Rating M

Disclaimer – Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight –
I just like to get weird with her characters.

Much love and thanks to my beta love, Carrie ZM, and my wonderful pre-readers,
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for all the time you've put into this fic.
Writing with you girls is always a blast!

"Come on," Rose says, pulling on Em's arm, "I want you to meet Carlisle and Esme. You'll love them."

Emmett glances at me. "You cool?"

"Obviously." I sip my drink then wave him off. "I'm fine, go ahead."

Stirring my vodka tonic, I check out the crowd. It's a good mix of people, all ages and tax brackets, hardly the 4/20 shindig I expected when I found out the party was at a dispensary. I watch as Rose introduces Emmett to her boss. They're all smiles, doing the man-shake thing with the pat on the bicep for good measure.

A throat clears beside me and the couch cushion dips. "Do you mind if I, uh …" the low voice fades off and I'm about to Forrest Gump him. Let him know the seat's taken—but then I see him.

A better friend would save her bestie's seat and forgo the opportunity to ogle the gorgeous man beside her. She'd be utterly unaffected by the absolute perfection of his face, everything from the strong line of his jaw to the sexy smattering of scruff on his cheeks. A better friend would politely shoo him away as she'd have no interest in knowing if his haphazard hair is as soft as it looks or what his lips would feel like pressed against hers. Surely that's what a better friend would do.

Looks like Emmett needs to choose better friends.

"Sure."

"Thanks." He smiles and relaxes into his seat, looking at the partygoers and tapping his fingers on his beer bottle. We sit in awkward silence for what feels like a good five minutes. Just as I reach for my phone to send an 'I'm bored, entertain me' text to my sister, he speaks.

"So," he drags out the word, watching the beer bottle rolling back and forth between his palms. "Are you having a nice time?"

"Um, yeah, I mean, you really can't go wrong with an open bar though, right?"

"True." He laughs and meets my gaze, extending his hand. "I'm Edward."

"Bella."

"Bella," he repeats, giving my hand a small squeeze. "Are you an investor?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm a writer by trade, but tonight, I'm a party crasher." Pointing over to Rose and Emmett who are now doing shots with her employers, I continue, "I'm with them though."

"A writer, huh?"

"Not like novels or anything. I write for Awarify Magazine."

"Awarify?"

I nod, a bit embarrassed. "I'm pretty sure the founder got the name from the Urban Dictionary. He's been trying for months now to get the word 'Awaricans' to happen too. He's kind of a mess, but he's pretty cool about letting us write what we want."

"So current issues, politics, music and the like?"

"Yeah, uh, lifestyle, editorials, basically anything that's significant to 20-45 year olds these days. It's all online, so think Vice, but way less relevant and way, way less popular."

"Sounds cool."

"What's good, E.C?" a deep voice booms. When I look up, I see two men approaching; the larger of the two has his arms open wide. Edward stands to greet him doing that whole grasp hands and bump opposite shoulders handshake. "My man."

"How's it going, Jenks?" He nods at the other guy before doing the same dude-greeting. "Jake."

"Goin' well," the big man he calls Jenks says before holding up a blunt and motioning to the empty corner of the rooftop. "Your boy gave me a little sample of my investment. You in?"

"Nah, man. I'm just going to hang out here for now." Edward gestures towards the couch, but when Jenks sees me, his grin widens.

"Well, hello there." Jenks reaches for my hand and winks. "Enchanté."

"Bella, this is Jenks. Investor, cannabis enthusiast, and the Weed Editor for The Chronicle. Bella's a writer too." The corner of Edward's lip turns up. "She writes for Awarify."

"Is that right?"

"Dude, Leah's on my ass. Are we blazin' or what?" The other guy, Jake, speaks up from behind Jenks.

"Better light it up quick before Jake's whipped ass is late for curfew," Edward says with a laugh.

"Yep." Jenks gives us a nod while Jake makes a face. We watch as they head back to the corner of the roof where it's not as well lit. A few more guys follow them, and I start to feel bad that Edward's only staying back to be polite.

"You sure you don't want to join them?"

Shaking his head, he leans forward placing his elbows on his knees. "Nah. No stoner circles for me. What about you?" He nudges me with his arm. "Do you want to partake?"

My cheeks flood with heat. "No thanks. I mean, I have … partaken before. It's just not my thing."

"Not your thing," he mutters, focusing on his beer bottle again.

"I just don't get the appeal. Like, to each his own or whatever, I'm totally free to be you and me, but I don't get it. I tried it once and the experience was borderline traumatic and super fattening." Tipping his head back, he laughs hard. "I'm serious. I had like three pot brownies."

His eyes go wide. "Three?"

"I didn't feel anything so I ate another and another. An hour later, I couldn't lift my head, and I'm pretty sure I spent the entire night freaking out in my friend's bathtub, eating a roll of cookie dough like I was snapping into a Slim Jim. Not my finest hour."

"Sounds like you greened out pretty bad."

I shrug. "Probably, but that's what I get for accepting baked goods from a dealer named Squid."

Nodding, he brings his beer bottle to his lips, taking a quick glance at the corner of the roof. "Are you sure you don't want to join your friends?"

"Nope. I'm not a fan of the group smoke thing. It's just," his eyes meet mine, "not my thing."

"I thought sharing is caring."

"Sharing is gross."

My brow lifts slightly. "Enlighten me."

He shifts closer to me, touching my shoulder with his as he leans in. "Okay for starters, my boy Jenks only smokes blunts. Being a joint man, myself, I'm a bit more of a traditionalist. I don't like anything that alters the flavor."

"Doesn't it still taste like ass either way?"

He looks taken aback. "It must have been a really bad batch."

"I just distinctly recall it tasting like Duncan Hines-flavored ass." I wave my hand. "But please, continue."

"My buddy, Jake over there," he points his beer bottle in his direction and lowers his voice, "has an over active salivary gland."

"Eww."

"Yep. Smoking with him is like sharing a chew toy with a Saint Bernard."

"Gross."

"And then there're asshats like this one." He jerks his chin at a guy slinking back to the corner, hacking up a lung into his elbow. "Creeping up on them like the fuckin' Outbreak monkey with his mouth full of the next pandemic disease."

"Those people are the worst."

Wagging his finger back and forth, he disagrees. "No, those people are the worst." He points to a man who appears to be bogarting the blunt while the others look on annoyed. "Look at him over there just watching it burn. He's probably mindlessly monologuing about how shitty his stocks are performing or some other ridiculous first world problem."

"Ooh, like how he's so pissed at that Chipotle employees always remind him that guac is extra."

"Exactly." He bumps my shoulder again. "He's that guy."

"Or he's just letting the blunt dry off." I shrug. "You know, since your buddy Jake just took a hit."

"Could be." He smiles before lifting his bottle to his lips. "But I doubt it."

"E.C.," Carlisle calls, waving him over to the bar and jerking his head toward a group of people who I can only assume are investors.

"Shit," he grumbles, scooting up in his seat.

"Duty calls, huh?"

"Unfortunately." He turns to me and grins, making my stomach flip when he gives me a wink. "Great to meet you, Bella."

I feel the blush creep up my cheeks as he waves goodbye. "Likewise."

"Could you possibly be more disgusting?" I ask Emmett, who's just come in from a run.

Dripping with sweat, he's cooling himself off in front of the fridge and chugging our Sunny D directly from the bottle. He wipes his mouth then belches loudly. "Yup."

"Special." My eyes move back to my laptop screen, and I push my glasses up on my nose.

"What are you working on?"

I twist my lips to the side, debating on whether or not I want to tell him that I'm still crushing on Rosalie's hot coworker a week later. "Nothing really. Just kinda looking up qualifying conditions for a medical marijuana prescription."

"This for a story or something?"

I give him a look. "Or something."

He hops up on the counter, smirking and shaking the Sunny D bottle. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that guy from the party, would it?"

I avoid eye contact and the question all together. "Which one of these conditions do you think I could pull off? Migraines, severe nausea, PMS, chronic—"

"PMS," he blurts. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off again. "Like a lot."

"O-kay."

"You're the ideal candidate."

I level him with a glare. "Got it."

Three soft knocks rap at the door, followed by Rosalie's voice. "It's me."

"Come in," Em and I say in unison.

She bops in, looking stunning in her gym bunny outfit while I'm looking positively homeless in my sweats and tank top. "Good morning," she beams, waving to me before wrapping her arms around Em's waist and kissing him full on the mouth like he doesn't smell like a jock strap.

"Morning," he mumbles against her lips. "I was just helping Bella here decide which ailment can get her a prescription for some medical Mary Jane."

Rose whips around. "Oh my God, are you sick?"

"Uh no, I just—"

"She just wants an excuse to see your coworker again." My eyes narrow as his shit-eating grin widens.

"Who?" Rose's eyes get big and her voice gets higher. "E.C.?"

My blush gives me away and Emmett pumps his fist. "I knew it! I'm the smartest man alive!"

"I wouldn't go that far." I roll my eyes at the questionable little dance he's doing. "And you're a terrible dancer."

"I'm a phenomenal dancer. You know this."

He's right, he is a fantastic dancer and I have proof of this. "Hey Rose, did you ever meet Em's alter ego?"

"You wouldn't."

Em's smug grin disappears as soon as I hand Rose my cell phone to show her my wallpaper, and I can't help but smile. "Oh I would."

"This. Is. Golden." Rose cackles, unable to take her eyes off the pic I snapped of Em senior year when his fraternity put on a drag show to raise money for their philanthropy. He looks glorious up there on stage, mid-shimmy clad in a beaded gold minidress, heels, and a long blond wig. "Please tell me he has an equally fabulous drag name. Like Ima Mess or something."

"Nope. It's better," I say, giddy at the mortified look on Emmett's face. "It's—"

"It's Dixie," he interrupts, humping the air. "Dixie Normous."

"Dixie Normous," she enunciates slowly.

Smirking, he taps her on the nose with the tip of his finger. "You know it."

"Eww," she shrieks as he picks her up and peppers her neck with kisses. "Hit the shower!"

"Fine." He puts her down and pecks her on the cheek before turning to point at me. "I'll remember this."

"I'm sure you will."

"You're gonna rue the day."

"I already do." I wave him off. "Smell ya' later, Dixie."

She waits until he's out of ear shot and the bathroom door closes before sliding into the seat beside me. "Can you send me that pic?"

I slip her my phone. "Have at it."

"Thanks." Her fingers quickly move over the screen. "I'm pretty sure this is going to be the picture I put on his birthday cake next month."

"That sounds amazing! Like the best gift ever."

"Yeah. For us." She looks up from the phone. "I added myself as a contact. I hope that's okay."

"Definitely."

Relieved, she smiles. "So E.C., huh?"

"I hardly know him." I rest my chin on my hand and fight the urge look away.

"But you'd like to."

"Can you blame me?"

"I can hook—"

An awkward chuckle slips from my lips as I shake my head. "I don't want to put you in a weird spot with your coworker."

Rapping her fingernails on the counter, she mimics my position. "What if you got to know him in a professional capacity?"

"Like as in a customer?" My eyes wander to the qualifying conditions for medical marijuana on my screen.

"No, as a reporter. Carlisle's always looking for press. Your publication is online, so your reach is pretty far, right?"

"Yeah, we've got a good-sized readership."

"Maybe you could feature THC." She winks. "And E.C."

My head spins at all the angles we could cover this from. Aro's always encouraging us to seek out new and interesting stories and people. "Hmmm."

Em calls her name from the bathroom and she stands, tapping my phone screen. "Text me if you want me to set it up."

That Monday morning, it takes Aro all of 3.2 seconds to agree to the story, followed by thirty minutes of him reminiscing about all of his high times back in the day when he and his buddies went to Woodstock '99 and raged against the machine.

Carlisle is just as eager to do the story, inviting me to meet him as soon as possible the following day. The frosted doors seem larger up close, more imposing. Almost as imposing as the Secret Service-looking security guard who's working the door. No smile, just a curt nod before his eyes move back to the room in front of him.

The dispensary is not what I expected. There're no psychedelic posters lining the walls, no incense burning, no Grateful Dead blasting from a stereo. It's all sterile white counters, muted gray walls and stainless shelving with buds in apothecary jars evenly spaced on each.

Rose is behind the counter, speaking quietly with an elderly man who's shakily counting out his cash. She looks up and gives me a smile and a small wave, almost like I didn't see her do the naked rush from Emmett's room to the bathroom this morning and like I didn't hear her screaming his name all night.

"Can I help you?" The security guard asks, eying me strangely as I stand in front of the doors taking it all in.

"I'm here to see Mr. Cullen. I'm Bella Swan from Awarify."

He jerks his chin towards the stainless doors where I see Carlisle pushing through, looking just as he did the other night in his dark gray dress pants and a tailored black shirt topped off with some shiny cufflinks. "Miss Swan," he greets smoothly, offering his hand. "Carlisle Cullen, it's a pleasure."

"Nice to meet you," I say, giving him a firm shake and getting a good whiff of his clean-smelling cologne.

"Welcome to THC."

"Thanks so much. I appreciate you doing the interview."

"Happy to." He grins widely, showing all of his teeth. "Care for a tour?"

"That'd be great."

"This is the storefront. We have the pharmacy over there," he points to where Rose and the other lab coat clad employees are helping customers, "and the budtenders over there."

"Budtenders?"

"Those buying recreational marijuana tend to prefer to be served by the more relaxed but still knowledgeable budtenders, while those seeking medicinal relief tend to want a more clinical experience."

I make note of the slight differences between the two, Rose in her lab coat with her hair swept tightly into a bun, while the budtenders are dressed a bit more lax with their dress shirt collars open and untucked, sleeves rolled up just so.

"Follow me," he says, pushing through the stainless doors to a large open store room. "We sell over 40 strain varieties of marijuana here. Indica, sativa, hybrids, edibles, you name it, we've either got it or can get it." He pushes through another set of doors. "Back here is our rolling room."

We enter a room lined with long tables, each of which is occupied with people rolling joints. My eyes widen. "You have an entire area dedicated to rolling?"

He nods, stopping to point at each table. "Blue team rolls spliffs, red team rolls blunts, green team rolls joints." He picks one up and inspects it. "You see, much of our elderly clientele is untrained in the art of a good roll, plus their conditions tend to make it impossible to." Placing the joint back on the table, he pats the ombré-haired girl with the nose ring on the back. "Pre-rolled joints are a huge seller for us, not only for those seeking medicinal relief, but those rookie tokers who are simply not coordinated enough to roll their own."

The next sixty minutes are spent in his office discussing everything from state versus federal legislation to the advantages of marijuana legalization on the economy. I notice he skims over his need for heightened security, noting the risk only when discussing that it's a cash only business. Somehow, our conversation shifts from profit margins to the legitimate physical and therapeutic benefits of cannabis. I'm pleasantly surprised not only by the fact that he's genuinely knowledgeable about the product, spouting off both statistics and treatable medical conditions, but more so by the enthusiasm with which he speaks. Perhaps the green lining his pocket isn't the only driving force or incentive on this endeavor.

"So," I start, staring at the question I'm not sure how to ask politely. "Prior to this you were a hedge fund manager?" The corner of his lip turns up and he nods. "Why the shift to this industry?"

Leaning back in his seat, he presses his palms together. "I suppose you're curious about my motivation, yes?"

"It seems to me you're pretty passionate about this venture. Something tells me it has to be about more than dollars and cents."

"You're quite perceptive, Miss Swan."

"Bella."

"Bella." His lips form a tight line and he grabs a pen off his desk, rolling it between his fingers. "Have you ever …" he trails off before clearing his throat. "Ever seen an illness ravage the body of someone you love?" I shake my head, but he doesn't look at me. "Ever sat helpless, unable to ease their suffering?"

"No," I say barely above a whisper.

He swallows as his gaze moves to a picture on his hutch of a much younger version of himself holding a beautiful blonde woman close. "I have."

"I'm so sorry."

Nodding, he pushes back from his desk and stands, plastering on a grin. "Come on. Let me show you the rest of the facility."

Pulling open the cage door to the freight elevator, he motions for me to get on. "Our second and third floors are dedicated mainly to our growing and curing. I admit I'm not as knowledgeable about how the product is produced. This is more my brother's area of expertise."

"Edward?"

He smirks. "Most people call him E.C."

"Oh, well he introduced himself as Edward the other night at the party."

"Did he now?" He chuckles to himself as the elevator comes to a stop and he opens the cage door. "Speak of the devil."

Edward stands there waiting, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed looking just as effortlessly handsome as he did the other night, even in his long sleeve tee and jeans. I give him an awkward wave and in return, he greets me with a lopsided smile and tip of his head. "Bella."

A/N: *smiles huge* Thanks for the great response to the story, pals! I'm thrilled to see a bunch of familiar readers back for another fic and so excited to meet some new readers as well!

Tonight we're going to let it WIP with a couple writers who are popping their fic writing cherries. I had the very best welcome to this fandom as a first time writer, and I'd love it if you'd help me spread the love because today's newbies may be tomorrow's faves. Without further ado - here are our Like A Virgin fic recs:

Unfinished by remedy25 - We were friends until two years ago, when he left. I moved on until he moved back. Now, we just might be able to be friends again-or I'm just fooling myself. Oh, and also, that guy I just assaulted in the coffee shop? Apparently he's my new boss...

Angry All the Time by MeteorOnAMoonlessNight - Bella had it all, until she lost it. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, is it reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end?

Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, fav'd, rec'd tweeted or lurked this fic! I'll see you next week!