But now I’m stuck. Do I go out and look for someone to burn some of this pent-up sexual frustration with? Or do I just call Juliet? She ticks all the right boxes sexually, and she’s familiar and uncomplicated, but for some unknown reason, I can’t seem to make the call.

As I pass a jogger, I know the reason is because of Madison. I can’t get that damn image of us almost kissing out of my head, and the more I try to forget it, the more lucid it becomes. I haven’t heard a peep from her after she sent the cheesecake, and I’ve purposely stayed away. I need to clear my head of both women, and to do that, I need to get laid.

Reaching for my cell from my jacket pocket, I quickly dial Hunter, who answers on the second ring.

“S and S?” he asks, and I hum in agreement.

“Let the games begin.”

Sadly Finch hasn’t joined us, so it’s only Hunter and me, which is never a good combination when we’re both horny and drunk. However, I’m designated driver, so I’m only one of the two, but it’s still enough to have me seeing double.

Hunter has dragged me to Cherry Pop, the club where I saw Madison looking like a total goddess on the dance floor.

Although I wish he’d chosen somewhere a little quieter, I can see why he selected this venue. The girls are barely clothed and barely legal, and with the amount of cheap alcohol flowing through their veins, I know this will be an early night.

Hunter seems to also be on the prowl, and our joined bachelorhood must be a magnet, because I already have five random phone numbers in my pocket, two of which I have no idea how they ended up in there.

“So, what do you feel like? Brunette? Blonde? Redhead?” Hunter asks, bowed over the railing, looking at the dancing prey below.

“I’m not sure.” I also peer out into the sea of gyrating bodies.

“I’m thinking redhead, myself,” Hunter says, rubbing his hands together sinisterly.

I chuckle, and when I glance at him, I figure now is a good time to ask what’s been bugging him, as he’s drunk and usually all for the sharing.

“You okay, man?” I ask. “You’ve been acting weird. Well, weirder,” I correct with a smirk. “I’m detecting some hostility coming through when the opposite sex is involved.”

Hunter takes a quick sip of his beer and I know I’m onto something. But he shrugs it off, obviously not wanting to talk about his feelings.

I decide to press. “Want to talk about it?”

“Dude, I’m here to fuck, not to talk. So unless you wanna put out, quit it with the psychobabble. And besides,” he adds. “You’re drowning in pussy, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Understand what a lucky son of a bitch you are,” he plainly replies.

“Lucky? Please explain how,” I say, scratching my head because from where I stand, I’m far from lucky. I’m obsessing over one girl who is totally unattainable, while trying to wean myself off another.

Hunter reads my thoughts. “At least you have them coming back for more. What do I get? I’m lucky if I even catch their names. Am I ugly? You’d tell me, right?” he asks, taking a sip of his drink.

So this is what’s eating him. Could it be my friend, a bigger man-whore than me, is looking for a steady girlfriend? That’s got to be it. Problem is, he’s choosing the wrong women. I should know.

“Dude, you’re not ugly. If I swung that way, I’d totally bone you,” I say, slapping his shoulder playfully. “So you what, want to settle down?” I ask seriously, wanting to make sure my theory is right.

He shrugs, which in Hunter’s language means yes.

“Hunt?” I ask again, determined to get him to speak.

“I dunno, maybe!” he snaps, most likely annoyed with the twenty questions. “I just…they’re all so flaky. Are all women like that? If so, fuck that bullshit. I’ll stick to one-nighters,” he says, running a hand down his face.

“Maybe the problem is the women you find aren’t exactly ‘bring home to your mom’ kinda material,” I suggest, hoping I don’t appear judgmental. “And besides, the way you talk, walk, dress, act…Jesus, your entire being doesn’t reflect you’re looking to settle down.”

“Maybe my whoring tendencies are a cry for help?” he quickly suggests, and I don’t know whether he’s being serious or not.

Just as I’m about to address his statement, he cuts me off. “Let’s just get laid, already.” He pushes off the railing to look at me.

I know a brush-off when I see one, but I let it slide. He’s done talking, but at least I know what’s been bugging him.

This conversation, however, will have to be put on hold anyway, as a set of twins are headed our way. And yes, I mean girls, not boobs. And yes, they are identical.

“Punch me,” Hunter whispers from the side of his mouth.

“Are you fucking high?” I whisper back, puzzled by his randomness.

“I will be after I fuck twin one, or two. Either way, I don’t care which it is because I won’t be able to tell who’s who, because they are fucking twins,” he states, his excitement clearly evident by his shit-eating grin. “This isn’t a dream, right? Those two blonde bombshells are really headed our way.”

I roll my eyes and sip my beer. “Yes, you moron, they are real and they’re headed our way,” I reply, watching their fake tits barely wobble as they walk toward us.

“Punch me just in case,” he quickly says, but I refrain from the violence as both girls stop beside me.

“Hi, I’m Mandy, and this is Marisa,” Mandy says with a smile, her perfect teeth glowing under the fluorescents.

Before I have a chance to reply, Hunter steps forward and takes charge. “Hi, Mandy and Marisa. I’m Hunter, and this ugly bastard is Dixon,” he says, hooking his thumb my way.

I sarcastically smile at his charisma and extend my hand. “Nice to meet you, ladies.”

The way Marisa is eye-fucking me and my hand, I know she would prefer me to put my hand someplace else. She’s attractive—I mean she’s blonde, big busted, and easy—but I’m suddenly craving a brunette.

Screaming at my subconscious to shut the hell up, I forget that a certain brunette exists and focus on getting laid.

“So, can we buy you girls a drink?” I ask, and both of them nod eagerly.

“We’d like that,” they say in unison, giggling.

Hunter looks like he’s just died and gone to heaven, and me, I feel like I’m in hell.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m regretting the fact I offered to drive. However, there’s no amount of scotch that could ever, ever, make what the titty twins are proposing be okay.

This is the third time Hunter has kicked me in the shin under the table, and if he does it again, I’ll take him up on his earlier suggestion and punch the living hell out of him.

Mandy, twin number one, who is older by two minutes, has not so discreetly hinted at us having a good ol’ fashioned gangbang. Hunter, no surprise, is all for the idea, but me, not so much—hence, the under table violence on his behalf.

Now, I’m no prude and I have engaged in a threesome or two in my time, but never a foursome with my best friend and two horny sisters. This is gross on all accounts, but more importantly, I’m not interested in seeing Hunter live out his Hugh Hefner dreams with these wannabe incestuous bunnies.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Mandy says, offering a hand to her sister. “We’re just going to visit the little girls’ room.” They both giggle, blowing us kisses before they leave.

The moment they’re gone, Hunter quickly reaches over the small table and flicks me in the junk.

“Ow! What the fuck?” I yelp, holding onto my nuts. “What the hell was that for?”

“Oh, I dunno, I just wanted to check if your balls were still intact and you didn’t grow a vagina overnight!” he replies in a huff.

“Jesus, calm down.” I chuckle, still protecting my family jewels. “They just referred to the restroom as the little girls’ room. Do you not see what’s wrong with this picture?” I ask, shuddering.