(Un)Fair game
Chapter 1
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Hi folks. Yes, I've written something new, just something to take me out of writer's block I had for a while.
The story will be short and hopefully entertaining enough to make you laugh.
Posting schedule? Quite often since I have most of the story pre written.
"Dude! You'll never guess what happened to me yesterday! It was the worst day of my life!"
I roll my eyes. He was always exaggerating,that was just him. This could easily turn once more into a story about a man who stole his last burrito at work, (which believe it or not happens more often than you think) or yet another story about a hook up with a girl, only to realize in the early morning that she was ugly as fuck.
His words, not mine. Don't shoot the messenger.
Yeah, he was a douche, most of...actually, no, all the time, and yes, there would be a time in a day where I would ask myself again- why in the hell do I hang out with him again?- But, deep, deep, and I do mean very fucking deep down, he can be a good friend, and can even give a good advice or two when he's not actually thinking with his dick.
"What is it now? What happened?" I ask with a sigh, regretting this already.
"You know my famous line?"
"Which one would that be exactly? There are new ones you make up every month, and it's kind of hard to keep track of them."
"Oh come on. My latest and most effective one yet!"
I lift my eyebrow, needing him to be more specific.
"Dude! You know this..."
I sigh. "Why don't you just tell me?"
"You suck as a friend, you know?" he says, trying to scold me with his puppy dog eyes. That shit never works on me. Chicks? Sure. Me? Abso-fuckin-lutely not. Never have , never will. Emmett knows this, still, I think after all these years, he tries to make a challenge out of this, hoping to succeed. Tough luck.
"Whatever. Cut the shit and tell me already, I have work to do."
He snorts. "Yeah, sorry, but sitting all day at the desk in your own room while making up some shitty plot about bimbos who desperately want to fuck you like crazy isn't really called work."
I try not to be bothered by his mocking tone with an attempt to not roll my eyes at him for the 100th time today. Which of course, I fail.
Yes, I'm a writer. A writer that is not really payed that well. Or a very successful one. Yet.
"Hey, being a writer is not that simple. And they're not bimbos. My female characters are classy," I say, and he harrumphs, interrupting me.
Okay, so they're a little slutty.
Fine, a lot.
I'm actually writing porn- or as some people might call it fan fiction. Don't care. It's where it all started really. I was an accountant, working, or better yet slaving at a small Company, my days wasting away. It was actually one of my online friend on fan fiction who advised me to quit my miserable job and start living my life, making my so called 'life plans' come true before I end up being killed with a sliced throat somewhere, left to die in the garbage.
Yeah, the person might have been a bit too obsessed with human mortality, but still, gave quite an advice I chose to listen.
Eventually.
What I didn't know at that time is that months later, I would still struggle with getting my books published. Yes, books. Plural.
I was kind of a younger version of Edgar Allen Poe- If you don't include the parts about being a heavy drinker and a gambler.
"Just get on with it."
"You know the one with the blowjob and shit?"
"The one where you tell them with those sad puppy dog eyes how you've never had an orgasm during a blowjob?"
He grins joyfully. "Yeah. See, you actually do listen to me."
Not really.
"So...I used that on this hot chick I met last night at the bar. Tiny chick, a bit too short for me, but had an awesome pair of legs and an ass you could smack without making her break a bone in her body. And her tits...sweet baby Jesus," he says, a bit of drool appearing down his open mouth.
"TMI Emmett. Get on with it," I say, tapping my foot impatiently.
"Such a prude," he answers.
"So..." I continued, needing him get to the point.
"She was already all hot and bothered for me, ready to ride my dick when her friend cut in and asked to accompany her to the bathroom, like she couldn't just shit in peace on her own. I'll never understand that chick thing."
Easily distracted as he was, I knew he would just get into another debate, the one I had no patience to listen to today.
So to cut it short, I asked, "And?"
"It didn't fucking work! She came back after two minutes, the longest fucking two minutes in my life and just slapped me across the face and walked away. Just like that. And you know what her friend did? She winked at me. Fucking winked! Maliciously."
"And how does that look exactly?" I ask.
He just made some face expressions I would not rather explain. Five seconds of my sane life I would never get back. I might even have nightmares tonight. Yeah, no doubt about that.
I cleared my throat. "Emm," I say, slapping him on the shoulder, leaving my hand there, "You know that line was up on the internet for a while right? For the whole world to see?"
He frowned, confused momentarily. "Wait. Everyone? Even...chicks?" Emmett asks horribly, eyes wide, mouth opened.
"Yep. Some dude posted it on Texts From Last Night."
"What?! When?"
"I don't know buddy. Now, calm down," I say, knowing the panic attack might start again, giving him a paper bag.
"Take a breath big guy. Breathe. That's it."
"B-but...But...why?" he asks, whining like a little girl. "That was my most successful trick in the book. Chicks loved sucking my dick!"
More like the only trick, I meant to say, but didn't want to upset him. Seeing Emm depressed is a definite no-no. Trust me.
After taking a few deep breaths, he suddenly got up from the couch, and spoke, his voice strong and determined.
"You know what? Fuck it! Plenty more dumb bitches in the sea. Let's go to the bar and get drunk. Drinks are on me."
"That's the spirit," I say, my voice a bit cynical, but he doesn't recognize it.
As usual, Emm spends the night with some girl, one that giggles like a hyena, while I get stuck with some emo girl that spends the rest of her night talking about her shitty ex boyfriend, and how badly he treated her. I felt sorry for her- for about 2.5 seconds- but ladies, trust me, no man ever wants to know the number of guys you dated or even fucked, not even if we're interested in you. The only reason we listen to you is because we expect something else in return, and that's sex ladies. Or a blowjob.
The less you talk, the better. We only need about 30 seconds - or even less sometimes- to know if we want to sleep with you or not. We're simple. Your bodies do it for you. Of course, we can pretend to listen while checking out your cleavage or even legs-which we often do but even we have our limits ladies. We don't give a shit about what you ate today, or how was your day, or even your age (okay, that's a lie) but if we do get bored, the game is over.
"...and then we had a threesome with the old homeless guy just around the corner. Gotta say, nice dick. Nine inches at least."
Well...that certainly got my intention. I coughed whatever what was left of my beer, and unfortunately spit directly on to her face.
Good job Masen. Yet another screw up.
No wonder I can't get laid. Well, that or the fact that I could be an ass, and a picky one at that. Extremely.
"Fuck! I'm sorry. Here," I say, searching for a tissue in my pockets, but since I'm not a chick, and I never take that shit with me, I offer her my shitty, old receipt from fuck knows when.
Miraculously, she actually laughs. She fucking laughs. And the sounds of her laughter are actually...nice. Warm. Contagious, making me smile in return.
She pulls a tissue from her purse, putting the receipt back in her purse.
"It's okay, I think I had it coming. Of course, that never would have happened if you were actually listening rather than checking out my famous lady friends."
Yep, just got caught.
"Famous?" I ask, not being able to resist, leaning just a little bit closer.
She shrugs with a teasing smile, knowing she has my fully intention. "Yeah, they kind of have a life of their own. These two even have their own profile page on Facebook. Even wrecked a marriage or two. Nobody can resist looking away."
Well, she certainly got the last one right.
I take another quick look at them before asking, "Really?"
"No. Not really." She shakes her head, momentarily laughing.
"Here's to them then," I say, lifting my bottle to her, and taking a sip- or trying to. She looks up at me with that small smug smile. I keep lifting the bottle to my lips, hoping that if there is a God on this earth he would not let me get embarrassed. Well,even more so then I usually do. I see a small drop and wait for it patiently,opening my mouth even more so,as if that would quicken the fucking drop.
I can feel her smug smile getting bigger,and my cheeks get warmer. She's actually making me fucking blush.
"You know that your beer bottle is empty, right? I mean, no need to embarrass your self further. It was kind of nice for you to cheers to my girls—in a very creepy, slightly disturbing kind of way- not that it wasn't done before you but, it certainly is a first time to see it in action done with an empty..."
"It wasn't empty!" I yelled. Yes, I actually fucking yelled at her.
"I swallowed that drop like a motherfucker. You saw it! I know you did!"
Jeez Masen, stop fucking yelling already.
"Yes...well, congrats," she adds sarcastically.
I smile proudly, not letting her sarcasm bother me. "Thank you. Now...how about another drink? My treat.
The smile gets bigger. A finger tapping her chin as in thought.
"Hmmm...I don't know, who 's going to bring it? The guy who complimented my boobs or the same asshole from five minutes ago who kept rolling his eyes at me..."
"I did not..."
She lifted an eyebrow. Okay, that was kind of hot.
"Go, before you say something both of us will regret."
I nod, walking towards the bar at a slightly quicker pace, ordering us some drink. Shit, I left so sudden I didn't even ask her what she usually drinks. I ordered some pink fruity shit for her, a recommendation from the blond waitress, and a beer for me.
"That was fast," she admires.
"Yeah, what can I say, I'm quick like that." I say a bit smug.
"Or just know how to flirt with the bartenders to get what you want."
"You've been spying on me or something?" Smugness is radiating from my whole body.
"Nope," she says with a smile, stealing my beer and taking a rather big gulp.
Damn, this chick can really hold her liquor. And just look at the way her lips...
"Stop fantasizing about your dick in my mouth. It's not gonna happen pretty boy," she says, tapping me on my thigh, her hands very close to my mentioned cock. If only she could move her hand just a bit hi-
"Ouch," I suddenly yell, rubbing my leg to soothe the sudden pain. She pinched me. She actually fucking pinched me! Who does that shit anymore?
"Why did you do that for?"
She snorted, taking another gulp, smaller than before.
"Like you don't know the answer to that."
I did know, but was not gonna admit.
I didn't answer, instead I said accusingly," you stole my beer."
"Nope, don't think I did."
"Uh, yeah..I think you did."
She says nothing, just takes another sip, smiling secretively.
"Well, I'm not drinking this fruity shit, that's for sure."
A lifted eyebrow. Shit, it looks even hotter the second time. "And I should because..."
"You're a chick," I say, as if that would explain everything.
"So, let me get this straight- just because I have a pussy and a pair of tits you automatically assume that I like girly drinks? And you know what happens when you assume, you make an ass out of me, or in this case, just you, of course."
"I...Um..."
"Yes?"
Tongue tied. I'm officially tongue tied.
"What do you want me to say? That I was wrong?"
"Yes, actually," she said as a matter of fact. "I want you to say that I..." she stopped, waiting for me to follow.
"I..."
"Your name."
"Ha?"
"Your name. Say your name."
Ooookay.
"My name."
She smiles. "No...what is your name? I want to know your name."
Oh. Idiot.
"Edward Masen."
"Okay Edward Masen. Repeat after me. I Edward Masen..."
I decide to play along.
"I, Edward Masen..."
"Of sane mind and nice body..."
I smirk. "Of sane mind and deliciously toned six packs..."
"That's not what I said."
I grin. "I know."
She shakes her head but continues with a smile. "Admit to..."
"Admit to..."
"Been wrong and behaved inappropriately rude to Bella Swan, and promise..."
"Who's Bella Sawn?"
"Me," she says quickly, a bit insulted, "And It's Swan, not Sawn."
"Did you know Bella means beautiful in Italian?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, you're not the first or the last to hit on me with that corny line."
"Who said anything about hitting on you," I ask, taking the Heinken back from her and taking a rather big gulp.
"Hey, that was mine!"
"And now," I smile smugly, "it's mine."
"Are you not worried about any diseases?"
I put on some extra charm, giving her my famous panty dropping smile I've been told does exactly that. "Hon, anything that you might have can't be passed on to me by one sip of beer."
"Unless...I have mono."
"Do you?"
She takes the beer back. "Nope. Just herpes."
"What?!"
Okay, so I might have sounded like a squeaky five year old girl just about now but trust me, no matter how hot you look, nobody wants to hook up with a guy who's got herpes. That shit looks disgusting.
She laughs loudly by my outburst, head back, her dark brown hair-or is it black?-cascading down her slender shoulders, and in that moment, as I look at her, I notice that despite her smokin' body, she really is beautiful, geeky glasses or not.
"You know, the second I saw you approaching with your buddy, I already knew by that constipated, annoyed look on your face that you'd be an asshole, but...
"Hey! " I yell offensively.
"What? It's true."
"No it's not. I don't look constipated. That word doesn't even exist in my dictionary."
"Huh. See...That's interesting."
"What is?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Forget it."
The smile she sent in my direction was victorious.
"Whatever, " I added after a moment of silence. "You might talk all you want hon, but I recognize your body language, and what it's saying."
Bella leans closer to my chair, her voice mocking yet teasing, right hand supporting her small face.
"And what would that be?"
I put my hand on her leg, a little above her knee and decide to keep it there, all the while leaning closer, whispering to her ear sweetly.
"Your brain says no, but I can feel the warmth of your cheeks getting warmer, your puls getting faster, and if I put my hand just a little lower I'm sure I'll find a very excited warm spot just for me. Or am I wrong?"
She gulps, suddenly pulling away and turning her stool away from me, keeping her distance. Surprisingly, she quickly takes a sip of her fruity drink- a very large one at that- completely abandoning the beer, keeping her big brown eyes away from me, focusing intensively what's inside her purse.
She's closing up. Trying to push me away. I can see that.
Digging up the same receipt I gave her-for some unknown reason to me- she stares at it until I see a hint of her smile back, her confidence returning.
"So...you buy lubricators a lot?"
"What?"
"This is your receipt, is it not?" she asks, hands it to me with a satisfied grin, in attempt to make me blush, humiliate myself, as if I haven't done that enough in my life, or ...you know, tonight.
"I... No, that's not mine."
"Sure it's not." Bella answers, filling the silence with her silent smugness.
Okay, so I am embarrassed, but I'm not gonna allow her to see that. Yes, I masturbate, big deal. Been doing that since I was thirteen. Not exactly a rocket science.
"So, how often do you do it?" I ask, curious, turning the tables. "Once a week, twice a month, twice a year?"
"None of your business." The brush off again, I see. She's blushing, uncomfortable to talk about this particular subject.
"Am I embarrassing you?"
"Yes, actually, " Bella adds, hiding behind her drink.
Good.
As cute as it is watching her squirm and blush, I decide to throw her a bone. No, not that bone, just a figure of speech ladies.
"I'll make you a deal then. How about I tell you anything you want to know about me, any dark secret, any disturbingly embarrassing moment, and in return, you'll answer the previous question."
"And I would be interested in knowing more about you because?" she looks at me directly, defying me to answer.
"You're still here aren't you?" I point out. "If you wanted, you would have gone hours ago, the second you saw me, yet you're still talking to me. Plus," I whisper the last thing, as if it's a secret, which is not, not really, "I think your friend is your only ride home, and she's more than busy sharing her saliva with my buddy as we speak."
We both look at them momentarily. Disgusting.
"I could call a taxi," she says, sounding more like she's asking, rather than just stating a fact.
"Yes, you could," is all I say, taking the last sip.
She's looking at her friend, then me, then her again, weighing her options.
"You know, no matter what you decide-and this is the truth," I add, "I actually had fun talking to you. You're not like the others. You have a bit weird sense of humor for my taste, but I like it. A girl like you, smart and independent is hard to find these days."
I'm laying it on a bit too thick, I know, and I don't care. I just want her to stay.
"Are you trying to make me stay, by giving me compliments?"
"Is it working? I ask, just a bit hopeful.
She turns her chair to me, completely, and finally, all her walls are down. "I'm still here, aren't I?"
I nod with a bright smile. "That you are."