Summary: Blind dates. Douchey men. Failed dates. Dive bars. Snobby friends. Scheming for payback. Hot guys. Crazy car lovin'. Tis the way of life. Don't cry when things go awry, push on through and show them jerks who's who.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Twilight related. Or anything else mentioned...


"Yeah, I make more money in a year than most do in six," Michael laughs, sipping his wine with pinky-up. I smile and nod on the outside, but die a little inside and silently curse the two bitches that set me up on this date. "But I don't want to brag." Liar.

Michael Newton is a fucking turd. Like, really. And he is a deceiving one at that. I was nervous coming into this date, meeting up with a man I've never met. However, I trusted that my two best friends – sorry, EX best friends – wouldn't set me up on a blind date with a compete and total goober. When I pulled into the parking lot of one of the most expensive restaurants in Seattle, some of the nervousness evaporated.

He's got money, I thought, exhaling belly knots. Not another loser.

I just got out of a horrible relationship with the biggest bum in Washington: James Fucktard Tracker. He used me, he abused me, and now I'm left with a shitload of debt. Oh, and pity from my friends who took upon themselves to make a date for their poor pathetic heartbroken buddy.

So, understandably, I was excited for the change. I'm no gold digger, but I don't hate a man with money.

Little did I know he'd be talking my ear off about himself and his maaannnny accomplishments.

He's a super successful business man.

He started his first business when he was just nineteen.

He's his own boss.

He makes money-money-money, blah blah blah!

When the hostess escorted me to the table, my heart did a sputter-stop-somersault right into my throat. He's tummy-tingling-sticky-thigh hot! Bonus, bonus, bonus!

He's dirty blonde perfection with dimples and straight teeth that shine with the help of the uber-fancy chandelier. I was in Heaven on cloud nine with a fatty-joint in one hand, and a salty-sour Corona in the other. I smiled bright and high when he pulled my chair out for me and pressed his so-full lips to my hand in greeting.

Perfect perfect perfect, my pulse kept repeating. He's perfect; gentlemanly, strong-defined-chiseled, sexy-man-hard, and well-off.

Thank you, Rosalie!

Thank you, Kate!

We talked about anything and everything for about twenty minutes, when the food we ordered: mushroom ravioli and cheddar-cheesy manicotti – to share – arrived. While I thanked the sweet-baby-faced waiter for his services, Michael scowled at his dinner plate.

"Something wrong, Michael?" I had asked.

He ignored me and turned his scowl to our server, Benjamin, and scoffed. "Is this what I ordered?" he asked clam-before-the-storm-calmly. Benjamin scrunched his face in the same confusion I was feeling and reached for the pad in his waist apron, but Michael stopped him with a raised voice and so super-condescending tone. "The answer is no! No, I did not!"

Benjamin stumbled back before regaining his composure. His cheeks, red with embarrassment and frustration, he picked up the plate of manicotti unsurely. "I'm sorry, Sir. I could have sworn you ordered the manicotti…"

"We did," I butted in, finally regaining my own composure. I sent Michael a glare, but he didn't look

away from the stumbling waiter.

"Please, Isabella," Michael said, holding his hand out to me in the shut-up-while-I'm-talking-hand-in-the-face way. I raised a challenging brow, but he was too busy having a one-sided fight with the poor young waiter to pay me much mind at all. "We ordered ch-ed-dar. I do not remember asking for mozzarella. Do you, Isabella?" He turns his cold blues on to me.

"Well, no...but I don't think it's such a big d-"

"It is! It is a big deal! If you can't do something correctly, you shouldn't do it at all!" His face turned plumb purple with anger. We noticed the staring people at the same time. I dropped my face into my hands, curtaining my hair around myself in shame.

I heard Michael laugh awkwardly before clearing his throat. "That's quite alright, quite alright." There was an uneven tap-tip-tap-tapping on our table before Michael sucked in a deep breath. "Quite. All. Right," he said, in a totally not okay, strained, grinding of the teeth, but trying to look good in public kind of obvious tone.

"Why don't you just go get my lovely date what she ordered, okay?"

"Y-Yes, S-Si-Sir." Poor Benny stumbled over his feet, almost spilling our defective food all over a scantily clad woman.

I was about to lay into my dick of a date when he opened his mouth and did. not. shut. it.

That brings me here. Listening to the biggest jackass tell me about himself. Sure. Everything he is saying is undeniably impressive and if it was done in less of a...let's say douchey manner, I would be all over that shit. Nodding my head, giggling, touching his hand, and being a total idiot, fawning over him. Fluffing up his ego. But I won't do that. I don't want his ego to get too excited and pop prematurely all over my dinner.

"Are you listening to me, Isabella?"

"Huh? Oh...uh, sure. Yeah. Sure. Something about something or other." I don't bother to waste valuable acting skills on a man so low.

"I was saaayiiiinnnng," he drags, rolling his eyes. "that Rosalie told me you're an entrepreneur?"

"Yeah," I giggle-snort. "She would."

"So you're not...?"

"Well...kind'a, in a way."

"What do you do?" he asks, almost sounding interested even when the subject is not of him.

"I sort of own a a way." He stares at me blankly and I roll my eyes. "I manage a dive bar. When the old man dies, I'll own it," I say matter-of-factly. His jaw drops comically. I hold my napkin up to my pleasure-plumb pink smiling lips and glance up at the cocktail bar set up in the dimly lit part of the restaurant.

My eyes lock on a pair of dark Ray Bans. It's hard to tell if the eyes behind it are on me, but they are definitely looking in my direction. I can hardly tell the features of the man who may or may not be staring at me, but of what I can see, I like. Toned arms and abs hugged tightly by a long sleeved black thermal, light-washed jeans on thick running legs, and shiny black shoes on big feet.

Whoo! The man knows how to dress his way into woman's pants, that for sure. A little inappropriate for the setting, but who could find it in themselves to give dick?

I try to listen to what Michael is yammering about, but find myself leaning to the left, trying to get a better look at the mystery mans face.

Just as I lean an inch more, mystery man lifts his Ray Bans over his eyes and onto his head. He smirks at me and I...fall. The chair falls out from under me, sending me to the floor, where I lay sprawled and humiliated. And to make it worse, people laugh. Mystery man laughs, and the people gathered around him laugh.

Only Michael doesn't laugh. He doesn't even crack a smile. No, he looks just as humiliated as I do. And a little pissed.

Like earlier, with people watching us, Michael tip, tap, tips his fingers before laughing awkwardly. "Oh, Isabella. You're so clumsy." He slowly scoots his chair back and reaches out for my hand. I look over at the cocktail bar, only to be disappointed. Ray Ban Man is long gone.

The heat in my face is near unbearable at this point as I grab onto Michael's hand. He wrenches me up a bit too roughly and dusts me off far too inappropriately. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine!" I smack his hands away. I excuse myself to the bathroom and throw my purse on the counter. I growl at my haggard reflection, smoothing down my hair, catching snarls and ripping them out.

"I am so stupid! Ugh!" Rustling through my purse, I push aside all the candy and dig for my iPhone. Its buried way down deep to the makeup covered bottom. Once I have it in my hands, I send the same text to both those bitches.

You sluts better lock your doors.

xxx pissed off bitch

I throw my phone back in and fix my makeup and hair the best I can. With wild strands sticking out all over my head, I sigh and leave the restroom. I grimace as I see Michael look my way as he heads for the door, the check paid for. He shrugs halfheartedly, and then disappears.

I growl and fish out my phone once more.

And your windows!

xxx murderous bitch

I stuff the ounce of pride I have left in my pocket and walk so fast out the doors that I'm nothing but a blushing blur.

"I can't even impress a douche bag like him!" I throw my arms up in frustration, walking to my car, not even caring about the honking cars I cut off on their way out of the parking lot. I even flip one the bird.

They can all suck it. Like my fucking life.

I mean seriously!

My life – my existence – is a damn waste. A fucking catastrophic mess. When I was a few months old, Mom dropped me on my head. Then Dad did. Then my stepsister Leah when I was five. Elementary was a nightmare. No would sit next to me at lunch because that asshole Jake would tell them that I had a farting problem. Then, in high school, he married my stepsister. And at the wedding, he put one of those ridiculous – funny-when-not-happening-to-you – fart machines under my chair.

I dropped out of college to manage a downward bar, and the old man won't even die! Not that I am such a horrible person, but DAMN!

99 is old.

Now, at 25, I am at my 'prime.' My prime motherfucking sucks dirty corner prostitutes.

This is my life.

This is what I was heading for the first time I was dropped on my head.

Complete and total FAIL!

I grumble my way to my car, missing the lock three times. I don't have one of those buttons you can just push.

"Thems is fer those fancy-pantses," I mock my fathers words when he 'surprised' me with this shit stain of the universe as a grad-day gift. A beautiful fire truck red Chevy truck-crap-piece.

I finally get my key in the damn hole, thanking God I am not a man, when I hear laughter coming from a few cars down, bringing me out of my own little Bella-pity-party. I look up just in time to meet eyes with a large man sitting in the backseat of a dark blue jeep, sipping on a beer. His eyes light up when he notices me and he pulls the drink away from his lips and hits someone in the front seat on the shoulder. "Dude, its Tipsy!" he cackles. He turns back to me, leans out the window. The deep dimples on his cheeks noticeable even this far away. He's muscular to the max, but cute in the face. Actually pretty comical looking.

"Hey, Tips!" he laughs. I scowl. "How's your ass? My boy here just graduated med-school. He could take a look at it..." he trails off suggestively, waggling his too-posh eyebrows.

I can feel my face turning the color of a ripe apple and look down, focusing on opening my door. "Get a life, asshole!" I yell and jump inside. I take off at a snails pace and listen to the jeep full of people giggling at my expense.

Bastards. "Just a bunch of bastards." What a fucking night.

My purse buzzes at a red light and I fish it out, already knowing who it is. "No matter what you say," I start heatedly as I press the speaker button. "I'm still going to kill you."

"What the hell happened?" Rosalie sighs. I can hear Kate in the background telling Rose to the put the phone on speaker.

"Hell! Hell happened!" I growl. "I have been on some horrid dates before, ladies, but this one just takes the motherfucking cake! What the hell would make you think I'd want to date that bastard? Huh? In what universe do I come off as that type of girl?"

"Michael is gorgeous," Rose says matter-of-factly. "And he has money. Loads of it."

"Yeah, too bad he's a total psychotic freak!" I go on to tell them about my date with the business-made-man. Starting with how he treated the poor waiter and ending with him walking out the door while I was in the bathroom.

The two ex-besties are silent. I guess there really is a first for everything. Then, as if I wasn't humiliated and exhausted enough from the night, they laugh. Full out ugly cackling.

"Shut up!"

"Y...You..." Kate breaks off, falling into a fit of laughter. I roll my eyes and pout, as the light turns green. I stop heading for home and take a detour to the nearest bar. I am not spending the whole night at home listening to those two bitches laugh at me.

Rose regains her composure first. She's breathing hard as she says, "You fell off the chair? Why? How? WHY?"

"I saw a good looking guy...I...I was just trying to get a better look," I admitted. Just thinking about how that man could pull off that outfit has me rolling down my windows for some much needed air. My face is growing hotter by the second. "He just looked so good!"

"Oh, wow," Kate snickers. "Maybe that is why Michael ditched ya. Maybe he seen ya lookin' at someone else. Ever think of that you little slut?"

"I'm hanging up now," I say.

"Wait!" Rose yells before I can hang up. I sigh and mutter a low "What the hell..."

"When will you be home?"

"When I know you two ass buckets are dead asleep."

"Where are you going?"


"You're going to Germany?" Kate asks. Of course Kate asks that. I roll my eyes and can't help but snicker lowly. That bitch is fucking stupid.

"Timbuktu is in Afghanistan, dumb shit," Rose grumbles. I laugh louder this time. The good thing about having idiots for friends is you're never ever bored.

"You're both wrong," I giggle, already feeling better about my shitnight. "I'm going to a bar," I admit. "You know, drink the sorrows 'way."

"What bar? We'll come!" Rose suggests.

"I guess you missed the part about me going to a bar to stay away from you, huh?"

"Oh, come off it," she snorts. "I believe it is my obligation to buy my pathetic girlfriend her first round."

"Gee, thanks." I roll my eyes. I pull into the parking lot of the first bar I see. There are people stumbling all over the entrance. A couple fighting off to the side; she smacks him, he pushes her, she kicks him, he falls down because her kick landed in that 'special place.' Two big guys and a large woman are being forcefully escorted out of the bar by six police officers. The two fighting to get the oversized woman into the back of the cruiser both have blood coming from spots on their faces.

I sigh and smile. It feels like home. I tell the girls the name of the bar; Inbred Jose's– how classy – and wait for them in the parking lot. Truthfully, even though they – specifically Rosie – set me up on the disastrous date, they have been my best friends since high school and know how to party and make me feel better about myself.

Also, I'm a bit short on cash and those ho's are buying. It's half an hour later when I see Kate's black Mercedes pull into the parking lot, behind the last remaining police cruiser. The policeman sipping on a coffee, leaning against the hood, just waiting for someone else to step out of line smiles at my friends and holds his foam cup up in greeting. I can't be sure, but I think he winked at Kate...

I hop out of my car and meet them halfway, throwing my arms around the girl who kicked Jake's ass for me in when I was a freshman: Rosalie. The blonde goddess. The kick ass biker chick. The queen of cars. Yeah, that bitch. "I hate you uber much," I mutter in her ear. She just laughs and pulls away from me.

"I didn't know he was like that. Promise." She holds up three fingers stoically.

I laugh and roll my eyes. "You were never a damn girl scout."

"No, but I buy enough of their cookies."

We lock arms and head for the entrance. I am super glad they showed up as I take in the hulking men by the door, eying fresh prey. I turn to Kate, but she is busy ogling the policeman who is returning the effort tenfold. "Umm, Katie? We're going in now."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna go see if the officer can do something about that ticket of mine...à tout à l'heure!" And she's off. Rose and I look at each other and sigh. I don't want to say Katie is a hoochie or anything like that, but I can't NOT say the girl doesn't...get her 'ticket' looked at often.

"We won't see her for awhile," I say as we walk through the doors, Rose glaring at the men who dare look our way. It's what she does. She comes in handy at times like these.

The small, cramped waterhole feels like a steam box. Everyone is breathing too much. And dancing too much. And, oh, hey...screwing in the corner too much. It smells like rancid beer, sex, and cheep perfume. I can't help but breathe deep and take it all in.

My kind of place. Michael would have just hated it here. I'm gonna pretend I am happy to have been ditched. Yeah. Happy. I am.

Fuck the sleaze.

"This place is icky," Rose mutters, scrunching her tiny doll nose. She looks down on all the women throwing themselves at dirty men. I sigh. I break away from her and head for the bar.

Rosalie can't stand places like these. One would think this would be Heaven for her, seeing as she loves to get down and dirty on cars and bikes, but one would be oh-so-super-very WRONG. Rosalie Hale is a high-class grease monkey. With sky high standards. I should be so lucky that she even associates with the lowness of one such as myself. She's a snob, but she's my snob.

I order us two Millers. I don't want to get too fancy in a place like this. Although, I'm sure Rosie would have no problem asking for something 'on the rocks.' I snort at the thought and hand her her drink. Not surprisingly, she raises her eyebrow so high on her forehead it's almost apart of her hairline. "And just what am I supposed to do with this?"

"You drink it," I say slowly, as if I am speaking with someone mentally inept. I chug half mine down in two seconds. I don't win the annual drink-a-thon at my bar – Rusty's – for nothing. I'm a fucking champ. I can drink three times my weight. There's an ick factor later on, but at least I show those men not to fuck with it.

"Ugh..." she plugs her sweetheart nose as she sips at her light beer. She gags, puts the drink down on the bar slowly, and then hurries to the bathroom, pushing by sweaty women who are already in line. Like she cares? Not her style.

I laugh quietly to myself as I watch her go, until I hear the most unwelcome voice, saying the most unwelcome things. "Oh man, look! It's Tipsy!" Kill me now...

I turn to the loud booming voice completely overtaking the small space in the bar. Dimples. It's Dimples. Staring me down from across the bar. I can't help the grimace I send his way. He's just an awful reminder of my disastrous night.

Damn Michael Newton. Damn him!

"Hey!" he says again, waving my way. I duck my head, practically banging my nose on my drink. My hair fans out around me, but I'm far from invisible. Makes me miss my high school days. I could have walked around naked doing the hokey pokey all day and no one would have given a second glance or a damn. That is, until captain of the football team, Jacob Black would point me out.

Then came the relentless teasing.

I face away from The Incredible Hulking Piece of Dimples, but apparently, he is relentless as well.

"Over here! Hey, look over her! TIPSYYY! I have a proposition for ya!" Try as I might, the motherfucker will not be ignored. I sigh and turn back around, sending him my best fuck-with-me-and-I'll-kill-your-cat evil scowl. He only laughs and waves me over way too enthused.

I roll my eyes for the thousandth time this night and grab my drink. I reluctantly get off my stool and walk over to Dimples. "What?" Talk-No-Shit-You-Wont-Get-Hit. I glare.

"Aw, don't be like that," he giggles. "I'm only messin' with ya, girly." His smile is almost contagious, but I fight it off. He's a jerk.

"What is this 'proposition'?" I ask sarcastically, air quoting. Like I care.

"Oh, okay," he laughs. "Well, you see," he giggles some more. I wave my hand, urging him to the damn point. "My buddy over there-" he points to some dark, shadowy figure leaning against the wall. I can just barely make out the tall, lean figure shaking his head and running both his hands thorough his hair. I eye him briefly then back to Dimples, skeptical.

Where the fuck is this going?

"Yeah, so he thinks you're, and I quote, "The most-" he puts his meaty hand over his heart and gets a dreamy look on his face. I can't help but giggle. "beautiful woman I have ever seen. Look at how her eyes shine. Look at her freckles. Look at how her pretty-pout lips kiss the air. I could look at her all night. And her tits ain't so bad, either.""

He ends with an earth-shattering burp. "You know, gay shit like that." He shakes his head and gulps down the shot in his hand. Tequila by the smell of it. He slams it on the table next to us and smiles at me. He holds out his hand and I take it slowly. His entire palm engulfs my whole hand.

"I'm Emmett, by the way. But you can call me Cupid." He winks.

"Umm. Bella," I shake his hand softly. "D-Did he really say all that?" I ask shyly, glancing at the man in the corner. His head is tilted my way. I can tell he is looking at me. I blush fever and look at my black booties. They have a scuff on the left toe. I hook that foot behind the other and peek up at Emmett.

He chuckles. "Sure did. You must bring out the woman in my boy."

"So why doesn't he talk to me himself?" Valid fucking question. "Is he shy?" I don't date poons. I don't care if that makes me seem like a bitch. I like my men tough. It has blown up in my face every time, but I'm still hoping for the golden nugget amongst the boogers.

"Not at all. I took it upon myself to talk to you. He wont stop fucking yammering about you. I'm 'bout ready to punch him. Figured I'd make us all happy and get him out of my face and into yours."

"Did you follow me here?" I ask abruptly. It suddenly occurring to me that that could be the case.

"Don't flatter yourself," he snorts. "We come here all the time. You gonna go talk to him or what?" He looks over my shoulder and smirks. "I see a blonde with her nose up in the air. I'm willin' to bring it back down to earth."

I don't even have to look behind me to know. I just know. I mimic his smirk as a plan forms in my head to kill two birds with one stone; Rosie set me up the worst date of my life and Emmett made it even worse with his tipsy comments.

They're going down.

"Oh, that's Rose," I say lowly, leaning close to him. "She's my friend. I know she may seem a little uptight, but trust me, she is a huge slut. She'll do it with anyone." Emmett's face lights up like a Christmas tree and I almost feel bad for leading the guy on. Almost but no cigar.

"Really?" Hope shines bright.

"Oh, yeah, Cupid. Alls you gotta do is walk up to her and grab her ass. It really gets her goin'. Now, she may slap you, but that's just apart of the game. Just tell her what you wanna do to her, and make it dirty." I smile perversely and wink at him.

"Jackpot!" He flies by me and I don't have to wait even three seconds before I hear the resounding slap! I laugh evilly and down the rest of my beer.

"That wasn't a very nice thing to do." I feel someone come up behind me. A little too close for comfort. I move away and turn to face him.

"They had it comin'," I smirk, but stop short when I am met with a dark pair of Ray Bans. Again. The same ones. I let my eyes travel the long body from black shoes, to black thermal, to crazy-as-all-hell-lusty-fingers-running-through penny-type hair. And OH MY GOD!

I can feel my mouth gaping open, but don't have mind enough to shut it. How could I? How could I?

How the fuck could I? He's sick wet dreams come to life. He's barely tan and cherries perfection. He's wiry, soccer God-type God!

He's laughing at me.


He reaches over, small smirk curling his lips up, and uses his index finger to slowly close my mouth. It shuts with an audible snap and my cheeks flame. My chest gets red. My body is on fire. That one touch set me on fire. I'm burning.

I'm being an idiot.

I quickly clear my throat and look away from Mr. McDreamSteamy. My eyes catch a wave of golden blonde as Rosalie jumps at a petrified Emmett. I can't even find it within myself to enjoy the show like the group of people crowding around them, cheering on 'Blondie'. I can't even muster a giggle. All I can do is look stupid. Because there is a fucking male Goddess staring me down. He's too pretty.

He's just too. Fucking. Pretty.

"I'm Edward," he says, his face scrunching up as he watches me, unsure of what my damage is. I don't even know. Something is not right though. My mind, my body, my damned spirit is mute.

"That's my friend over there that your friends is bitch slapping..." I don't look at him. If I look at him, bad things may happen.

"Do you speak?" I continue to ignore him, afraid that if my mouth opens, drool will flow out. But, GOD, do I wanna look at him.

"How's the ass?"

"Excuse me?" That gets my attention. I whip my head over to his smug face, glaring. "What did you just say?" If one more damn person brings up my little mishap, I may just have to go on a killing rampage until every witness is disposed of.

I swear, it's like high school in replay.

"I'm not making fun," he defends quickly, eying my reddening cheeks. "I'm damn flattered. I'm used to women falling all over me, but you take it to another level entirely. Just the ego boost I needed tonight." He smirks. I glare daggers; long, sharp, pointy daggers into his very soul.

The nerve of some people!

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say nonchalantly. I turn to the bar and order myself three shots of the strongest drink they carry. I down two with a choke and grimace, then turn back to the asshat. "If you're referring to my little mishap in the restaurant, I was trying to get my purse out from under my seat. I slipped." What a motherfucking crock of shit.

He throws his head back and laughs, all shining teeth in his crooked shaped mouth that would look bad on anyone else, but he somehow manages to pull it off. The thick Adams apple bobs in his neck, the stubble covering it vibrates. My mouth goes dry and my brain blanks for a second.

Three words enter my mind: Oh. My. Fuck!

It should be illegal to be this fucking gorgeous. I'm not even saying he is perfect, quite the opposite actually. But he sure as hell flips my lonely cookie. He's imperfection at its greatest.

"Oh, come on now," he sighs. He takes a step closer to me, his hand reaching out to my side. "I know you were checking me out," he breathes. His sour whiskey breath washes over me, both repulsing and lusting me on. I have issues.

"I know you like what you see," he murmurs so-super-damn close to my ear I can feel the pulsing heat surrounding him hit me. "I know I like what I see... what are we gonna do about that?" The hand by my side skims the cottony prettiness of my dress and I recoil from the electrifying touch, hand at the ready to slap some sense into a prick.

"HEY!" What kind of girl does he think-?

"Relax," he chuckles. He pulls his hand back, producing my left over shot. His eyes smiley smug at me as he downs the shot without so much as the ugly choke-grimace I made. "I would never dream of touching your delicate self without permission." He rolls his deep emeralds at me. I'm momentarily caught like a deer in the headlights, staring at the flecks of gold in his eyes. Like yellow daisy petals in a field of green.

Too odd. Too perfect.

Too damn sappy... The hell is the matter with me?

I huff and cross my arms over my chest. I look away from him, in part embarrassment, part lustation activation. He hits my hot spot with just a look.

My eyes sweep the small bar until they land on those familiar blonde tresses. I'm surprised to see them flying around her shoulder as Rose giggles, Emmett swinging her around on the dance floor. He has a bloody bottom lip and ugly red claw marks down his left eye. His smile is all dimples and his eyes are all adoration. I shake my head and hold back the bile.

That little scheme backfired on me.

Still avoiding the eyes I know are on me, I look out the clear glass doors and into the parking lot, seeking out Katie. I see her immediately. She's right where we left her by the police cruiser. Only now, she's dry humping Officer DipShit with wild abandon.


With limited space to rest my eyes, I have no other choice but to face Edward. What a stupid name. I glare at his unabashed staring. He only smiles wider.

"Hey there," he says softly when our eyes connect. "Do I get your name yet, or what?"

"Bella," I grunt, very un-womanly like.

"How very fitting," he whispers close to my face. I try to repress the shiver, but it's impossible. I know what he is doing. He's looking for a good time tonight and has his sights set on little old me. Well, he can go fuck himself.

"If you're trying to flirt," I say somewhat breathless. "You're gonna have to try a little harder than that. I don't go for the sappy shit." Although you're not doing half bad…

"No?" He cocks his head to the side, a small contemplative smile playing on his lips. He nods. "Okay... how 'bout this. I buy you a drink and take you over to that empty table-," he points to a table in the back, covered in shadow. "and try out a different strategy." His long pink tongue peeks out from behind his too thick to be natural lips. He looks like someone gave him a much deserved slapping. I wouldn't be surprised.

"You're too bold," I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. The attention is nice. And I think of what Emmett told me that he said about me and I get a butterfly tingling in my lower belly. I am the most beautiful woman he's ever seen according to Emmett. That kind of compliment triggers the woman in me.

"Corona," I say. I'm going to regret mixing all these drinks, but then again, I always do.

I breeze by Edward, a suggestive twirl to my hips, to the table in the corner. I can feel his eyes on me and I blush hot fever all over. In special places.

I situate myself on the hardwood seat that smells of piss and regret. I avoid putting my elbows on the sticky table, knowing all to well what the stickiness is. It ain't kool-aid, that's for fucking sure. I people watch and hold back vomit at the promiscuous icky-ness going on in all corners of the dive bar.

There is a spiky-haired almost-dwarf unashamedly hoovering some blonde guy's dick next to the 'gentleman's' restroom. I guess they couldn't wait one more second.


It's like a car wreck. It's so horrible and you know you should look way, for the love of God, look away, but you're transfixed and stare openly. That is, until someone comes up next to you and clears their throat. I jump at the sudden appearance and blush. Smiling sheepishly, I take the offered drink from Edward. He sits down and follows my line of sight. He snorts.

"That's my cousin Jasper and his new wife, Alice." He shakes his head, grimacing slightly. "They're still in their honeymoon faze," he explains.

"Ah, I see." I look down at my drink and grab the salt and limes Edward brought to the table. I mix my drink to my liking, all the while feeling him staring at me. I peek up and scowl halfheartedly. Only half a heart, because lookatthatface! "Why don't you take a picture," I grumble.

Throwing the lime in the bottle, I shake it until it fizzes over the brim. Perfection in a bottle. I'm taking a long gulp when a flash in my eyes makes me choke on the grains of salt halfway down my throat. "The fuck?" I sputter. I look next to me and see a cocky looking Edward holding up a beaten up iPhone.

"Dude, seriously?"

He looks at me all deceptively innocent-wide-eyed and shit and I fawn like the bitch in heat that I am. "What? You told me to."

He's got me there. I sigh and scrunch my nose up at him before going back to downing my drink. I'm really getting in there, eyes rolling to the back of my head, neck muscles expanding and contracting. I moan. There's another flash in my face.

"Fuck!" I turn back to look at the bastard in time for him to stuff his phone back in his pocket. He lifts his ass off the bench-seat and roughly forces it into his front pocket. Plainly revealing a bulge.

"Yep," he grunts once back in his seat. "That one is gonna get me through many a lonely night," he smirks, swinging his arm behind my neck.

"You think you're cute?" I raise an eyebrow at him, taking the heat off my blush, which his eyes are roaming over. He looks up at me and smiles a smile that could make doves fall from the fucking sky and land at his hugenormous feet.

"I know I'm cute."

I shake my head and turn my face away to hide my smile. He sure fucking is. The smug bastard.

Minutes pass before either of us say a thing. But that doesn't stop him from twirling a loose tendril of my hair around his long finger. Everything about this man is long. Makes me wonder...

"Anyone ever tell you that you're very well proportioned?"

"Excuse me?" I laugh. That's a new one. My eyes meet his bloodshot ones. I can tell he is one drink away from passing out from the calm buzz. He smiles wryly.

"Nice tit to ass ratio. Handfuls." He holds out his large hands and makes a squeezing gesture in the air. I snort and blush. Blush and snort some more, before I am full on giggle-snorting. I should be offended by his words and actions toward me, but I'm not. I just think it's funny. And it's fucking endearing. He's so blunt and open and out there. It's refreshing.

I find boldness in his words and decide to try my hand. "Are you?" I ask when I finish my giggle fest. Edward watched me the whole time with a stupid glazed over look on his face. Now he smiles, almost shyly and I melt, almost literally.

"How do you mean?" He leans in closer.

"I mean... well, you're so tall. Long... Y'know," I hedge.

"Why do you wanna know?" His eyebrow raises suggestively, that long tongue poking out from behind his lips again.

"I'm just curious."

He's quiet for a moment before the atmosphere turns serious. "What were you doing out with a dill-hole like that?" He asks suddenly, changing the subject, throwing me off my game.

I blink a few times to try to clear the haze. "Huh?" was my oh-so-super-brill reply.

"At the restaurant. That guy you were with...I saw his little spazzout. I wanted to punch him for it. Ben is a friend of mine."

"Oh... ah, it was a blind date my two girlfriends set me up on. For some unknown reason they thought we would click." I roll my eyes and let out a snort. "As if."

"Like you and I click?" he asks, smiling.

"We click?"

"I'm certainly clicking." He's leaning back on the bench, his body facing away, his head in my direction. He's so relaxed and smiley, I can feel my insides turn in the most pleasant way.

"I guess so." I hold my lips together to keep the shit-eating grin from my face. "You're alright."

"You're beautiful."

"You're drunk."

"You're still beautiful..."

"You're a talker," I say, shaking my head and blushing. Edward reaches over to me and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. He leans in close, his breath fanning on my heated neck, just making me even more hot hot hot, steaming fucking hot.

"I can say anything you wanna hear. And mean all of it."

I might pass out from the heat. Between my thighs is starting to feel like a sticky waterfall, the natural juices pooling to the crotch of my lacy peach panties. I had planned on getting a little something something tonight. I just thought it would be with my date.

Lustation Activation: Complete.

"Wanna get out of here," I say – not ask – boldly. I don't wait for his answer before I am grabbing his hand and lacing his fingers with mine. I drag him out of the heated box and into the chill night air. I sort of ignore, sort of cringe at the shaking police car and the way too loud moans of my slutty friend.

Hell, with what I am planning on doing with the sweet talker, I have no room to call anyone a slut. I rush us over to my shitcar and throw the passenger side open. I toss him in, almost effortlessly. He laughs under his breath as I climb in after him, straddling his lap. I waste no time in leaning forward and slamming my face into his. Brutally. Our lips smack together, out teeth clang painfully, and our tongues try to suffocate each other.

It's the best kiss I've ever had. In ever. And ever will. It's bruising and consuming and violent, then soft. It's brutal stranger love. Something I've never experienced before, but I've heard a lot about. Finding someone, anyone, to spend the night with so loneliness isn't a problem. Someone to try out all those hidden desires. Practice your sadistic, masochistic fantasies on.

With a few too many drinks in my system and bad choices in my hands, I scrape my hands down Edward's chest, to the hem of his shirt. He shivers violently as I lift it and break our kiss to bend down and drag my tongue up his hard abdomen. His abs are uneven and he's hairier than I like, but it's that imperfection that makes me want more.

He grunts and breathes heavy when I drop one hand to the bulge in his jeans, rubbing it with painful pressure.

I hold his shirt in place on his chest with one hand while he holds my head, grabbing my hair and pulling me closer. I nip, bite, lick, and slobber all over his stomach, making my messy way up to his right nipple. I lick over the rock hard dark bud. It's placed slightly lower on his chest than the other and I feel myself get slicker between my thighs.

Fuck perfection.

I pull it between my teeth. He moans loud and breathy. I feel the car shake as he throws his head back. His hands travel the expanse of my back, roaming, groping. His right arm hooks around my torso, pulling me tight against him. His other hand grabs a handful of my backside and I squeak when he pinches. My eyes roll back. He chuckles softly and does it again, harder. I bite him harder in return and he groans.

All playfulness out of him, he grabs my face between his hands and kisses me firmly, with more passion than any I've ever received. He breaks away from me, his lips red and swollen, parted and panting. "I like this. Really, really like this." He licks his lips and pulls me in for a quick peck on the mouth. "But let's save the foreplay for a time it is actually needed."

My eyes widen as he lunges for me. I squeal and giggle as he picks me up by the backs of my thighs and turns us carefully in the small space of the car so I'm on my back and he's hovering over me, a predator gleam in his eyes. He throws me onto the long seat of my car. Crooked smile on his lips, Edward leaned down over my closed knees to place sloppy-so-good kisses all over my face and neck, first starting playful, and then gradually turning into burning so-hot tongue kiss-licks down my chest.

He slowly pries my knees apart, settling himself between them. With his shirt still pulled haphazardly over his chest, he comes into contact with my burning need for him. "Damn," he pants. His eyes roll back, leaving nothing but white in its wake.

He sits up quickly on his heels, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he focuses all of his attention on the water world between my sticky thighs. He lifts his right hand and runs it down my face, to my wide open lips. I lick his trailing finger, tasting a hint of tobacco and pure unadulterated man. I moan. No one, and I mean no on has ever gotten such a response out of me.

Not my first boyfriend Tyler, not my last boyfriend James, and certainly not all the guys I tried in between. It's like Edwards hands were made to touch me. To roam my curves. To electrify me with one simple touch. To heat me up with his warm slithering tongue.

It's definitely not love at first sight, that's just a pipe dream. This is lust in its purest of forms – or dirty-murkiest of forms, I don't know. But I do know that body of his was made to make my body feel everything.

I'm the teensiest bit disappointed that he doesn't want to bother with foreplay – not that I need it – but I myself am itching for the pressure of feeling him inside. Quick.

He trails his hand from the suction of my mouth, to my pulsing neck, wrapping his hand around it softly. It's like he knows how much I begged my boyfriends for the down-and-fucking-dirty. I groan loud and wanton, and unashamedly. We lock eyes and he smirks as my reaction – not cocky-like. More like he is thinking what I am thinking.

Finally. Someone who understands. Someone who fucking understands and gets it.

He adds the smallest of pressure to the hand covering my neck. My hips buck up out of my control. He pushes them back into the seat with his free hand, and then trails that hand from the outside of my thigh, inside...up, up, up. It's painfully, tortuously slow. I want slap him, force his teasing fingers where I need them, but I needn't worry. His fingers don't stop or take a detour to fuck with my hormones. No, he brings them straight to my core, slipping them under the crotch of my panties and into my throbbing heat.

My back arches. I have to grab the door handle and steering wheel to keep my body from levitating in rageous bliss. An animal – certainfuckingly not human – sound escapes my throat, long, low, and deep.

He plays with the outer lips of my yearning burning for only a few seconds before he lets out a frustrated groan and removes his hand. Before I can even find it in me to lift my head and complain, he rips my panties from my hips, scraping the rough lace down my legs.

I'm dangerously close to self-eruption from just that.




I can't take much more. I need more. I can't take it, but I freaking want it. So bad. Edward drags both his hands down my naked thighs, grasps my ankles in his strong, callused hands and spreads me apart for the world to see.

I'm not embarrassed that a man I've known for no linger than maybe an hour is seeing me in all my glory. Sometimes, lust can't wait. I don't look down on the grimy mothereffers in the bar now. I get it. Lust has never overpowered me before. Not like now.

Sometimes waiting isn't an option.

When your body calls to another, that call can't wait. It has to be answered. Right then. Right there.

Right the fuck now.

He holds my legs so far, far wide and apart, there's no room left in the vehicle. I like his hands there, pulling me apart, his eyes gazing at my pussy as if it's the light at the end of a very long tunnel. I don't want him to stop it. So I take the initiative and reach my greedy little hands between my legs, folding in on myself slightly and attack his belt. I fumble to open the buckle, and then cry in frustration when the button and zipper refuse to see things my damn way.

Edward is about to help me. I can feel, sense, and nearly see him letting go of my left ankle. I don't want that to happen. I screech, banshee in its sound and he looks down into my eyes, shock written clear on his face. I don't care. "Don't you fucking dare let go of me," I warn, finally ripping that damn zipper down. I'm living a fantasy.

I pull his jeans down to the underside of his bubble butt, his boxers not lasting much longer in my haste to get it. His dick is a thing of beauty. And it's most certainly proportional. I only take a moment to let myself be mesmerized by the work of art in front of me. I've always been one to admire the male body, but I've never, in my wildest dreams, seen something like this.

It isn't otherworldly huge, but it's long enough. It's thick enough. And the veins pulsing around it make my mouth water. I wish I had the patience to take that perfect bulbous purple head into my mouth, but I don't.

There's somewhere else I need it more. And Edward, apparently, feels the same. He's panting still, heavy and crazed. "Another time," he groans. "Just fucking do it already!"

I bite my lip, giving it one more lusty gaze before I grab him in both hands. He pulses in my palms and I shudder. I lean back slowly, taking him with me, guiding him in blindly. I run the head up and down my dripping slit once, twice, three times a horny lady. I position it where I need him and push him in slowly. Just the tip stretches my lonely tunnel and I wince slightly. No matter how wet I am, disuse is a bitch.

I let go of him, careful not to let the precious member free from my neediness. I sit up a little and place my hands behind me, using them as leverage to hoist my ass up off the seat.

Edward pushes his hips in close while I struggle to pull him inside of me. It's a game of tug-of-war for a few seconds. Edward hisses and grunts with every centimeter prying me open. He stops for a second before dropping his head and looking up at me through his eyelashes.

"Ready for this?" he asks. I don't know what he's referring to, and I don't care. I just want him to go, go, go. He smiles in a toe curling way, and then plunges his entire length into me with a deadly force that knocks me off my hands and onto my back. He doesn't stop. He pulls back slowly, and then pushes in in a way that leaves me shaking, shuddering, and breathless. Over and over and over again, he plows, digs, curves and pumps. I can hear the nonsense babble coming from my mouth, but I cant stop it.

I'm praising him in a language only we can understand.

His hands slide away from my ankles, freeing them from his shackle-like hold. He slides them down my legs and up my thighs and back again before wrapping his arms under my back and holding me in a so close lovers embrace. He moves inside me as if he's done it everyday of forever; he knows my insides better than I do. He knows where to jerk, where to pound. When to pull out, when to grind.

My body hums for him and I swear I can hear his humming right back at me. It's heady. It's almost indescribable. If I had to put it into words: it's supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious – because that's what my mind cooks up in my mid-coital bliss out.

His eyes are on mine, watching me while he hugs me and loves me in ways that leave me teary eyed and hopeless. I never want it to end, but I feel it coming. I'm coming.

Holyfuckingshit! I'm coming... I grab a hold of his face and neck, digging my nails into his skin. His back arches but he doesn't pull away from my savage attack on his flesh. He takes it in stride. My body tenses, it hurts. I have never, I've come plenty of times in my life, but never like this. Never so intense. Never so earth shattering-mind erasing-body numbing-toe curlingly supersonic-back-off-the-wall great.

This is an orgasm. This isn't just some quick fluttering of my walls. I'm squeezing him for everything either of us are worth. My hips leave the seat and I fuck myself onto him like a sex starved convict whore. And he's loving it.

He's fucking basking in it.

I squeeze Edward one time too many. He drops down on top of me, resting his full weight on me and he's not fucking light, but I don't give a damn. I'd happily be this mans mattress any night. Any day. Any time.

He grinds into me; his hands unwind from my waist and grasp my hair on both sides. I could go bald with the force he uses to pull me down as his thrusts increase; faster, harder, rougher, shorter. Ragged. He's all over me. Consuming me. Worshiping me and putting me in my place at the same time.

I'm in lust with this man and I'll take what I can get. He can rip me in half if he wants. I'll take gladly.

A rush of violent sexual outburst hit us both as he continued to pound my body into the seat of my beat up truck. I bucked up into him, grabbing his ass in my hands and urging him in harder, faster, deeper. More.

Just more, more, more, more, more! "Please, just give it to me more," I beg.

I see birds, I see planes, I see Superman saving people on a motherfucking train as I contract around him for the second time tonight. I feel him grow larger inside of me, stretching me more and I love it.

The most feral sound starts to vibrate in his chest and work its way into his throat. It erupts from his sinful lips and wafts over my face. I have to turn my head away from the sound; it's so primal and terrifying, yet beautiful and fulfilling at the same time. He pulls my face back to his, using my hair as reins. He kisses me so deep and passionate as I feel him pour into me, hot spurts of cum showering me with needed love.

It's quiet now. It's dead silent, but it isn't awkward or uncomfortable in any way. We're just both too fucking mellowed out to say a thing. What needs to be said anyway?

I run my fingers through his hair as he finally lets go of mine and slides his fingers up and down my sides. He sighs into my neck, lifting some of his weight off me with one hand placed on the side of my head. He smiles down at me.

Something occurs to me. After an experience like that, I can't find it in myself to care much, but I ask anyway, because I'm a doof if I don't. "Are you clean?"

He closes his eyes and purrs a satisfied chuckle. "You're just now asking me this?"

"I was preoccupied," I sigh, tugging the ends of his hair and rolling my hips, a bit uncomfortable with him soft inside of me. It's not a nice feeling.

I have trust in him that he wouldn't do something so intimate if he knew he was...scratchy.

"I'm clean," he laughs. He pulls out of me after lingering moments too long. I shiver as he does. Not in pleasure, more like disgust. There is nothing I hate more than a slimy, soft penis.

"I guess I should ask if you're on the pill?" he asks, staring directly into my sated soul.

"I am."

"So," he breathes across my face when moments of silence pass. He sits up and pulls his pants back up. He leaves his fly and belt open, hanging there loosely. "Can I have your number? And maybe your last name?"


This is a rough draft, unedited one shot I wrote in less than two hours. It is also my first story posted on fanfiction, and my first ever love(ish?) scene I have ever written. I was bored. I wrote something. Maybe you'll like it, maybe you wont. Either way, you should leave me a comment and let me know...I could get into this.