AN: Hi there!

First off, thank you for having a look at my little story. Hopefully one or two of you will like it.

Huge thanks to Fitcherella for talking me into this.

The title is a nod to Bret Easton Ellis. The stories have nothing in common, though. If I had that kind of talent, I wouldn't be nervous about posting this.

Disclaimer: DON'T make this a drinking game by taking a shot every time there's a How I met your mother reference, unless you like alcohol poisoning. In other news, I don't own Skins.

One – business as usual

"Same procedure as last night?"

"Same procedure as every night, Naomikins!"

I knocked back the shot Cook had brought over, winced at the burn in my throat and took a deep breath. Operation redhead at the counter is a go.

Making my way over in her general direction I made sure I wasn't walking straight towards her, so she wouldn't notice my approach out of the corner of her eye, and kept my eyes trained on Carl the barman who had witnessed Cook and mine shenanigans often enough to basically be the third member of our invincible team.

I stopped at the bar stool right next to hers making our sudden proximity seem coincidental.

"Hey Carl, two beers -"

"You'll wanna make that one, save the money." A husky voice to my right interrupted. "Because I'm sure as hell not gonna fall for one of your routines."

Dumbfounded by the boldness, I turned around to look at my target for the first time. Cook had checked her out when he got the shots and held up nine fingers as he was walking towards me indicating his rating for her looks.

At first sight, I'd agree with Cook's assessment. Definitely a nine. With potential for more if she lost the sceptical expression and conservative clothing. Hell, I'd even help her with the latter.

"Routines?" So it seems my stupid brain decided playing clueless was a smart idea. Must be the shots talking.

The redhead scoffed. "I'll make this easier for both of us and be honest with you: "I know."

"Know what?" Eloquent, Naomi. Smart, funny, all the things the ladies dig.

"Let's not pretend your friend over there…" she pointed at a spot behind me where Cook must be sitting, "didn't just come up to the counter to check me out so you'd be sure not to waste your precious time on a five when you accidentally" Air quotes. She made air quotes. "bump into my back and start chatting me up."

By now, I'd gathered a bit of my wits back. "Ok, say that's true. What would an expert – you apparently are one – suggest I do now?" That was the cleverest I could come up with. Not my brightest moment.

"I was actually looking forward to seeing that for myself." She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'd probably try to talk to you anyway. Innocently, you know. Sneak my way into your good books." I made a snake-movement with my hand. Who the fuck does that?

"Interesting. But you're not gonna succeed."

"See? You're already interested!" I exclaimed with exaggerated enthusiasm she chuckled at. "Aaand I made you laugh. Already halfway there. What makes you so sure you can resist this?" Cockiness. Fool proof.

"Remind me to take a cab when I leave, if I'm drunk enough to talk to you I can't possibly be ok to drive." Her smile told me she was more than ok talking with me. "And don't get your hopes up, I'm not gay."

"Neither is my friend. And our apartment is right upstairs." I playfully wiggled my eyebrows while pointing towards the ceiling.

Sometimes the goofy approach was a good last resort, this time though; something told me there was more to this girl than she let on. Admittedly, she was most likely serious. I wouldn't end up in bed with her tonight. And neither would Cook. Ruling out both possibilities this early-on was definitely a first.

"You can't seriously think that I'd–" Indignation written all over her face and body.

"Calm down, I'm kidding." I placed my hand on her forearm leaning on the countertop to reassure her. But something made me instantly break the contact and put up my arms in mock surrender.

"Truce, ok? I won't try anything."

"Fair enough. But the first sign of bullshit and I'm out. Deal?" Fierce. I've always had a soft spot for the fierce ones.

"Deal."

"If I hadn't interrupted you, what would you have done?"

"I can't tell you. Rule number ten."

"You got rules? How old-fashioned is that?" She seemed genuinely incredulous at my admission, scrunching up her face considering whether or not I was joking about the rules.

I never joke about the rules. And no, not because there's a no-kidding-about-the-rules-rule. "Maybe a drink will loosen your tongue. Carl, was it? Let's have those beers."

The barman had been standing within earshot polishing glasses pretending not to listen in on us. Bullshit. Carl never polishes glasses. Judging by the record time in which the two bottles were placed in front of us, he couldn't possibly have been as absent-minded as he appeared. Suspicion confirmed.

That was the first time I let a girl buy me a drink.

Either the late hour or my drunken brain is to blame for me suggesting toasting "To new experiences!"

Because meeting this girl (I hadn't even asked her name. How could I not know her name yet? Rookie mistake) was definitely a new experience. I decided to rectify my lack of knowledge immediately.

"I'm Naomi by the way."

"Hi Naomi. I'd say nice to meet you, but…"

"And your name is?"

"A secret."

"Hi A secret! The A stand's for Angela?"

"Really? Dad jokes? Tell you what, if I tell you my name now you'll have forgotten it in ten minutes. So I won't."

"You don't want me to forget your name? Definitely interested." I made sure to let my tone of voice show I wasn't serious. This girl simply seemed fun to be with. Straight or not.

"It's too awesome to be forgotten as a random bar flirt. A failed one, I might add."

"Hey! Forgot about the truce?"

We continued to talk without any flirting for the duration of two more beers when Carl's voice startled me as it droned through the entire bar "LAST CALL!"

"You know, I actually do live above this bar." I broke the silence we'd fallen into from the animated conversation we'd had.

"And I'm drunk enough to come with you. No shenanigans though, right?" She slurred the word shenanigans. It was cute. Nothing sexual. But it made me smile.

"You have my word of honour."

As we entered the living room, I offered her a beer which she refused telling me she needed to sober up. We sat down on the sofa with her glances roaming our surroundings.

"Tell me all about your games, the stuff you and your friend get up to." For some reason I trusted her enough to do just that. Rule number ten was out the window.

Knowing this was a long story I took a deep breath before I started.

"Don't ask me how Cook and I met. The night isn't long enough for that story. To try and cut it short: He tried to bang me, actually became kind of obsessed with the idea and we became mates in the process of me rejecting him on a daily basis. Finally, he accepted the fact that I don't do cock and mates became wingmen. Or wingwoman and wingman if that sits more comfortable with a little feminist like you."

"What makes you think I'm a little feminist?"

"You're like 5 feet!" I snorted. Her face told me she didn't share my amusement.

"Oh, you mean the feminist part? It's written all over you, the business suit, the attitude, your uncontained disdain for my 'games'," Since when did I use air quotes? "paired with a bit of admiration."

"So now I admire you for being a player?"

"Not necessarily. But you like it that a woman is the one in control, turning the cliché upside down. You just hate it that my targets are women as well. If I slept with men, you'd be ecstatic. And for the record: Only losers call themselves players."

"Noted. On with the story then." She leaned back on the sofa with the tea I'd made her instead of a beer.

"Cook and I, we always watch out for each other – whether it is about making sure the other got home safe after one too many shots or doesn't go home with a five. Which for the record is not a danger I deal with. You might hate me for saying this, but we can be picky. It's too easy. Textbook."

"Please tell me you don't have a textbook?"

"No" I laughed "Just the rules." I smiled at, trying to make her wonder whether or not there actually were rules.

"How do you decide who gets which victim? Or do you share?"

"First of all, they're not victims, we're way too awesome for that. And sharing might be Cook's ultimate fantasy but he'll have to fulfil that with someone other than me. No thanks.

After long and sometimes painful years of training with me, Cook now has a pretty accurate gaydar and therefore we can take turns on who checks out the sexual orientation of a girl before we decide who should approach her."

I took a sip of my beer to let that sink in.

"On the rare occasions that we were mistaken, though, we manage to successfully transfer their attention, so to speak."

"I don't believe you guys." She shook her head chuckling.

"Still here you are, on our couch, fully knowing that Cook is off with a girl he had to score on his own – which will get me a free ticket for a right bickering about neglecting rule number one at our breakfast debrief – listening to me tell you about the abysmal atrocities I get up to."

"Don't exaggerate." God, her smile was beautiful.

"Listen, everything we do is completely consensual and between adults. We don't drug girls or do anything with them when they're too off their face drunk. At least I don't, can't vouch for Cook when he's on the prey."

"Why is it important to you what I think?"

"Maybe for the same reason you are still here."

"I should leave." Her suddenly getting up startled me.

"You can't drive home now. You're too drunk."

"You think so?" Her raised eyebrows were challenging me as she stood at the opened front door.

"Pretty sure you said so yourself when we left the bar." Her smirk was a forewarning.

"Well, either your stories are really sobering or I made a deal with Carl to only give me nonalcoholic beer tonight." The self-satisfaction evident on her face, she extended her right arm and bend her elbow quickly to make her index finger land on the tip of her nose.

"You fooled me." I stated dumbfounded.

"Oh please tell me, how does that feel?" And the little minx was gone.

Two – Puzzles

I woke up exhausted the next day to an incessant banging on the door. I don't usually get hangovers, so it was a riddle to me why my head was feeling as if it had been run over by a bulldozer. Definitely in no state to attend to the cause of the knocking, I opted to ignore it, whoever that was would just have to go fuck themselves.

"Forgot my keys, so open the fookin' door already!" Cook bellowed loud enough to wake half the building so I reluctantly crawled out of bed to let him in.

"For fuck's sakes, it's too early for this bullshit."

"I'm so very happy to see ya too, Naomikins!" His bright smile betrayed the sarcasm in his tone. "And by the way, it's four p.m. and you know what that means."

"Debrief time" I sighed tiredly. Had I really slept that long? Then why was I so tired?

"DEBRIEF TIME!" he exclaimed too loudly and enthusiastically for my taste.

We sat down on the sofa, me wrapping myself in my duvet that I'd brought with me from my bedroom as Cook unpacked a full English breakfast he'd obviously gotten from our favourite diner that thankfully served breakfast until six.

"So, you're not mad at me about something to do with the number one?" I asked sheepishly while

rubbing my temple and digging into the toast and baked beans, the best cure for a hangover as Cook had assured me.

"How could I after the night I had? You're forgiven, Blondie." He slung his arm around me and patted my shoulder.

Cook proceeded to tell me about the "fit bird" he'd gone home with and how she was the shag of the year, even though it was still a bit early to tell. I didn't really pay much attention thanks to the heaviness in my head.

A heaviness that didn't go away for the entire next week up until the point where I found myself sitting with Cook in our usual spot at the usual time doing what we usually did on a Friday night.

Only moments after our arrival Carl had come over to our table and put an empty beer bottle before me. "Almost forgot, Naomi, you got mail."

"Cheers Carl, now you're too lazy to take out your trash on your own."

"Believe me or not, but judging by who told me to give this to you I wouldn't throw it away. It's not empty, you see."

Indeed, there was a small zip lock bag in the bottle that looked like it contained a note. It took me a moment until I suddenly had an idea of who the sender of this peculiar message might be.

"Did a tiny redhead give this to you? The one from last Saturday?" I asked Carl.

"Nope. Haven't seen her since. And I would have noticed someone this hot. I definitely wouldn't kick her out of bed." The barman announced while leaving our table.

"A message in a fookin' bottle? What kind of bullshit is this? And how are we supposed to get the bag out?" He shook the bottle to try and get the bag out but it always got stuck at the bottom of the bottle neck. Thankfully, whoever prepared the bottle seemed to have washed it out, otherwise Cook would have been soiling the tabletop with beer residue.

"Beats me. Business as usual?"

"Brunette with the grey dress that just walked in?" I strained my neck to get a better view of the entrance. "Looks like a case for the Cookie monster!"

"Have fun, Cookie!" I called after him as he was already approaching the counter.

5 minutes later my best mate came back to the table with wet hair reeking of rum.

"What went wrong?" I threw away a slice of lime that had been stuck to his forehead.

He sheepishly touched his neck. "Reckon I should have waited a minute before suggesting a threesome."

"What is it with you and threesomes?" I shook my head in disbelief of Cook's bluntness. To be fair, it did work in his favour more often than you'd think.

While Cook headed back to the flat to freshen up and change his shirt at my insistence quoting of rule number two, I found myself absent-mindedly playing with the label of the mysterious beer bottle when it suddenly hit me. I went up to the bar and asked Carl if by any chance he had a balloon somewhere.

"Because I'm always prepared for an impromptu 5th-birthday-party?" he scoffed. "The closest we got are the condoms from the vending machine in the men's loo."

"Damn it. By the way, you better make sure there are condoms available for women as well by next week if you don't wanna lose my good business."

"You mean your snatching away the hottest girls before they can actually be good for business. Aye aye, misses!" Carl mock saluted.

Just after I arrived at our table, Cook came back as well.

"Ah good, there you are. Cook, I need condoms."

"Missed me that much, Blondie? Actually, I just ran out. But you and I can just go back upstairs. Got some there. And a bed to do the deed on." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Not even if I had a gun pointed to my head. Look, just go to the loo and buy one, will you?" Thankfully, he did so without asking any further questions.

"The lengths I go to out of curiosity" I muttered to myself as I unwrapped the condom and carefully lowered everything but the opening into the bottle. Then I tilted the bottle and inflated it, thereby trapping the bag and carefully inching it out of the bottle.

"Fookin' brilliant, Naomikins!" Cook exclaimed once I had freed the bag. "I'ma get us some shots to celebrate!"

"And take this with you!" I pointed at the now empty bottle.

My first impression had been right. The bag did contain a note. Only it wasn't a usual one. Not a squared piece of paper with more or less legible words on it.

It was a very slim, long slip of paper, carefully folded together with single capital letters and some numbers on it. Do I look like someone who likes to play code breaker? My name's not Turing, for fuck's sake.

"So what's the secret message?" Cook asked as he returned with a tray full of shot glasses, half of which were filled with a clear liquid, the other with an amber liquid.

"Damned if I know. " I held the paper up. "And I get all the vodka, no way will you get me near tequila again anytime soon."

"As you wish, princess." Cook threw back the first shot urging me with his eyes to do the same. Reluctantly, I folded the paper back together and stored it in my wallet having an inkling that this is worth figuring out.

We knocked back the rest of the shots quite quickly and decided a change of scenery would do us some good, so we headed for a club, heading straight for the bar upon arrival – the walk in the cold air thankfully had sobered us up quite a bit.

Out of nowhere Cook asked "Naomikins, you still got that note?"

"Sure. What of it?"

"Ya know, I had a thought."

"Must be a first."

"Spare me the sarcasm, Blondie, I just might solve ya lil' puzzle." he warned me in a halfway strict tone which is all Cook ever managed when drunk. "In elementary, we had this mate, you know wicked smart when it came to maths and shit, but a total mong with the ladies."

"Wow, ten-year-old Cookie wasn't above hanging with nerds?"

"Nah man, JJ was a top guy, ya know. Plus, he was no competition for the Cookie monster."

"You're hopeless."

"Shut up, ya love it! Anyways, he used to send us messages that would look like what you got there. And we'd have to wrap them around a pen and then the letters would line up but if a teacher found them they wouldn't know how to read them."

"Damn it, Cook, you're a genius! When you're not busy being a bloody idiot, that is." I took the note out of my wallet and started to wrap it around my beer bottle. But the letters didn't really line up. "I'm afraid your mate didn't come through for us this time."

He shrugged "It was worth a try. Back to business." Cook rubbed his hands together and gave me a smile that told me tonight there'd be no more distractions besides those of a female variety.

We played Have you met James? for a bit (the name Cook had a bit too much of a reputation on our home turf) and quickly found him an eight that would be sufficient for the night. Plus, she had a friend – another eight, and I'd bet anything Cook was already fantasising about scoring a sixteen tonight before she started showing obvious interest in me. Two birds, one stone.

After talking to them a bit more, Cook pulled his standard move of yawning dramatically and announcing it was time for bed. His eight instantly suggested she'd accompany him there. Cook's right, girls do like stupid. At least some did.

"Actually, how about you and I follow their example." Her friend whispered in my ear. And by whisper I mean speak at regular volume trying and failing to be subtle. Not that it mattered.

"Amy, was it?" That was why Cook and I avoided using names. Too much danger of a fuck-up.

"Ashley."

"Right, Ashley, I don't really feel like company. So how about you join these two?" I pointed at Cook and his conquest.

"Happy birthday, never think I'd forget. You got the flat to yourself 'til three." I whispered – and I mean an actual whisper – in Cook's ear before I left the club and called a cab to my Mum's place where I was always welcome no matter the hour and still had a key, not that I ever needed it. The bloody hippie didn't believe in locked doors.

The next day I made as much noise as possible before I opened my own front door at four p.m. having chosen to give Cook an extra hour to make the place somewhat presentable and chick-free again.

"Honey, I'm home!" was our trademark running gag as I entered the flat to see my best mate lounging on the sofa in nothing but a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. That was a step up from the sight I had been greeted with on the first of his birthdays I spent living with him.

Turns out, Cook had made a habit of spending his birthdays in his birthday suit. I'd managed to talk him into wearing pants with the promise of a cake. That was the first and last time I'd convinced someone to put on pants instead of taking them off.

"Mum says happy birthday by the way. She's also the one responsible for this." I placed the cake tray in front of him. "It's your favourite. Double chocolate chip cookie for the cookie monster."

"Fookin' top, man!"

"Wanna know what your gift is this year? I'll clean this mess of a place up and won't complain about what a prick you are for leaving it like that." Normally, we had a very strict clean-up-your-own-mess-agreement I had enforced two days after we'd started living together but I figured since it was his special day, I'd make an exception.

"Just what I wished for." He smiled his trademark grin.

"Mind if I start cleaning while you tell me about how the other part of your gift turned out? This place reeks!"

"Nah, ya're the best, Naomikins. Couldn't ask for a better bro."

"Cheers, Cookie!"

Halfway through collecting the empty bottles that were scattered around all available surfaces, I had an epiphany and stormed down to the bar not even bothering to tell Cook what I was up to.

"Carl, I need a bottle of non-alcoholic beer!" I yelled as soon as I'd opened the door, made a beeline for the bar and slammed a tenner on the countertop not waiting for change.

"Nice to see you, too." The barman commented as I left with my beer straight away.

Back at the flat, I put the bottle on the table before searching for the note in my wallet.

"Non-alcoholic? Ya must be shitting me! This is an abomination!"

"It's about the bottle, you thick tosser. They have a slightly different diameter than the regular ones. Maybe we were too quick to discard your mate's idea."

I wrapped the paper around the bottle and – ta-dah – the letters lined up to spell:

SUN3PME

"Where do we go from here?"

AN: If you're still there, I'd love to know whether you liked it or even if you hated it with a passion and now want your time back. So please review if you can be bothered to tell me if this is worth continuing.