Hello again, beautiful people.

Thank you to The Fictionators for rec'ing Bad Fauxmance. Thanks for all the other tweets and things of that nature that send people to my crazy little story here. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read, review, favorite, etc. You're the reason I'm here.

Kassiah is hosting a read along of Bad Fauxmance on April 25th - it would be cool if you read along and let me know your thoughts! Thanks to her, again, for being my pre-reader and the sweetest, most hard working woman in the fandom.

Thanks to my Ali.

As always, find me on twitter - pinkeveningsky. I love to talk.

OH! One more thing - I keep getting asked if I have a thread on Twilighted. No, I don't. If someone wants to start one, be my guest!

Disclaimer: Sorry about all this, Steph.

In which I learn the meaning of altruism

We walk into our apartment and Emmett is sitting on the couch, smirking at us – me – with his Neanderthal chin all chucked up.

"How was shopping, ladies?"

My face turns to stone behind Bella's back, and I level a stare at him that means I'm not in the mood for his games.

"What's wrong, Edward? Did you eat broccoli again? You look a little constipated."

"Leave him alone," says Bella, dropping her purchases in Emmett's lap. "I've put him through the ringer. He told me that he's never been out shopping like that before. I can't imagine what his ex-hag had him doing."

"I don't have an ex-hag," I say, moving to the kitchen. I want beer, and I want to let out the grossest, smelliest belch I can muster. I open the fridge, ready for reprieve.

Instead I see wine coolers and Smirnoff Ice.

"Where the FUCK is my beer?" I slam the fridge, and turn to Emmett, who is deep-throating my last lager behind Bella's back. "That's it. I'm going to murder you."

Bella turns to frown at Emmett. "Don't raid our fridge like that, asshole. What did you do with the rest of it?"

Emmett shrugs. "I drank it, and then replaced it with drinks that I thought Edward would like better. Don't be mad at me, Edward. I was only trying to help. I'll make it up to you later."

"I'd rather stick my dick in a hornet's nest, you complete asshole."

Emmett leaps up. "Oh hell no, you did not just use that infected mouth to spew insults at me."

"If it's infected, it's because you've been dipping your dick in my mouth every night without my knowledge."

Emmett scales the couch, and in two strides, he's at me. Bella shoves him away from me, and the beer in his hand goes flying. The bottle breaks against the kitchen floor, and the smell of quickly de-carbonating Guinness hits the air.

"God damnit," she says, staring both of us down. "Why don't you two go play slapsies somewhere else?"

"He started it!" I protest, waving my arms in Emmett's direction.

"And I'm finishing it. Get out of my kitchen." I hesitate, thinking I should remind her that it's our kitchen. "NOW!"

I am about to scamper out of the kitchen with my tail between my legs, but my dignity is saved by the doorbell. Glaring at Emmett, who is talking in a low voice to Bella, I gingerly step over the glass and go to the door.

And it's Jasper.

"Who is it, Steer?" Emmett calls.

"Why do you even call him that?" Bella wonders, getting down on the floor to pick up glass.

"Because I'm hung like a buck," I answer. "It's, ah… no one. Telemarketer."

"I didn't know Telemarketers made house calls." Emmett is grinning at me.

"Uh, no, I mean – you know – salesmen…"

"Dude, are you gonna open the door? I can fuckin' hear you, man!" It's Jasper yelling at me from the outside.

So I let him in, and his eyes immediately go to Bella on her knees, scrubbing at our kitchen floor.

"Yo," he says, his eyes following the curve of her ass. I snap my fingers in front of his face to bring him back. "My phone's MIA, and I was in the neighborhood – wanted to know if you guys wanted to come hang out tonight. My friend just opened a bar downtown, and he needs all the people he can get."

"Uh…"

"And who's this?" Jasper asks, sweeping past me into the kitchen. "And why is such a pretty girl down on her knees?"

At this point, I'm going to let Emmett do exactly what his eyes are telling me he wants to do to Jasper, and then I'm going to take Bella and run.

"I'm Bella," she responds, holding her hand out to shake his.

I watch, fascinated. I've never seen Bella interact with a straight male before.

"I'm Jasper," he tells her, and holds her hand a little longer than necessary.

"I'm just cleaning up a little spill," she explains. "But that isn't what you meant, was it? Do you think I'm too dim to understand a double entendre? In fact, not only am I on my knees, I'm on my knees in the kitchen, cleaning! Isn't that a wet dream of yours?" Her voice is rising to an alarming decibel, and both Emmett and I start to run interference.

Jasper looks completely winded. I can't tell if he's frightened or turned on – or turned on because he's frightened. I make it to the kitchen first, and clamp my hand down on Bella's wrist.

"That's enough, sweetie," I say in my calmest voice. "Let the nice man go now." I notice that she is the one that's been holding his hand – squeezing it, actually. His fingers are turning a bit purple.

She lets him go, and I grab Jasper and lead him into the living room. Emmett swoops down and calms Bella, who is scrubbing the kitchen floor with unnecessary force.

"I think I'm in love," wheezes Jasper, who is peering around me to see into the kitchen. "Is it okay if I steal your girlfriend, man?"

"She's not – " I stop in the middle of my protest. She's not what, Edward? " – in to most guys… because they don't understand her." This is true.

"What's not to understand?" he questions. "She's fucking hot, and I want to do bad things to that sassy little mouth of hers…"

"She doesn't like sex," I blurt.

"You're not hitting that?" Jasper asks me in disbelief, taking yet another look at poor, unsuspecting Bella. All she's doing is scrubbing the floors on her hands and knees, okay? Stop leering at her. She's cleaning our house. She's cleaning my mess. She's beautiful. Stop it.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "We can't… we don't."

Jasper's wiry blonde eyebrows force themselves together. "Dude. I don't understand."

I imagine there are a lot of things you don't understand, Jasper. Why one plus one makes two, for instance. "Her... it... has teeth."

WHAT. WHAT JUST CAME OUT OF MY MOUTH?

Jasper's eyes bulge out of his head. He backs up several feet and runs into the couch. "I thought that was just a myth." He is whispering.

"All the myths are true," I whisper back. "Just don't… tell anyone."

He shakes his head fervently. "I won't, dude. I won't. I want to forget – I can't even – I don't… how do you do it?"

That's a really good question. "I just – she's just… she's amazing. It's hard not to."

"Now I understand you bringing the girl home… I can't hate a man for wanting to get some non-chomping pu – "

"Aaaaand that's enough," I say, grabbing his arm again and steering him towards the door.

He takes an exceptionally wide berth around Bella, who is glaring at him – she can think it's because of her ire – and then leaves without another word.

"So," I say after a moment's pause. "Anyone want a Smirnoff?"

*

Everyone wants a Smirnoff. And then, when Bella goes to shower – she smells dangerously delicious, my own personal brand of alcohol – Emmett pulls me aside.

"We need to go to your friend's bar opening," he says. "We have to start integrating Bella back into straight male society. She nearly almost carved your friends' testicles off with the broken glass she was holding. That's not okay behavior."

"And you think taking her to a bar is going to help? It's full of guys like Jasper – " And guys like I used to be, I think to myself – "and if that's how she reacts with one, she's going to end up massacring every last one of them."

"Look," barters Emmett, after a moment of silence. "You promised me that we would help her, and in return – I keep your secret to myself. I see the way you look at her, and I know you don't want other guys coming around and replacing you. But you signed on for this, Edward. Do you think I love watching Bella get hurt? I might not be sexually attracted to her, but she's everything I've ever wanted in a person – she just doesn't have the right parts. I know what you're going through. But if we both care about her, we have to help her. We have to want her to be happy, even if we both end up losing her to some jackass."

I'm momentarily speechless. I've never heard him speak so many words without sarcasm, and I'm impressed by his speech. I'm also a bit depressed, thinking about watching Bella ride off into the sunset with some asshole – and then it hits me.

Even if she ever chooses me, I'll be the worst asshole of them all.

"Let's do it," I say, rubbing at my eyebrows. She's beautiful, and she's smart, and she deserves someone who isn't lying to her – even if it is to keep her around.

Emmett pats me on the back, and we stand there in silence for a few moments. Then I walk away to go get a shower.

I emerge from my room an hour later, dressed in what I think is acceptable bar attire – jeans and a t-shirt – but Emmett takes one look at me and frog marches me back into my room.

"The fuck?" I grouse as he flings me down onto the bed.

"Look at the way I'm dressed," he demands. He is in tight leather pants and a white t-shirt with a bunk bed on it, with the words TOP OR BOTTOM? written underneath.

"So?" I demand, trying to wrestle myself out of his grasp.

"Edward, DON'T TOUCH ME THERE," he shouts, and I instantly quiet.

"That's not playing fair."

"You can't go in there dressed like a straight man," he says to me, rummaging through my sparse closet to find something suitable.

"You don't even live here," I remind him. "Why are you always here, invading my personal space?"

"You can't get rid of me," he says, his voice muffled by the clothes. "Like mold."

"I was thinking more like herpes, but whatever. Why can't I dress like a straight man?"

"The whole point of us taking Bella out tonight is so she can mingle and be seen. If you're not dressed like you're gay, people – guys – are going to assume you're her boyfriend, and won't approach her."

"Some will," I say defensively.

He throws me an awful look. "Not the kind of guys you and I want Bella to date, Edward. Good men will see a relationship there, and will treat that boundary with respect."

He has a point. "Okay, fine. Dress me, maestro."

"Can I undress you first?"

I ignore him, and hold my hands out for the shirt he's throwing my way. It's a pink oxford shirt that I wear only on Easter with my parents.

"Are you kidding? No!" I throw it back at him.

He throws me a polo shirt next. That's not so bad. I can do a polo shirt.

"And pop the collar."

"I am not popping the collar. I am not a douche bag, nor am I g… Fuck. Emmett, really?"

He stares at me, and then disappears for a moment. When he comes back, there is a long pencil-like object in his hand.

"Eyeliner," he says, brandishing it at me like a weapon.

"There are people I'm going to know at this bar!"

"Well, it looks like you've come to a fork in the road, Steer. Choose the path of least resistance. The inner gay, or the inner douche bag slash frat boy."

Bella peeks in my room then, her knocks soft against the door. "Are you guys almost ready?"

"Almost," says Emmett, ushering her in.

She's wearing jeans and a black tank top – very close to what she was wearing the first night I met her. Before I can stop myself, I say:

"And what in the name of Carson Kressley do you think you're wearing?"

Emmett stares at me, stunned. We don't even hear Bella's lame excuse for her outfit, because we're both too busy being completely blindsided by my Queer Eye for the Straight Guy reference.

I recover quickly. "You're trying to attract men, not scare them with your testicle crunching combat boots."

"I'm not wearing combat boots," she protests, but it's my turn to frog march someone back into their own room.

I sit her down on her bed and flit through her closet. The sweat is pouring down my face – what the fuck do I know about girls' fashion? I find a dress in the back – it's cotton and it's black but it's sexy as all hell and so I throw it at her.

"This is what you're wearing. Change."

She stares at me, and I stare back at her. She's waiting for me to relent, and I'm waiting for her to take my advice – the only good advice I've given her thus far. She's going to be beautiful in this dress, if only she'll wear it.

"Fine," she says, and stands up. I expect her to move towards the bathroom, but she starts stripping right in front of me.

Pretty soon she's in her bra and underwear – both are beige. I've seen more expensive lingerie on more exotic women but something about her modest attire has my cock beating at my pants to let it out.

She walks over to her dresser, mumbling something about a strapless bra. All the blood is currently in my cock, so I don't understand what she's saying until her bra drops to her ankles, and she's fumbling with the clasps of the strapless bra she's holding.

"Can you help me?" she asks me, her bra backwards and her full, beautiful breasts up over the strap she's struggling with.

I'm used to unclasping bras, and I'm pretty sure I could hammer nails with my dick at this point, but I nod and move over to her.

I sweep her hair to the side and watch as it falls down in a dark curtain over her left breast. Her skin is so smooth and white, like freshly beaten cream. She turns her bra to face the front, and the cups move over her breasts, finally covering them from my vision. I hook the bra together with ease, and then run my hands down her arms.

"You're so beautiful, Bella," I whisper before I can stop myself. "Why can't you let someone love you?"

She turns and smiles sadly at me. "I've tried," she tells me. "But I always love too much, and they always love too little."

Emmett has hinted to me that she's been hurt, but he has said that even he doesn't know the extent. I want to know her story, more than I want to know anything – more than I want to know what it feels like to be inside of her. I want to be her best friend, and her confidante. I want her to come to me first, instead of Emmett. I want her to cry on my shoulder and let me brush her hair, and I want her to fall asleep on me as I watch the millionth episode of the Walker: Texas Ranger marathon.

On impulse, I cup her cheeks and kiss her on the forehead. Her hair tickles my nose. Then I step back, because I know I've gotten too close.

"There's a sweet guy underneath all of that sarcasm, huh?" she jokes, and I know the moment has passed.

"If you're talking about my witty repertoire – "

But I don't get a chance to finish, because she's put on the dress, and she's perfect, just like I knew she would be.

*

Bella has an arm through each of our elbows as we walk into the bar. I can tell she's nervous, because she's already asking us when we can go get a drink. I tell her to relax, and I notice a few guys throw looks her way. I want to be proud to have this beautiful girl on my arm, but the kind of pride I could let myself have would be short-lived.

"Edward!" Jasper is calling my name, giving me the typical bro-hug. "I'm glad to see that collar popped, man. Give in to the look!" He laughs, pointing to his own.

I can hear Emmett laughing behind me. I ignore him and nod with Jasper, who's telling me that the first round of drinks are on him, and to just tell the bartender who we're here with. This sounds excellent to me, and I know Bella is fiending for a drink.

Bella says hello to him, and he steps back a couple feet when saying hi back. She looks confused and a little hurt, and I feel like shit. So, I lead her to the bar and we do a couple shots and the music is loud and I feel good.

I draw her onto the dance floor, and we dance to a cover version of "Don't Stop Believing." I spin her and she laughs, and I see men laughing with her, following the swirl of her hair as it spirals around her shoulders. But they're afraid to approach, so I start singing along, loudly, obnoxiously – SOME WILL WIN, SOME WILL LOSE, SOME WERE BORN TO SING THE BLUUUUUUUES – and she backs away from me, looking for anyone to save her.

Someone does, a tall someone, and she takes his hand, and I go back to Emmett and watch the girl I've fallen for dance with someone else.

After an hour of watching men charm Bella, I'm moody and drunk and go outside to smoke. I sit down on the curb and watch people walk back and forth, laughing and joking and stumbling. I pull a long drag off my Pall Mall and rub my brow with the heel of my hand. This charade is getting more difficult by the hour, and I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to be a neutral party around this girl.

I stub out my cigarette and I'm about to walk back in when there's a commotion. I hear Emmett yell – I'd recognize that anywhere – and the bouncer rushes inside. I follow on his heels, and I see Bella being carried bodily out by Emmett. There's a guy on the ground – a different guy than I had seen before – and his nose is bleeding. I look to Emmett for answers, but he's holding a sobbing Bella, and lugs her right past me. I trail him all the way to the car, and I start it up in silence, trying to ignore the quiet murmuring and Bella's sniffles in the backseat.

He puts her to bed when we get back to the apartment, and as soon as the door shuts behind him, I pounce.

"What the fuck happened?"

"A drunk guy got fresh, and Bella freaked the fuck out."

"Why did you hit him?"

He raises his eyebrows at me. "I didn't. Bella did."

I scrub my face with my hands and choose not to comment any further. Drunk guys in bars make harmless and sometimes a bit invasive passes on women all the time. Most girls I know – even if they don't want the attention – find it to be at the least flattering. Bella finds it threatening.

"Was she…" I can't force the word out, because thinking of anyone touching Bella, hurting Bella –

Emmett shook his head. "No, nothing like that. She was just hurt really bad, and it amplifies when she's drinking."

"She hit someone."

"She was a female that felt threatened by a man's presence. At least she has the ability to protect herself. I don't know, Edward. Maybe she's just going to be a fag hag for the rest of her life."

"She deserves better," I say sourly.

He regards me for a second. "Who? A man who has been lying to her?"

I feel my anger rise, but I can't even react. "No," I say after a moment. "Not even me. That's how much she deserves – I can honestly say she deserves better than me, too."

He nods, and I see a strange sort of respect form in his face. "As long as you know that. I'm gonna head home."

"You sure you're okay to drive, man?"

He waves off my concerns, and then he's out the door.

I check on Bella one last time before I go to bed, and she's out cold. I go to my own room and strip down to my boxers, too exhausted to hunt for pajamas. I climb in my cold sheets and just lie there, waiting for my mind to go blessedly blank.

My door creaks open, and that beautiful girl is standing there in a tank top and those damn beige panties.

"Is Emmett gone?" she whispers.

"Yeah," I say back, my voice gruff from lack of use.

"Can I sleep with you?" Her voice is so small and alone, and I'm selfish, so I tell her yes. She crawls in next to me and lays her head on my shoulder.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" she asks right before I drift off.

"I think you're perfect," I tell her, too drunk and exhausted to care.

She presses a kiss against my chest, and even though I don't remember it in the morning, I wake up smiling.