A week later I open my eyes to find myself anywhere but my bedroom. This room is all too familiar. How'd I end up here again? With him?  Skwisgaar sleeps soundly beside me, his hair spread out everywhere.

I decide to get up and leave before he wakes up. If I'm lucky, he won't remember any of this happened. From now on these one night stands have to stop. Well, would it really be a one night stand if it happened twice? That probably makes it worse, him being the obvious player he is. As I finish dressing and tying my brown hair up he begins to stir.

"We haves to stops doing this," he groans, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

"I was just on my way out," I give a fake grin and turn on my heel to leave. The house is enormous, but I'll eventually find my way out. It's odd how his room is so bright and simplistic, yet the rest of his home is dark red and black. He doesn't strike me as the gothic type. I make a turn through a door that should lead to the exit.

Five men stare at me, four of which I recognize from the first night I met Skwisgaar. The other has medium blonde hair and robotic eyes of some sort.

"Dick, I didn't know you hired any strippers today," a black haired man growls. The man presumed to be Dick replies with a simple, "I didn't either."

"I'm not a stripper," I scowl, "Do you live here with Skwisgaar?"

They all look at each other with small smirks. A red haired man with an odd dread-combover looks back at me, "Do you really not know who we are?" He has a very thick Wisconsin accent.

"...No?"

They look at Dick in disbelief. He scoffs, "They're only the most famous band in the world!" He watches as I furrow my brows in thought.

"They're DethKlok!" He yells, pointing to all the posters, guitars, and other instruments around the room.

"Did you come home with Skwisgaar?" The black haired man asks. I nod shortly, slightly embarrassed by everything that just went down. He walks past me, gesturing for me to follow him. For a while he leads me down the halls, hopefully to the exit.

"Don't take it personal, Skwisgaar is kind of a man-slut," he chuckles, "But I don't often see him take home girls like you."

I frown at him, "Girls like me? What's wrong with me?"

He shakes his head, "No, nothing. I just mean... He's not really into... Younger girls... If you know what I mean."

Well that's disgusting. This guy seems to have some issues he needs to work out if he's going after senior citizens on the regular. That also leads to the question, why has he been taking me home? Before I can think about it much, we're at the front door. The man holds out his hand, "I'm Nathan."

I shake it politely, "I'm Bea... Short for Beatrice." I think for a second before adding, "I work at that strip club you guys go to. As a bartender." Maybe sharing that I work at a strip club wasn't the best thing to say to a stranger. Unless we aren't strangers anymore. Nathan is much more tolerable than Skwisgaar.

"Then we'll see you around, Bea," he grins. Something about that sentence sticks with me on the ride home. It's probably the We. I can tell he's talking about a certain blonde who I can't seem to keep myself away from.