A/N: The idea for this one stemmed from... shall I say, 30 percent real-life events, 50 percent exaggeration of aforementioned events, and 20 percent crack!fic self-indulgence. Standard New Moon AU – Cullens never come back. Pretty much PWP/OOC. I have no regrets whatsoever.

An Introduction to Psychoactive Products for Recreational Use

A lot of dumb ideas start with rolling papers. On some occasions, however, some pretty cool do, as well.

Rumble. Rumble. Hiss.

"For Christ's sake –"

Rumble. Rumble. Hiss.

"– stupid piece of shit –"

Jacob Black slammed his fist against the steering wheel of Bella Swan's '53 Chevy pickup – a car the former had reconstructed on his own, thank you very much, and the latter loved dearly.

"Hey – stop abusing my truck," a disgruntled, albeit amused Bella scoffed. "It might be super resistant and everything, but you're made of solid muscle. And werewolf muscle at that."

Sure enough, the average person would not be happy to own a disobedient car. Jacob Black had poured literal and figurative sweat into the thing when he'd been rebuilding it. Months of savings went into the bodywork – new tires, rims, wax, and the like – but it just wouldn't toe the line.

"But the goddamn thing won't start –"

"It won't be going anywhere, if you keep treating it like that."

"We're going to be late."

Bella heaved a sigh. "I'm sure the guys will understand."

"Not everyone – Leah will be a sourpuss, as usual." Both laughed.

"I can always ride you," she suggested. A sly grin spread across Jacob's face, and her words sank in a second too late. "I meant –" Her face probably changed fifty shades of scarlet. "– something entirely different than you and your dirty mind are implying." (She had meant she wanted to ride him whilst he was in his wolf form, but that was not immediately apparent, because the only teenager in the world with a "pure" mind was Bella Swan. Okay, that was not entirely true.)

"There are no dirty minds – only dirty words," Jacob remarked triumphantly.

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around."


Bella just stared at her lap. Aside from her two left feet, she had a bad case of sticking her foot in her mouth.

This had never been common around Jacob – hanging out with him was easy, natural. She never had to be anything but herself around him. Until, that is, the incident that shall be referred to as the Almost Kiss.

The Almost Kiss, for anyone who is unfamiliar, is generally the act that could have but wasn't a kiss. ("Let's don't and say we did," Bella's classmates from Phoenix used to say. Though it was not a phrase limited to kissing.)

In Bella's case, the Almost Kiss had taken place during a rainy afternoon at Jacob Black's garage. They – and, by they, the author means Jacob – had been working on the Rabbit. Jacob had remarked that Bella still didn't know what a socket wrench was ("After all this time we've been hanging out. I'm disappointed."), and Bella had retorted that if she knew what a socket wrench was, she wouldn't have solicited his help to fix those bikes.

In all honesty, Bella did know what a socket wrench was – she had just been busy watching Jacob's muscles move beneath his smooth skin as worked on the car. She refrained from saying so, though.

It had been then when Jacob pulled two bottles of a yellow, foamy alcoholic drink – commonly known as beer. Bella had been more than eager to drink one and a half bottle. Jacob had blinked in shock. (Not that he knew of the soft voice that whispered, Don't be so foolish into Bella's ear. It was embarrassing, but Edward Cullen's disapproval always prompted Bella to do the dumbest – or most fun – of things.)

The storm of events – or, rather, words – that led to the Almost Kiss had began fifteen minutes and twenty five seconds after Sip One.

"You are sort of beautiful," Bella had drawled out, promptly reaching out to touch Jacob's face, who had flinched under her touch.

"You've said that again. Then, you had just hit your head – now, you're drunk," he had noted.

"Am not." Bella had pouted and tapped her sneaker on the ground like a five year-old. The childish tantrum had evaporated fairly quickly, though. "I want to try something," she had murmured and leaned in –

– and vomited on Jacob's shoes. The end.

All things considered, the Almost Kiss was a failure – Bella found her body wasn't made for alcohol, Jacob had a nice encounter with her breakfast.

Probably, though, the worst thing wasn't that Jacob was out of shoes, and Bella had her first hangover with beer.

There is a little thing called a Friendzone. It's the mystical country where girls have been sending their male best friends since the time immemorial. And Jacob was the mayor. Or had been, until the Almost Kiss.

Post-AK, he was smug, reckless, crossing the line between "safe" and "danger, danger, ABORT!", slowly but steadily knocking down the walls she had built around her after Edward left. (When she handed him a wrench, his hand would linger a little longer.)

Then, things would go back to normal.

Frankly, all this crossing and uncrossing was unsettling. One minute she'd be watching her best friend turning a wrench, the next she'd be having butterflies in her stomach. Where did that come from?

"Fuck," Jacob muttered under his breath, bringing Bella back to present day.

"It won't start?"

He gave her a look that basically growled, "You don't say.", and she bit her lip in embarrassment.

There was the sound of the flick of a lighter.

"Jake –"

Smoke of the "green" – if you know what the author means – kind filled the narrow space of the cab.

"– is that... weed?"

Jacob flashed an innocent smile. "What if it is?"

"I will –" Tell Billy. Worse. Tell Charlie. Tell both? "– try it?"

"Be my guest."

Bella pinched the joint between her index and middle finger and brought it to her mouth, inhaling a mouthful of smoke in the process.

When Bella was thirteen, Finn Evans had boasted that he'd smoked his first cigarette. He had been the first eighth-grader that year to do so, so, naturally, the rest of his classmates had been really impressed. ("It sucked at first – like, I coughed up a bitch." Ugh, thirteen year-olds. "But it was cool after a few puffs. You should try it sometime, guys." Yeah, like I'm grown-up and shit.)

For her, it was different. It was very much, that was it?

Bella Swan had never been more lightheaded in her life – counting the during-Edward Cullen days.

Beside her, Jacob was leaning against the back of the driver's seat. His chest was heaving – up and down, up and down.

Something warm pooled in Bella's stomach.

"Hey, Jake?"


Bella Swan did the first thing that sprang to mind – she slipped out of her t-shirt.

"Did you just –"

She climbed into Jacob's lap.

"– take your shirt of and –"

She pressed her breasts against his chest.

"– straddle me –"

She started to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands.

"– a-and –"

Soon her mouth was on his, so that shut him up pretty effectively.

"Ha! Ha, ha, ha!" Deep, triumphant laughter boomed inside the Chevy as the engine roared loudly – Bella swore the truck actually jarred.

"See? You don't have to wreck the thing anymore," she teased, nudging Jacob's side as she pulled on her jeans.

"Psh, didn't I repair it?" he boasted. Bella rolled her eyes.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Paul Lahote had to be the biggest douchebag to ever set foot on the planet.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

"Will you cut it out?"

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

"I'm not bothering anyone, am I?"

A collective "Yes, you are".

"– dickhead," added Leah Clearwater.


Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

Leah seized the Doritos bag from Paul's grasp, who gasped in fake surprise. Leah was kind of a bitch, and no one actually liked her, but she was Seth's older sister, and she wouldn't let him hang out with the rest of the guys. For that one though, everyone in the room was silently grateful.

Bella and Jacob settled silently on the couch next to a bored-out-of-his-mind Embry.

"Where the fuck were you two?"


Fuck, indeed.

the end