Contest entry for the Twi-Fic Text Message LOL Contest

Title: Double Dings

Pairing: Edward/Bella

Rating: M

Word count: 5014

Summary: One amazing night, a bottle of wine and an iPhone converge for a crazy adventure in mistaken identity.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or the plethora of characters. Stephenie Meyer does. I am just borrowing them for the time being.


Left. Left. Right. Left. Middle. Middle. Tap. Tap. Left. Left.

Ninja kick to the left; a judo chop to the right.

"Why isn't she texting me back?" I question, hours after I've had no response from my confidant.

So, this is where I've been for the past three hours, dancing with my Xbox with my mat rolled out in front of the television, rocking a dance game. I prefer not to dance in public, because I get made fun of all the time. I'm apparently, according to my friends, a cross between Phoebe from Friends and Elaine from Seinfeld. It's not my fault they're jealous of my mad dance skills and cannot get jiggy wit it, but I'm sure they find me embarrassing. So to keep them happy, I become a wallflower at the bar, and dance my ass off at home.

It's not like I have an amazing love life, ya know? I'm pretty sure that if I went to a tarot card reader, the card she would flip over would be full of hamsters. I have already predicted that I won't be a cat lady because cats are demon spawn and are bipolar in their evil ways. First they are all, pet me, pet me, then they attack you. So, hamster lady it is.

That was until last night, holla!

Dance, Dance Revolution is kicking my ass. I really shouldn't be moving around as much as I am, but I'm hoping the movements help the ache in my thighs.

My father always said "work through the stiffness" and I heed that advice. I completely and honestly work that rigorousness over and over again until I am back to being limber like a Barbie doll with those crackle joints.

When the song finally ends, I throw my hands on my knees gasping for air. "That's right D.D.R., I kicked your ass!" I reach down and grab my wine bottle, taking a healthy chug.

This is just the night I need after the page-turner I had with a certain green eyed fellow that's been plaguing my mind and dirty thoughts for some time now.

Edward Masen.

To say I'm a little giddy is the understatement of the century.

I didn't have to rape the willing.

There were no roofies in the vicinity.

Dressing like a whore on nickel night was not needed.

He wanted some lovin' from my oven and I gladly cranked up my heat. Once I was preheated, I opened my door and he slid his muffin in and I baked that shit.

I've been madly obsessed with him for a few years, ever since we started working in the lab together. His brilliant mind and carefree spirit make me ooze with want and I cannot get enough. When our medical lead placed us on the same team and told us we would be spending a tremendous amount of hours together researching, I was scared. Being this close to the man who held a one way ticket to "O-ville" was intimidating. Some days, it was hard not to literally hump his leg like a dog. He would bob, I would weave. I hid my want from him, because I didn't want things to become awkward between us. Being told "you're a good friend" and "I don't want to change that" hurts. I didn't want the rejection so I ogled his fine ass from afar.

I ignored the way his white lab coat hit his legs right underneath the ass I so desperately wanted to squeeze like a freshly cut orange in the morning.

Gimmie the pulp, bitches!

The way his brow would crinkle as he looked through the microscope at the different cells, it was hard to refrain from drooling all over our hard work and destroying everything. I secretly wished he would look at a certain part of my anatomy that way, memorizing it for future reference when we weren't together.

I dreamed about him filling my petri dish with his specimen, but I believed it was impossible. I thought for sure something like what happened last night would never happen.

People may criticize me because they think of him as a nerd from another dimension, but the view I had of his man planet last night had my mind orbiting into a different atmosphere.

Because last night … it finally happened.

He called me and asked what I was doing and I just so happened to be at the bar he was proceeding to go to anyway, so it worked out. When he walked in, I swear it was as if Doug saw Patty Mayonnaise and hearts started circling his head as he searched the room for me.

We had never hung out after work before, so this was new territory. It was as if I was on the hunt for land like the Homestead Act of 1862. The way women were looking at him made me want to run over and put a stake in the ground claiming he was mine.

I secretly own that shit. He doesn't know it, but damnit, I do!

So after a few drinks for him and a glass of water or two for me–because I sure as hell wanted to remember every moment–he asked if he could walk me home. Who was I to deny him his request? So, needless to say, things took a turn into sexy times.

Cue the saxophone playing and Barry White. He's a sultry sounding motherfucker!

So, that's how I find myself dancing around in my living room with a bottle of wine in my hand, drinking it straight from the bottle like a boss.

I jump up on my coffee table knowing the oak underneath my feet is sturdy enough to hold my mini-self mosh pit as I sing Katy Perry's Firework at the top of my lungs.

I'm pretty sure my neighbors are enjoying their mini concert performed by none other than yours truly. Meh, the only thing I'm missing is a sparkling, fire cracker shooting bra. Especially when old Miss Cope is banging her foot or a broom handle on the ceiling at me. I swear she loves it and is begging me to give her more of my one woman show.

When the song on my iHome changes to Bob Marley, it completely fits my mood. I slowly step off my make-shift dance floor and move over to the couch. Lying down on the soft leather cushions, I spread my legs–one haphazardly thrown over the back while the other rests on the floor–and I'm suddenly drawn to another time not even twenty-four hours ago.

"Is this love, is this love, is this love that I'm feeling," I whisper out into my open space that has been designated as my wohnzimmer. I feel as if the word "living room" is so commonly used, I need to switch it up a tad and therefore dare to be different. I go with the German word because it sounds meaty when you say it, strong and pronounced. I happen to like meaty things.

Have I mentioned that I got Edward Masen's Wiener Schnitzel last night? That was one fantastic meat dish if I do say so myself.

Petey Pablo is rocking my airwaves, asking if I want it over here or over there. "I prefer right here, Mr. Pablo," I say, but my air humps are quickly interrupted when I hear the ringing chimes of a text message. I hope to find that it's my best friend and confidant Lauren–a.k.a. Elvira.

Oh, my heart's on fire for Elvira.

Her hair is always in this giant poof looking rat's nest on top of her head, hence the nickname. Lauren accidently discovered it one night during a drunken game of twister. Her "poof" threw me off balance when it came in contact with my face and I lost. Thankfully she doesn't mind the nickname, but I will never tell her where it stemmed from because I love her too much. She's always my go-to girl when I need to process certain situations floating around in my head. She gives me the best advice. I mean, she should for god sakes, she's a shrink. It's what she does for a living and the best part is that I get to benefit from said mindfuckage free of cost while, in return, I process her STD tests for free. She's a little bit of a floozy, but to each her own. It's a tit for tat situation. Hell, she was there last night when Edward met me at the bar, but she was too busy sucking face with some blonde haired stranger that looked like he had just stepped out of a shower containing nothing but hair gel. Vidal Sassoon and the early nineties called and left a message for you; they want their gel and hair style back, stat. A real life Ken doll is not a good look because hair should move, not be immobile.

I gather my wits and sit up, slowly walking over to my counter where I pull my iPhone from its charger illuminating Elvira's name. I slide my thumb over to the right as I place my wine bottle on the counter.

Where is the fire? – El

Well, I am certain she would think that after the ten messages I sent her asking her to call me. So, I give her an out and proceed with the dish I needed to serve to her because I've been waiting for forever.

It was in my pants last night even though I ended up not wearing any. – B

What r u talking about? Last night? We were at the bar. Have you turned into a nudist? – El

What I'm saying is I finally did the dirty with my said person of interest. – B

Edward? – El

Who else could it be *giggles* - B

How was it? I need deets woman! This is huge! – El

Well let's just say he dropped a mad beat when he DJ diddled my middle to start out after his lips made passionate love to meh lips ;) – B

God, thinking about last night has me all worked up again. I will never be able to self-pleasure my kitty again. His long fingers working me over, and the sounds he made when they slipped into me slowly, as his fingers worked my pussy over and over again–he was a damn expert on the female anatomy. When he pulled them out of me and decided that he needed to sample my juicy fruit goodness off his fingers, I remember going cross-eyed for a minute or two. When I came to my senses, I was already face to face with the biggest bologna stick I have ever seen.

My thoughts of said Oscar Mayer delicacy are interrupted by another chime on my phone. Glancing at it, I giggle with a weird Al Yankovic moment.

Did you check out the merch at the piggly wiggly? – El

Let's just put this into laymen's terms shall we? I slobbed on that knob like corn on the cob. – B

Are you listening to three six mafia again, B? – El

I am, but do you want the dirty? It's so dirty you can smell it. – B

My phone double dings with two messages coming through simultaneously. She must be excited! I mean, damn woman, can I get the kick ass song I made up about Edward's shlong though the phone without her persistence? She should have called me earlier, before I was drunk. Drinking by yourself isn't always a good time, but damn, tonight with all the yummy delicious thoughts in my head, it's goooood.

Gimme – gimme – gimme – El

Where are you right now? – E

That bologna has a first name, it's E.d.w.a.r.d … that bologna has a second name, it's M.a.s.e.n. *giggles and snorts* I could do it every day and if you ask me why i'll say ... Edward Masen has a way of working his b.o.l.o.g.n.a. - B

That song is epic and I don't care what you say.

Are you kidding me right now? – E

Hey, it was awesome Lauren. I can't help it if his large peen makes me a little giddy. – B

Ya don't say. – E

Oh, but I do say and you should know where I am. I'm home with my trusty bottle of wine. Well, my second bottle. – B

Tell me more, Bella. I want to know – E

You already know how I feel about him, but last night was unexpected. – B

I know, but tell me again. What was it like to be with him? – E

Why is this bitch being so cryptic? First, we talk about his manhood and now she wants to see how I feel about him? Basically, last night had nothing to do with feelings. Well, maybe it did. I did feel him in between my legs when he tongue fucked my sister-friend into next week, and whispered sweet nothings in my ear while he fender bendered me at my intersection.

I have no words, Lauren. But I can tell you it was probably only a one time rodeo. I'm probably just going to go back to hiding in that barrel, while waiting for his bullhorn to hit and rock me again. – B

Seriously? You really believe it's a one-time thing? Why are you talking about rodeo clowns? – E

Pretty positive there, Carmen San Diego. I'm not going to dig deep into this mystery of "if he wants me or not" and to the rodeo reference … he bronco'd me like a rodeo bronco rider. I had to hang on for dear life. – B

I'm pretty sure he does. Maybe he didn't know how you felt and was too much of a chicken shit to do anything about it before? So, I take it getting to ride his horse was a bad thing? – E

Why you gotta be nerdy Dr. Phyllis? – B

You know it's an awesome trait to be nerdy. You're nerdy and I love it. But back to the ? - E

No it wasn't a bad thing even though the shit hurts, ya know. He John Cougar'd me. His jack made it hurt so good. While me, being dirty Diane, sucked on his chili dog but there was no tasty freeze around. – B

She doesn't respond for some time and I start to get worried that my best friend was not happy for me.

Are you not happy for me or something? You know how long I lusted after him. I figured you would be more excited for me. I know I shouldn't have caved but damn, rounding the bases was fun. – B

A few minutes later, she finally responds. Well, no wonder it took her a couple minutes. Jesus, reading with one eye open on this novella via text message is not easy.

I am excited for you. He would be a crazy fool to pass you up. I'm sure he's sitting in bed thinking about last night, too. I bet he's even thinking about texting your hot sexy ass, and how he finally took the chance to lay the pipe while he had it. – E

It's because I'm sexy and I know it ;) – B

You're insane ;) – E

She's just now figuring this out about me?

In the membrane. I bet he looks great in banana hammocks – B

Bella, it's Edward – E

Duh, I know it's Edward. *laughs* - B

Of course it's him. It's always been him. The man makes anything look delicious. He's like a Dairy Queen in the middle of the desert. Just the thought of something so yummy and refreshing has you salivating.

So, usual lunch date tomorrow? – B

Sounds great! What time and where? – E

I feel like I need some Greek in me because I've just had Irish. You know some of his corned beef. Let's say eleven-thirty? – B

See you then. – E

Muah xoxoxo! Night! Can't wait to see how you dissect this one. – B

Night, Bella. xoxo – E

I walk over and plug my phone back into the charger. It's amazing how quick text messaging can suck the life out of your phone. I turn around, grab the cork off my counter, and stick it in the bottle.

"I shall come back to you later," I whisper at the bottle in my hand, placing it in my fridge.

Feeling a bit more intoxicated than I should be, I grab onto the fridge handle and turn gently, trusting I will make it to bed in one piece.

I hope I'll be on full alert for my lunch date with Lauren tomorrow. This is the usual time when she dissects apart the nitty gritty and gives me her final thoughts. With my life right now, it's like the Jerry Springer Show, where he sits down and gives you his thoughts on the crazy that has just happened. Only for me, it's Elvira and her "doo wop mop head" giving me the skinny.

Have I mentioned how much I love her?

When I close my eyes after my body has found refuge between my sheets and my head is lying on my uber comfy pillow, I fall asleep easily.

- DD -

When I wake the next morning, I'm surprised that my head doesn't feel like there are a hundred tiny leprechauns dancing and doing jigs while they count their stupid gold coins, making it rain, and popping their collars.

Last night, I dreamed of Edward's peen running through fields of green with me by his side.

A little strange, but I'll take it.

I glance at the clock and notice I have two hours before I meet Lauren. Suddenly, my throat closes up like a vampire needing blood and I need a coffee from my favorite coffee shop badly.

So, I jump in the shower, quickly scrubbing the sweat and grime off me from my night of being Billy Idol and dancing with myself.

The warm water feels fantastic running down my back, and I think back to the coffee that my body is craving. So, I go at myself like a wild banshee, scrubbing here and there. When I pass over a certain place that no longer feels tender, I whimper because the memory and proof that Edward was there is fading away. I push those thoughts aside because there is no use in crying over spilled milk that was never really spilled.

I finish up quickly, stepping out of the shower and drying off. Slipping on the basic jeans and T-shirt that has been my Sunday go-to gear for years now, because there is nobody that's worth me getting dressed up over, I throw my hair up, still wet. Looking in the mirror, I can still see the presence of what has transpired this weekend in my features. I'm happy and alive, even though my fun with Edward was short lived.

Grabbing my keys and stepping out of my apartment, I'm ready to start a new day. I just hope come Monday there are no awkward remnants of the past weekend romp between Edward and me. That would make for a horrible work environment if you ask me. I'm pretty sure that I'm going to remember him taking me to funky town, no matter how you look at it.

Quickly locking my apartment, I send a message to Lauren as I push through the door that leads to the stairway. I jog down them–thankfully there are only three flights–as I shove my way to the outside world. It's different from the last time I stood in this very spot. It was here that Edward pushed me up against the door and kissed me relentlessly. It was this very spot where I asked him if he wanted to come up to my apartment and not for coffee.

I smile at the thought as I make a left towards Athena's.

Four blocks later and I'm standing in front of my favorite Greek place. Opa!

I can feel my mouth water at the thought of being a mere ten steps away from pita goodness. The smells that are radiating from inside the door are delicious when people open it to keep about their day. I decide to wait, and pull out my phone again to see if Lauren has texted me letting me know she's inside or on her way.

When I look down at my phone, it's blank. Nothing. Nada. No words back from my best friend for life, or as I like to call her, my B.F.F.L. All in all, this is quite strange behavior. I wonder if she's evaluated herself lately. She knows that I can't stand tardiness. It's my pet peeve.

I send another text quickly to her.

I'm at Athena's, where r u? – B

A few minutes and a non-reply later, I send another one as I pull open the door and decide to grab a table. My phone alerts me of a message and I thank God right now because eating alone is harsh and how dare she ditch me?

I just woke up, Bella. What r u talking about? – El

We have a lunch date. Don't you remember last night? – B

Yeah, I remember you completely blew me off after I asked you to gimmie the good shit. I thought I pissed you off for some reason or did you pass out from the wine intake? – El

What do you mean I blew you off? I did no such thing! – B

My fingers fly over the small screen a mile a minute. I mean, does she really think we didn't have a convo via letters last night? I'm for sure that it was her on the other end of said messages. I must inspector gadget this, because I know I was trashed, but I know I wasn't having a one-way message session with myself.

Yes you did woman! Read your shit, scroll up, do whatever you need to do. You stopped talking to me. – El

Fine, I'll look but you need to get your ass to Athena's. I refuse to eat alone. – B

I scroll upwards to find that Lauren is indeed right; I stopped messaging her after she asked for the details.

I feel my face heat up and my heart is hammering in my chest at the thought of who could have been on the other end of said messages. I turn to sit down in the waiting area as I push the back button, and pull up my messages.

"Oh no," I whisper out when I see the list of said people who I've messaged in the past.

"No, no, no, no!" I shake my head back and forth as my thumb hovers over the name of the one person who has been in my head all weekend.


When I press down on the name, a slew of shit pops up. I tap on the top of my phone and it lists out the whole conversation that we had last night, as well as the night prior. There it is, in black and white; instead of messaging Elvira, I was messaging Edward.

The double ding.

The simultaneous messages.

The nerdy questions.

It's all right there in front of my squeaky eyeballs and I was too dumb and drunk to notice.

"What have I done?" I slide my thumb up a little, reading our encounter over and over again.

The Oscar Mayer wiener song.

Bronco riding.

John Cougar.

Greek/Irish innuendo.

And finally, the xoxo.

I wonder if I can just gracefully stand up and beat feet the fuck outta dodge and never look back. I am so embarrassed that I feel my face blazing, my breathing is unsteady, and my body is a quivering mess.

I analyze the situation before me, finally removing my head from my hands as I stand up, and stretch my shoulders back, ready to take this like a champ.

Move over Muhammad Ali, because my life is about to fly like a butterfly and sting like a bee. He probably thinks I'm bat shit crazy and I have to bite the damn bullet like Dirty Harry on a good day.

The place is small, so when I look over my surroundings, it's quite easy to spot him sitting at a table, tapping away on his phone. Just as I start to make my way over to him, my phone buzzes in my hand.

I look down and frown because he's probably doing this out of pity for the girl that had her heart set on him and he feels bad for using her lady bits.

I'm here, are you coming? – E

I'm here, look up. – B

I quickly hit send, sliding my phone in my back pocket, my eyes locked on his. When I see him get the reply, I can't help but look down at my shoes as my fingers dig into my palms. I can't see the regret in his eyes. I refuse to.

All of a sudden I feel fingers being place under my chin, pushing it upwards. My eyes move on their own accord to find Edward looking at me, his features relaxed and happy.

"Hey," he greets me.

"Hi." My voice is laced with embarrassment still.

But, those thoughts are cut off when he gently places his lips on mine and all too quickly removes them.

"Let's sit down." He grabs my hand and pulls me to the table, pulling out a chair for me.

Before he can sit down, I open my mouth and word vomit oozes out. "Listen, Edward. I had no idea it was you on the receiving end of the messages last night. I'm so sorry. I feel like such a dumbass. I should have realized it was you and not Lauren. I have since changed her name in my phone from Elvira to Lauren so the mix-up won't happen again." I take a breath and look at him, sitting across from me now.

I notice him licking his lips and I'm taken back to Friday night remembering him licking them after he Mary Tyler Moore'd me downtown. My thighs clench remembering those wet lips on my pussy, eating as if it was his last meal on death row. I wonder if an inmate has ever requested "pussy" as their last meal.

"Bella, listen it's fine." His fingers graze my hand and I whimper when I look down.

I remember those bastards in me, milking me for everything I had. His words telling me to come on his fingers hard, and to let go as he played me like a fiddle. He freaking showed Charlie Daniels up. Then, said fingers being licked and sucked by that mouth, tasting my cum on them like a fucking blow pop.

"No, I am so embarrassed, Edward." I shake my head, trying to get my words back under control as my memories threaten to get away from me.

"Bella, stop. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner that it was me and I shouldn't have played along in the conversation. I should have told you right away that I wasn't Lauren, but it was cute." He shrugs as he stands and pulls off his jacket. It shows the sliver of skin right above his jeans. I think back to licking that particular patch of skin before I sucked him like an Oreck that never loses suction. I recall the noises and moans he made as I took my tongue and ran it on the underside of his covered wagon.

Yes, people, it's uncut and this chica likes it. It's like a prairie dog popping his head in and out of the hole, looking and searching for danger.

"Well, in my drunken stupor, you know how I feel about you now. I just hope our roll in the hay isn't going to make work awkward and stuff, because I don't think I could handle that." I cringe because I feel the rejection coming.

"I like you too, Bella. I have for a while. I was just too chicken shit to say anything." When I look up I see amusement dancing over his face.

I think back and remember that look. It was there when I told him to play my pussy like Slash at a rock concert. It was also there when I started singing Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah when his cock slid into me, stretching me, and my sister friend was grabbing onto him for dear life like Rose and Jack from Titanic. Bitch refused to let go every time he pulled out only to push back in again.

I blow out a breath, feeling color come back to my face. "Okay …"

Wow, Bella! Way to be use the English language to your advantage.

"Okay." He laughs and reaches across the table, playing with my fingers.

I buck up and ask the question that I need answered. I hate open ended situations. I dislike presents because I hate waiting and not knowing what's in those damn boxes.

"So, where do we go from here? I mean … is this something you want to explore … with me?" I ask him, because I really want to be Pocahontas to his John Smith.

Bring on the muskets and loin cloths.

"More than anything." He smiles, looking into my eyes and I nod.

"Double dings," I blurt out and he quirks an eyebrow at me, so I continue. "Last night, my phone double dinged–two incoming messages coming through at the same time. That's how it happened." I shrug.

He then smiles at me and picks up his glass. "Well, here's to the joy of double dings."

I pick up my glass and clink it to his. "To double dings."


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