SIMONE

"Don't fucking camp out, Sim Card, get in there and murk some mother fuckers!"

I rolled my eyes and played one handed while I drained the last of my beer. My lovely gaming partner, Danielle also known as Ink_Slingah from her gamer tag, shouted at me from her end. Big surprise. That bitch was always screaming. She's probably be the first one shot in actual combat.

"Calm the fuck down, Slingah," I muttered into the mic, stressfully mocking her tag as I ran my soldier around some ruins to sneak up on the opposing team. I let loose a hail of bullets, biting my lip as I threw my whole body into the action, and leaned back, smirking triumphantly. "Game."

I threw my remote down and said my farewells and fuck offs to the rest of the gaming world as I dragged myself up off the floor and carried my emtpy bottles into the kitchen. I groaned as I noticed the overly full can, then shoved the bottles in anyways, attempting to squish down as much shit as I could to prevent having to take it out. Fuck chores...

Now where was that bag of gummy bears that I threw during band practice last night? My phone was dancing across the counter, but I'm sure it could wait. Probably some number that Chris gave out at the bar so that he wouldn't have to give his real one to whatever skank he dragged up.

"Fuck yea!" I shouted, freeing the bag of delicious candy from behind the sofa, where the poor fuckers had been wedged all night. I bit the head off of a red one and snickered as I made my way back to the kitchen to grab my orgasming phone before it took a daring leap toward the hard wood floor.

Tap, tap, tap. Ugh, some random spam mail for Asian porn. That's the last fucking time I let one of the guys use my phone. Tap, tap, tap. Rebel Circus? Yea, I could use some more clothes. Maybe later. Tap, tap, tap.

"God dammit!" I shouted, deleting the picture message of someone's hairy ass. I didn't even look to see who sent it, but from the following message from Chris, I could guess who it belonged to. He was always sending me some random shit. Why couldn't I find a different best friend? Oh right. No one wanted to put up with my shit. Fuck 'em then.

Tap, tap, tap. Match.com, hmm? I vaguely remembered setting up the profile when I was rip roaring drunk one night. Didn't I come across the ad while I was renewing my XBox Live account? I rubbed the side of my head, forgetting for a moment what I was actually doing while I struggled to remember when I had set up this damn account. Why did it matter?

Coming out of my stupor, I pulled open the link to find new matches, and nearly choked on my third? fourth? tenth? beer. Not bad for a Sunday morning. Was that Synyster fucking Gates in my matches? Nah, it couldn't be. I mean, I know Brian Haner Jr. from bumping into him at the studio and the bar, but never once had I found anything memorable about him. Well, except for the eyeliner. And the spiked hair. And the monster tattoos. Ah, fuck, what was I saying again?

I oggled the default picture for a minute, turning my phone from side to side to find a semi-attractive angle, but I was losing desperately. I gave up and scrolled down the page. Cats? Mr. Guitar God himself was a cat lover?! I glanced around, my two miniature pinchers curled up with each other on the couch and arched a brow. Well, that's a fucking shame.

As I continued reading the horrendous tragedy before me, I came to the conclusion that either (a) he made this profile while he was wrecked, (b) he was clearly a fucking psycho, or (c) this was a major fucking hoax. I shook my head, taking another healthy gulp from my beer, and clicked on the respond link. Oh, it would be fucking rich if he actually messaged me back.

To: Gatesypoo
From: UA_SIM

Haha, Gates, what's up man? Looks like we're a fucking match! :) Oh, and you've GOT to let me get a look at that cat tattoo...

I chuckled to myself and sent the message, walking across the living room and pulling my black out curtains open. I hissed and recoiled from the light, my eyes watering from the brutal ultraviolet assault on my drunken eyes.

I suddenly felt nipping around my feet and looked down at my little men, Ted and Bundy, and groaned. "Oh, come on guys! Now?" I swear Ted smirked at me, the little shit. Bundy was actually holding his leash in his mouth, looking at me with watery, pitiful eyes. I scowled and set my beer down on the window sill so that I could lean down and clip their leashes to their collars.

"Fine, fine. But we'll be gone no more than thirty fucking minutes! I've got shit to do today," I grumbled affectionately to them, unable to be irritated at my little furry children. Here's to hoping Gates was really a dog person, because my babies would devour a cat, no matter how big that fucker is.

RILEY

What the fuck...is this an arm...or a leg? I groaned as I opened one eye, trying to determine my surroundings before I actually made a move to get up. I wasn't sure how much I'd drank last night, and I wasn't exactly sure what had happened after I sang that ridiculously bad karaoke cover of Kittie's "Brackish".

I shoved the heavy tattooed arm off of me before sitting up, pushing uselessly at my disheveled blond hair and squinted around the room. Matt Sanders was passed out next to me on the bed, which I was guessing was his because I sure as fuck knew how to match my blanket and sheets. The comforter was covering his lower half, so I took a quick peek underneath and found myself face to face with...jeans. Ah, fuck.

I adjusted my clothes and scrambled out of the bed, nearly tripping over Baker. What the fuck was he doing in here? I skipped and hopped my way through the room, noticing that it looked like a fucking wasteland. What in the hell did we do last night?

I slipped through the cracked bedroom door and stumbled down the hall, rubbing at my bleary eyes. Why the fuck was I only wearing one shoe?! Finally, after fighting it it for a few feet, I grumbled and bent down to pull my boot off of my foot, shoving it under my arm and making my way through the house to find some hydration and a fucking exit.

I discovered Kayla and Sullivan wrapped around each other on the living room floor, snoring and drooling their day away, and Christ was upside down in the recliner, his face an odd shade of red from the blood flow. Whoever put him there was fucked up. I snorted and made my way into the cavernous kitchen, ignoring the rest of the wreckage around me. I had to hurry up and book it before someone expected me to clean this shit up.

"Morning," a voice said from behind me, causing me to knock my head against the top of the fridge. I cursed to myself and pulled my head out of the delicious coolness, rubbing the back of my head and turning to face a disgustingly chipper Gates. He was standing in front of the stove, shirtless and delicious, flipping waffles from the iron onto a plate. "Juice?" He gestured to the carton of orange juice that sat on the counter near him.

"How can you be so motivated this early in the fucking morning?" I asked, stressed the word motivated like it was a filthy thing. I pulled the cap off of the juice and tilted my head back, draining my own body weight in juice. I sat it back down and smacked my lips, raising my eyes to a gaping face.

"Chin up, Haner. You're about to drool in the fucking waffles," I gestured with one hand, pulling my pack of smokes out of my pocket and groaning as I examined the semi-crushed pack. Must've slept on 'em. His mouth snapped shut and he reached up above my head, pulling a glass out and setting it down. "Can you please try and act like you were raised in a civilized environment?" He asked, gesturing the the juice and the glass.

I shrugged, pulling a lighter out and heading to the back patio. "Nah, that's okay. I'm done," I winked at him and made my way out of the sliding glass doors. I didn't dare turn around in case I choked on the smoke, figuring I left him with a hilarious expression. Fuck, he was always fun to mess with. Surprisingly, he was a pretty stand up guy compared to his on-stage persona. But I'd never fucking admit it.

I got lost in thought, staring out over the pool, when I felt a disturbance in the force to my left. I laid eyes on my best friend, red mane in a shocking display of post-sex glory, and her fingers half-heartedly trying to wipe away the raccoon residue from under her eyes. "What the fuck did you do to Brian?" She asked, mid-yawn, and I flashed her my most innocent, wide-eyed smile and gestured to myself.

"Who? Little ol' me?" I said in a stressed, Southern Belle accent and batted my eyelashes, earning a snort from her as she lit up a cigarette. I kicked my feet up on the table and listened to the uproar inside the house. Looks like papa bear and the rest of his merry band were up. I heard a crash and a shrill laugh and I turned to see Jimmy flying past me with Matt hot on his trail.

"What the fuck, man?" I snipped, making sure my cigarette was still in one piece. Jimmy giggled like a little boy, dipping around and between lounge chairs and pool equipment, keeping just out of Matt's reach. I couldn't help but admire Matt's broad back and large arms, and nearly toppled backwards as I pictured him slapping my ass and pulling my hair.

"Got a little drool there, Riles," Zacky pointed out with a laugh, before burying his snooty nose back into his phone. I wiped absently at my mouth, shooting him the middle finger and earning laughs from both Kayla and Christ.

"Whatcha got there, Baker?" I snapped, turning the focus to his phone. He flipped it around, showing off a very fuckable red head with well-placed tattoos and gorgeous skin. I should know, I tattooed her all the fucking time. He grinned cheesily, and Kayla and I exchanged smirks.

"So, Zacky, where did you meet Danielle?" Kayla asked, leaning forward and ashing her cigarette into the ashtray. Zacky barely glanced up, typing furiously on his phone. "Hmm, what?" I watched him intently, blowing out smoke rings. His face was going a little red around the ears. 3...2...1... "Wait, how the fuck do you know her?" He looked up frantically, his eyes darting between the two of us. I could see the worry, and he probably thought we were planning on fucking this up for him.

"Chill out, man!" I chuckled, lighting a new cigarette off of the glowing ember of the other before crushing it into the ashtray. "She works over at HB Ink with me. Her name's Danielle, but she goes by Dani at the shop. She's the best fucking portrait and water color artist on the West coast, if you ask me." I smile at him, glancing at Matt out of the corner of my eye and nearly resting my elbow on my tongue that was probably hanging out.

"You work at HB?" Brian asked, setting the plate of waffles on the table in front of me. I rolled my eyes up at him and smiled. "Why yes, Haner, I do. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not the troll that lives under Johnny's bar." I wink, watching him clench his jaw. I'm sure my sickly sweet tone didn't help matter much.

I reached over to nab a waffle from the plate and felt a light pop on my hand. I recoiled, pouting, and looked up into the hazel eyes of Mr. Dimples himself. Fuck, I'd like to lick that smirk off of his face. "We've got plates, Riles," he said laughing, gesturing to the stack of plates and forks that Johnny sat next to the waffles.

I rolled my eyes, shrugging, and snatches a waffle anyways, tossing it on a plate and drowning it in a sea of maple syrup. "Want a little waffle to go with your diabetes?" Jimmy snicked from his side of the table, following suit and drowning his small skyscraper of waffles with a bucket of sweet, sugary deliciousness.

"Nope, I'm all good. Thanks for the consideration though," I grinned, mouth full of waffle. We played a disgusting round of "see food", which ended with Jimmy nearly choking on his waffles and Brian having to beat against his back to keep him alive. I held my hands up in the air victoriously, and winked at Matt as he smiled at me from his side of the table.

What the fuck am I getting myself into?

Notes

Sorry for the late post, guys! But heeeeere, it is!