the "I'm-so-sorry-I-cheated-on-you-with-your-best-friend." kind. But give or take a few flutters of her eyelashes and the smirk that crawled across her face, it resembled more of the "would-you-like-to-join-us" kind of expression.
"Brava. Excellent performance Jess. You may curtsy or whatever the hell it is you women do. But since you're fucking Mike, I suggest you see a physician and get yourself a very large dose of something that ends with i-l-l-i-n."
Now, mind you, anytime a guy walks into the apartment he shares with his best friend and finds him basking in the tingling of a good fuck, he would give the nod of approval and the understood invisible high-five. The lucky intruder then would waltz ever so slowly to his bedroom as not to miss a thing. Not this time I'm afraid.
"Edward! Oh man…I was just…" Mike stuttered. His Lilliputian brain trying to form a complete sentence as it scrambled for an excuse.
"I know, Mike. You were just keeping her warm for me until I got back." His jaw moved up and down while his brain still searched its far corners for an excuse. "Appreciate that, but I prefer my girls nice and chilled, then I can warm them up myself."
Mike tossed Jessica off of him in a manner that would make a discus coach proud. She squawked as she hit the floor. "Dude, she came on to me...and...and…look at her…I mean ---.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't sweat it. You did me a favor." I picked up my duffel, satisfied with my decision, and turned my back to them without even giving the favor of a second glance.
Before I forget, let me introduce myself. I'm Edward Cullen. And up until about ten minutes ago, I had high hopes of coming home, twisting the cap off an ice cold Heineken and fucking the hell out of my girlfriend. Now I find that I am no longer thirsty and my libido has suddenly vanished.
I sat on the hood of my car after I threw my shit in the passenger seat and assessed my situation. I have returned to a town where I am clearly not Mr. Popular. I have no job, apartment, no best friend, and lastly, no girlfriend. Considering that the most important things should be tackled first, I hopped in the car and headed toward the nearest motel, stopping at the convenience store located on the corner a few places down. No clue how long I would be stuck at the motel, either way, I still needed a few things to get settled in.
The first place I venture was the magazine rack. Shit. No girlfriend and I was pretty damn sure that all the moms in town had stereo-typed me as the kind of guy you don't bring home to meet the parents, it was only feasible that porn would be my only outlet, seeing that my libido would eventually return from its hiding place. I mentally crossed my fingers and made a wish that it would be a quick return. Snagging a Hustler and a Penthouse, I went to the chip aisle, the difficult decision between Cool-Ranch and Ruffles unyielding an answer. Tossing the bags in the air a fraction, the faint scent of something exotic and sweet tickled my olfactory senses. Looking to my left, my eyes were drawn to the brunette standing in front of the cooler, struggling with her own personal junk food dilemma, Cookie Dough or Rocky Road. She gave me a sideways glance as I approached her.
I leaned back a little and gave her ass a once over. OK, you caught me. A twice over. Nice, firm, and just the right amount of curve to mold into the palm of my hand if given a good squeeze. Moving to the next section on the anatomy checklist, I scoped out her breasts. Not too big, not to small, just the right amount of curve to mold…you get the point. Mentally, I penciled in a check mark and continued my evaluation. Long legs that when wrapped around my hips, would let me mold into the curve of hers and, lips so perfectly plump, with just the right amount of curve that when wrapped around my…
Hello libido. Welcome back.
She looked terribly frustrated in her efforts to conclude her situation, so being the gentleman that I sometimes am, I took it upon myself to assist.
She gave a curt smile, still eyeing her choices. "Really? Why?"
"Because Cookie Dough is boring. Why only have one addition, when you can have three? Come on. Be adventurous."
Nice to meet you brown eyes.
Shit. Mystery girl that smells really good had a pair of espresso colored eyes that could bring a man to his knees. A hint of mischief and a glimpse of sensuality sent shivers through me like an automatic weapon when her eyes met mine. And then she smiled. And for a second, I thought I heard the voices of an angelic choir singing in my head.
"Cool –Ranch," she gave a wry grin to accompany her retort.
I huffed a laugh as I replied. "Really? Why?"
"Because Ruffles are boring. Why have bland chips when you can have some with flavor? Come on. Be adventurous." Mystery girl scrunched her face as she mocked my own words. She winked as she returned the Cookie Dough ice cream to the shelf in the cooler, then she turned and gave me a sway to sway, enticing me to stare at her ass as on her way to the counter.
Intrigued by her smugness, I leaned against the cooler and observed her as she chatted up some of the guys standing in line. Mystery girl gave a whirl of her fingers, waving to me as she walked out the door. After a few minutes of re-evaluating her checklist in my minds-eye, I placed her at about an eight on my sexy-scale. She'd have to work her way up to score the other two points, and if I were any judge of a woman and her abilities just by looking at her, I'd say she would have no trouble at all. Nope. None at all.
Chip dilemma solved and with the joyous return of my sexual appetite, I gathered everything else I needed, paid for it, picked up the local paper on my way out. Munching on a chip, I perused the help wanted section of the classifieds. Typical entries for Forks. Gravedigger. Nursing home attendant. Grocery bagger. My concern over my future occupation came to a halt when I spotted the simple three line ad for the local bar and grill.
The Corner Pocket seeking evening bartender.
Ask for Bella.
It wasn't a grand place to work, but with my circumstances and given my other options, it was a start. I'd check it out first thing tomorrow morning.
A/N: Please leave a short review. I'll never know whether it's worth continuing.