Only the plot belongs to me.

Beta'd by Breath-of-twilight. She's lovely. Go read her stories, and love her like I do.

I woke up on the 25th hungover and in pain. With my eyes closed, I tried to figure out what exactly hurt. Strangely enough, most of my pain seemed to be originating from my crotch. I felt like I had jacked off continuously for three hours with sandpaper. My balls were sore, and my inner thighs were itchy.

My reaction was that of any man who is hungover and finds his genitals sore and / or itchy.

I sat bolt upright in bed and screamed out to no one in particular, "Holy shit. Did I fuck a hooker?"

I was about to lift the sheet, very slowly, off of my body to check the damage when I felt the bed shift next to me. It was then that I realized I wasn't even in my bed, but in one that clearly belonged to a woman. Pale purple sheets, an abundance of pillows with matching cases, and no dirty clothes on the floor surrounding the bed.

I closed my eyes and gave myself a mental pep-talk. Okay, Edward. Even if she is hideous, you were drunk, so it doesn't really count. You know, like Emmett says.

When I realized I was actually quoting Emmett in an attempt to make a situation better, I tried to physically shake the thought from my head. I treated the situation like a Band-Aid; I turned my head fast to get the pain over with as quickly as possible.

When I saw who was lying next to me, I almost fell off of the bed. It wasn't a hideous woman. It was two incredibly hot women. I'm talking women so attractive that it took me a minute to notice the makeup smears and insane sex hair. But, they were hot, so I guess the crazy-bad sex hair was still hot… I was hungover, and confused. I wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders that morning.

I rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands, telling myself that if when I opened them again there were still two hot women next to me, that I was a god.

I opened my eyes.

Ladies and Gentleman, I am a god.

Just for good measure, I picked my glasses up off of the nightstand and put them on. Maybe, somehow, without them on I had missed something and they were just hideous. Thankfully, after putting them on, I realized they were both still beautiful.

I looked at the girl closest to me first. She was on her back, with the sheet pulled up to her belly button and her fantastic chest on display. Seriously, her nipples could make a grown man cry. She was pale and slim and looked fragile, but in an attractive way instead of a helpless way. Her long, dark brown hair was in a borderline afro around her head, and she had streaks of black eye makeup around her eyes, and one long one down her cheek. She had just a smudge of lipstick on her plump bottom lip, which I was almost tempted to lick off, but decided against it. With my luck, I climbed into this bed last night uninvited after these women passed out.

Where was I again?

Back to hot lady number two. This one was Victoria's Secret hot, unlike the girl next to me who was American Apparel hot. Again, not many of the thoughts going through my head that morning were making a lot of sense. The second girl was blonde, big breasted and even sleeping looked like a bitch. This somehow made her only more attractive. She had less makeup disasters on her face than the other girl, but when you factored in the mess of tangles in her hair they were equally fucked.

I took a moment to laugh and quietly hope that they were equally fucked by me.

Blondie moaned / grunted in her sleep (Do sexy women grunt? I'm not really sure.) and rolled over, putting a leg and an arm on the pale one. I stared slack-jawed for a minute, because seriously, how could I not?

When I came back to reality, I grabbed my phone off of the nightstand, thankful that I hadn't broken it like I normally do when I get that drunk, and took a picture of the two of them. Like the gentleman I am, I avoided getting any of the no-no spots in the photo. I attached the picture in a text to my brother, Emmett, who I was relatively sure I had been with the night before.

Em – recognize either of them? Just woke up next to this.

After I sent the message, I took a picture that showed everything, and made sure to save it for myself. If you judge me for that you are inhuman.

Emmett's response was almost immediate, which led me to believe his evening didn't go quite as well as mine. That is, until I opened the message.

A very tiny girl with spiky black hair and perfect makeup lay asleep, cuddling a bottle of Jack Daniels.

They look familiar but dunno where from. U kno this girl? We r both fully clothed, but I dunno if we had sex. That blonde chick is fuckin hot. I can't believe u scored 2 birds. I think we r in the same house. Going down for coffee, meet u there.

I was loathe to leave the bed, but realized going to find Emmett was probably the best route to take in that situation. That, and I needed to remind him that I was not his ridiculous, Ebonics speaking ex-girlfriend.

As I searched the room for my clothes and dressed, bits and pieces of the evening came back to me; foggy and disconnected, the pieces I remembered didn't tell me much.

A flash of Blondie and the pale one kissing, drunk enough to not be bothered by their clumsiness. Blondie licking the other one's nipple, me explaining to the pale one (who clearly was my favorite of the evening) how the smell of her hair reminded me of summer, me almost crying with joy when my favorite pulled Blondie's head back by her hair away from my cock so she could take over.

I snuck out of the door as quietly as possible while still buckling my belt, and headed toward the stairs to my left. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the sound of dishes crashing from downstairs. Clearly, Emmett was there.

I stumbled through the living room, and then further back into the house toward the noises where I assumed the kitchen would be. I found Emmett with his back to me, pouring himself a cup of coffee. In his underwear. In some strange person's house. The kid had no shame.

"Morning," he mumbled without turning around. He grabbed a mug from the row of shelving above the sink and put it next to the coffee maker for me. I poured a cup, downed it, and then poured another before sitting at the small table against the opposite wall of the kitchen. When Emmett turned around, I saw that he had made himself some sort of sandwich filled with bacon, onion, cold cuts, cheese, lasagna noodles, a cookie, and many other unidentifiable layers between two halves of a bagel.

"What the fuck is that?" I pointed to the monstrosity as he poured Cholula sauce into a bowl, and then proceeded to dip the sandwich into it before taking a bite. I wanted to throw up.

"Mmm," he mumbled around the large bite of food. "Hangover cure. Shit'll fix anything. Want a bite?" He dipped the sandwich again, and held it out in offering to me. I shook my head 'no' and continued to drink my coffee.

"So, what happened last night? I remember dinner at Mom and Dad's. I remember what's her face dumping you." I paused, because he looked genuinely upset. "I'm sorry. But, seriously, Em. You two were not going to work out… ever. Do you realize how dumb you sounded every time you spoke to her? You were spouting off more Ebonics than Next Friday. It was sad, really…"

"Anyway," he interrupted me as he took another large bite and sat his insta-heart attack on his plate. "After dinner, you, me and Pops had some tequila that Carmen sent from Mexico. You got pretty saucy and grabbed a cab to that bar on 7th. You know, the one with the cowboy theme? You said it would help me get over my… crap. What did you call her? My 'wiggin wigger hoe of an ex' I believe." He shot me a shit-eating grin before picking his sandwich back up.

"So, we get to the bar, where you insisted on buying a round for everyone, by the way." He held up one finger as he took a bite of his "breakfast."

"For the record," he spoke around his food, with what appeared to be a bit of Nutella stuck to his lip. God, I hoped it was Nutella. "I really, really want to be there when you get your next bank statement. That moment is going to be fantastic. Anyway," he waved his arm a bit, getting himself back on track. "Last thing I remember was you thinking 20 year old scotch was a good idea… and my thinking that flirting with the bartender, who was a guy, would get us free drinks. Which it did. Until he realized I wasn't gay, because I was making out with Alice."

I had no idea how to even respond to that. I stared at my brother and wondered how there was any possibility we shared the same genes.

"Right! Alice, that's the girl who was cuddling with Jack. I don't remember much about her, other than she is fuckin' weird, bro. Fuckin' weird…"

"Emmett, how did I wake up in bed with two women I don't remember? I am starting to remember doing things with them that are probably illegal in most states, but I don't even know their names."

While Emmett looked thoughtful and chewed, I tried to piece together what I remembered. More was coming back to me, but it was still just as disjointed as the rest. I remembered my favorite licking my chest while Blondie gave my balls more attention than they thought was possible, during which I muttered "fuck, Bella." Sadly, since both of them were doing something that felt great, that didn't give me a heads up as to which one of them was Bella.

Somehow, watching Emmett eat made me hungry, so I got up and scrambled myself some eggs. Just as I was dumping an obscene amount of hot sauce into the pan with the eggs and cheese, the night before came flooding back, quickly and without mercy.

Note to self: scrambling eggs brings back drunken black-out memories.

-x-x-x-

I got a scotch, and seeing Blondie on the way back to Emmett and my table I was just drunk enough to think I had a chance, so I hit on her…

I stood in front of her and gave her what I probably thought was a sexy smirk. She rolled her eyes at me and looked at her watch.

"I'm feeling generous," she told me. "It's 9:43. I will give you until 9:45 to impress me." I was about to open my mouth, but she stopped me. "For the record, it's only because I like your hair, and your fly is down so I feel a little bad. Go."

"Gee, Blondie. No pressure or anything." I tried to zip my fly without spilling my drink. She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, let's play a game," I said. Blondie begrudgingly nodded a yes, but looked unimpressed and checked her watch.

"If I can figure out, without touching you, if you have g-spot orgasms, you don't tell me to fuck off." I looked at her with a dead-serious face and waited for an honest answer. Sure, I knew the answer to the question, but in hindsight it was creepy and weird.

Blondie looked at me strangely but nodded her head again.

"Before I get into it, I feel like we should get introductions out of the way. I'm Edward." I held out my hand for her to shake, and she surprisingly shook it back.

"Rosalie. Get on with it."

"Rosalie, I can assure you, you do not have orgasms from penetration. You walk with your legs so close together, and so stiffly, that my guess would be you have never had one. I would also assume that you haven't had sex in a long time, but that's just because you have literally made zero eye contact with any man in this bar, including me."

Rosalie stared at me blankly for a moment. Then a very wide range of emotions crossed her face; first surprise, then offensiveness, then anger, then finally she seemed impressed.

"You're kind of a dick, but I like you. Come on, dweeb."

She turned on her heel and walked toward the back, and I immediately followed. Who was I to question? She was hot, and I was a dork. I pushed my glasses up my nose and silently followed behind her.

We soon approached her table, in the tacky bar, where her two friends were talking to each other loudly in matching white cowboy hats. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn't. One of Rosalie's friends was so beautiful that I had to quickly sit down to hide my erection. Her dark hair fell down her shoulders in lazy waves, and her brown eyes immediately fucked me the moment I walked up. True, it could have been the alcohol talking, but I really thought that was happening. I wanted her in the worst way.

"Okay, everyone," Rosalie interrupted the conversation they were having which seemed to be about Bradley Cooper. I wasn't sure, and was hoping I was wrong, because that guy was a lot better looking than me. "This is Edward. He's kind of a smartass, but he's nice; and he offered to buy us a round!"

She gave me a pointed look, which I didn't even bother trying to ignore. I wasn't stupid. I buy her and her friends a round of drinks, she lets me stay at their table. To be honest, it wasn't a bad deal. I adjusted myself and stood.

"What would you like, ladies?" I addressed the question directly at the pretty one, while trying not to look like I was moments away from humping her leg. When the other girl, who was freakishly short, gave me a look I thought I was made. But the hot one gave me a look that said she appreciated it.

"Hi, Edward. I'm Bella." She gave me a toothy smile and handed me her glass. "I'd like an 18 year scotch, three fingers, neat. If they have Johnny gold, I would prefer that. If not, anything 18 or older would be great." I fell immediately in love; she immediately ignored me and went back to talking to the girl with the short black hair. I made a promise to myself to find an in. I was going to do it, damnit.

After several glasses of scotch, and the short haired girl (Alice) going off with Emmett to talk about the benefits of IPAs versus Stouts, it was just me, Bella, and Rosalie.

"I'm telling you, B," Rosalie slurred as she waved down the bartender for another round. "No woman in this day and age finds anything wrong with masturbation. Seriously. There is nothing better than being by yourself and being happy. Tell her, Edward. You knew it about me, like, 30 seconds after we met."

Rosalie was looking at me for help, and Bella was looking at me like she wanted the conversation to end several minutes ago. I went with Rosalie, obviously, because I wanted to hear Bella talk about masturbation. I couldn't help it. It was magnificently hot. Bella didn't seem to follow the… exact same frame of mind.

"So, Edward," Bella said to break the silence. "What do you watch when you masturbate." She gave me a look that could best be described as "man-eater." She looked pissed, and offended, and maybe even a little bit sad.

"Actually," I stopped speaking, because I realized what I was about to say was going to sound like I was lying, or a saddo.

"Well…" she slurred, making a 'continue' gesture with her hand before guzzling down the rest of her scotch.

"I don't watch anything. I just sort of… imagine the perfect woman, I guess. You know, funny, smart. She's usually kissing my neck and telling me she loves me. She doesn't really have a face yet, but…"

Rosalie laughed hysterically. Bella looked at me like I had just simultaneously killed a unicorn and resurrected Christ. I had no idea if that was a great thing or a horrible thing.

A few hours later, Rosalie and Bella ushered me into the apartment they shared together. At the time, I was obviously expecting massive amounts of sex, but when they immediately rushed me into their kitchen for Baked Ziti leftovers, I accepted the fact that nothing sexual would happen between us.

Boy, was I the best kind of wrong ever.

After we ate, Bella dragged Rosalie and me up to her bedroom to 'talk.' We got to her room, and she immediately stripped. I mean right down to the underwear. One look at Bella in her bra and panties and I was a mess.

I stood slack-jawed while Rosalie pounced on Bella. In three seconds flat she had Bella beneath her on the bed and was kissing her everywhere she could get her mouth. I was afraid they would stop, so I stood silently and watched. I was too in love with the view to realize how creepy I probably looked, cowering in the corner and watching two girls getting it on.

Bella was pulling Rosalie's dress off, which was surprisingly the only clothing she was wearing. In the back of my mind I remember thinking that a woman who didn't wear underwear probably couldn't be trusted. It was a fleeting thought.

"Edward, are you just going to stand there?" Bella asked me as Rosalie kissed a trail between her breasts.

Don't have to tell me twice.

I nearly tripped as I tried to undress and walk at the same time (scotch'll do that to you), and then slowly sat down on the edge of the bed in my boxers. I had no idea how to proceed. I'd never been in a situation like that before; I didn't know the rules, and I definitely didn't have enough experience to please two women at once. I was smart man, not a magician.

Thankfully, Bella picked up on it and crawled her way over to me. She straddled my lap, and then proceeded to give me the most amazing kiss of my life. I was so in love with the way she tasted, and smelled, and the way she was nibbling on my lip that I didn't notice Rosalie behind me until she started to kiss the back of my neck.

After that, everything sort of became a blur. Rosalie removing my boxers, Bella giving me the best blow job in the world, Rosalie sitting on my face while Bella used some strange strawberry flavored lubricant on me. I was on sensory overload. Rosalie didn't taste quite as good as Bella, but feeling Bella surround me and knowing I was the one making both of them make those noises was the best ego boost imaginable.

Unfortunately, that was where my memory stopped. Just blank. Nothing.

"Dude," Emmett threw a piece of bacon at my head. "What the hell? Where did you just go?"

"I was just remembering some of last night. What am I supposed to do? Do I wait for them to get up? Do I leave?" I itched my balls for the thousandth time, making a mental note to never use any flavored lubes again. It's just not worth the morning after.

"I don't know, man." I took a bite of my eggs, and Emmett reached over to grab a handful of them and shove them in his mouth. I often wondered what lucky event occurred in my life to make me turn out nothing like him.

We waited in the kitchen for another half hour or so before deciding to leave. I was just looking around for a pen and paper to leave Bella a note when she came down the stairs in pajamas covered in pictures of penguins. The difference between last night and this morning was drastic, but favorable.

"Hey," she said and blushed a little. "Emmett, Rosalie wanted me to give you this," she handed him a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

"Sweet, thanks. I'll meet you outside, bro." He gave me a half wave and walked out as he dialed her number. Patience wasn't exactly one of Emmett's strong suits.

"I wanted to say thanks for last night. I had a lot of fun." She sort of shuffled around as she spoke, clearly uncomfortable. It was cute.

"I was-"

"Could I-"

We laughed and a bit of the tension broke.

"Could I call you sometime, maybe? You know, go on a real date. Just the two of us, I mean. And maybe sober."

"Yeah, I'd like that." She handed me a paper with her number already written on it. "I was kind of hoping you would ask."

I leaned down and gave her a kiss, then tamed her hair a bit.

"You should probably throw out that lube, by the way. It did a number on my balls. That stuff is evil."

Bella let out an uproarious laugh and covered her face with her hands.

"It was a gag gift from Rosalie, and I was drunk, and it seemed like a really good idea at the time… I'm going to go take a shower, though. I smell like strawberries. And shame."

The girl I imagined finally had a face.

Ever had to piece together a night based on the morning after? Mine involved stolen salt and pepper shakers from a restaurant, an expired grape flavored condom (thank God unused), and two different high heels on my feet... when I'd left the house in sneakers.

What about you?