Hey guys! So this is something I've been working on since January, and I haven't finished it yet, but I thought that posting some of it would motivate me to finish writing. I initially didn't want to make this a multichapter fic, but as I kept writing I realized just how long this would be and decided it needed to be separated to make reading easier.

Please rate, review, etc! I'd love to hear back because this story is very special to me and I want to see how it fares!

i.

She sat at the bar one Saturday night, drinking a glass of whiskey and paying no attention to the people around her. Her expression was cool and indifferent as she looked over the crowd of people, only changing to become unkind if anyone even looked at her the wrong way. Her posture looked relaxed, but somehow prepared to jump up and be firm if necessary. She was tough, that much was obvious; tough and cold and no bullshit.

Tommy caught himself staring from his spot on the stage. Maybe he had seen her around before, he couldn't be sure—she didn't stand out from the rest of the girls in the Newark area, so it's not as if he'd remember her. But for some reason, he just couldn't look away. She wasn't more beautiful than the other girls here, yet it was as if she was calling all his attention to her. Maybe it was the underlying glare always present in her eyes, or the contrasting hint of a smirk on her red lips. Maybe it was the way she drank her whiskey, or the way her dress clung to her chest, or the disinterested air around her. Whatever the hell it was, it kept getting Tommy to look back at her.

And when her light eyes would meet his, it was almost as if her gaze grew harder. Tommy didn't know the girl, didn't have a reason to warrant any harshness, but it didn't stop her. He found it amusing, to put it simply—it was like she was trying to reject him before he got the chance to make an effort.

But just as quick as their eyes met, she was looking away again, her indifference continuing. She went back to drinking her whiskey and people watching, all the while Tommy kept having to drag his gaze elsewhere. He didn't know why he'd be remotely interested in her, especially when there were other girls around vying for his attention. Tommy wasn't a man looking for a challenge, he just wanted some good sex.

And yet, a part of him kept wondering throughout the night: "who is she?"

ii.

He asks Nick after the show if he knows the girl, "the girl who looks ready to kill anyone who even looks at her wrong." Nick had looked out at the crowd and couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped him once his eyes found her.

"Don't even botha, Tommy," He said simply, "she'll rip your throat out."

But that still left his questions unanswered. Who was the girl? Nick shook his head at the unsatisfied expression on Tommy's face, and went back to packing up the instruments.

After they had lugged everything out to the car, Tommy started back for the club, telling his bandmates he wanted a quick drink. Of course, Nick didn't believe him, but what could he do?

Tommy stood in the entryway for a few moments as he looked around the room, eyes scanning for the indifferent girl. She was no longer at the bar, and he couldn't find a trace of her anywhere. But since he was here, he leaned against the worn, wooden bar top and asked for a drink. He couldn't help but glance from his left to his right, eyebrow raised as he wondered where she disappeared to. He caught sight of an empty glass some ten feet away, red lipstick staining the rim. For a few long moments, he stared at the glass, wondering why he even gave two shits about who she was.

Tommy downed his drink and left the bar before they could realize he didn't pay. After tomorrow, he'd forget this girl anyway.

iii.

It was another two weeks before he saw her again. The Variatones were performing at the same club, and there she was again, lipstick still red and eyes still harsh. At first, Tommy hadn't even noticed her—since that night two weeks ago, he had almost forgotten about the girl. But as soon as his eyes spotted her, now sitting at a small corner table, he was wondering about her all over again.

Tommy tried to keep from staring. One: because he couldn't understand why he cared so much, two: because he didn't want to be on the receiving end of that glare. Of course, he stole glances, he couldn't help himself from looking back, a part of him hoping maybe she was also staring at him. She wasn't. She was never staring, it was as if he and the stage didn't even exist. She acted like she didn't care, and it frustrated a dumb part of him.

He had to reason with himself—why did he give a shit at all? What made him want her attention more than the next woman's?

Because he wasn't getting any at all.

All they had was a stolen glare from two weeks ago. That was it, nothing else, and that's what irritated him. Tommy got enough attention from a lot of other women, he was used to the pretty girls eying him just as much as he did them. But this one didn't, and it got to him more than he expected it would.

They played their set like usual, Frankie's performance stealing some of the attention the rest had itched for. Including the attention for the glaring woman in the back corner, though it was brief and almost unnoticeable. But of course Tommy saw, of course he caught her gaze changing from harsh to interested, at least for a moment. For a few fleeting seconds, he caught her lost in the music, and he couldn't stop the small, triumphant smirk from gracing his lips. She had allowed her eyes to stop glaring and her lips to stop frowning as she sat and listened.

But quickly, her default expression came back, and Tommy frowned at the cause. A man had approached her, a flirtatious grin on his lips as he spoke. The guitarist refrained from glaring, because he kept telling himself she had no reason to matter and he had no reason to care. But he watched with curiosity, at least from the corner of his eye. Though he couldn't read lips, he could tell the conversation (or lack thereof) was going nowhere—the man tried to flirt, and immediately she'd shut him down.

The man was growing frustrated, but it only seemed to amuse her; now, she was grinning, mocking the man as she dismissed him. The man tried again, but was only met with the same response as before. After one final try, Tommy saw her amusement turn to anger as her eyes were glaring harsher than ever before. He couldn't be sure what she said, but it got the other man walking posthaste.

Annoyingly so, Tommy was more curious than he had been before. He wanted to know why she was this way, and what she was capable of doing. He didn't like this growing interest he had, but he couldn't help himself from wondering.

As the Variatones were leaving the stage, he stole another look her way to find she was already looking back at him. Or, rather, just looking at the band. Her eyes had jumped from one member to the next, until they landed on Tommy. Though she always seemed to have a glare in her gaze, it didn't harshen when her eyes settled on him. She remained indifferent, at least to the best of her ability. He didn't give her a grin or a nod, but he had opened his mouth slightly, as if he wanted to tell her something. (Though he wasn't sure what he'd want to say or why he thought about speaking since she was across the room). And a part of him was certain that the corner of her mouth turned up just a little before they both had turned away.

iv.

Tommy had missed his chance to talk to her.

It had been another month since he last saw the glaring girl, and he found that, this time, he couldn't forgot. Whether they were performing at a different club or the one where he first saw her, Tommy always caught himself looking around for her. At first, he had tried to tell himself he was just looking at the audience for his next lay, but he realized that he was searching for her harsh gaze.

He hated himself for it. He hated that he let himself become so interested in a girl he didn't know. Hell, he didn't even become interested in girls he did know. He only spent time with women for one thing, and one thing only, so why was he more curious in knowing her name than in knowing how she was in bed?

He wouldn't admit it to anyone. He didn't want anyone to know that Tommy DeVito was stuck on a girl. Honestly, he wouldn't say he was even stuck on her, but he was more than a little interested.

Tommy reasoned that he'd forget. He always forgets them, eventually. So, over the course of the month without seeing her, he tried to forget. It would work, sometimes. It wasn't as if he was caught up on the girl and thought about her constantly, but sometimes he'd randomly remember her lipstick stained glass or her triumphant smirk or the way her dress hugged her breasts. The thoughts were fleeting, coming and going more quickly than a blink. But nonetheless, he was still remembering her.

It was one night, the band was back at a club, getting a couple drinks before they went on. They were all relaxed, making light conversation with each other and a few patrons. Tommy himself was leaned up against the counter, flirting with a pretty blonde girl who was already smitten with him. He gave her his full attention, using charming smiles and little comments to keep her interested.

He stole a glance up to see where his bandmates were when he spotted her again. It had been so long, he assumed he wouldn't find her again. Yet there she was, as alluring and aggravated as ever. For a moment, he found himself staring at her rather than looking back at the girl right in front of him. She had yet to notice him as she spoke to—who he assumed was—a friend before turning to the bar and ordering a drink, hopping up slightly to sit in the stool that was a little too tall for her. Her friend sat down beside her, the two sharing a slight laugh at a comment one made. The blonde in front of Tommy noticed his attention had drifted as he stared somewhere past her.

She spoke up, trying to regain his attention. All he had to say was that he needed to talk with the band, and so he walked away. He went to stand with his friends, eyes rarely leaving the mysterious woman. She sat with her drink in hand, eyes never leaving her friend's face as the two conversed. Tommy watched her profile, realizing that she wasn't glaring at all—she was relaxed, smiling, laughing. This was a whole new side of her.

"Tommy, what's with you?" Nick's voice had interrupted his thoughts, causing him to look back at the band, "Why ya still care about her?"

"I don't." He defended quickly, "Don't even know her name."

"Then why don't you go find it out?" Frankie asked, looking between the two men though he didn't know who exactly they were talking about.

Nick pointed a finger in Tommy's face, "Don't, I warned ya about her."

Tommy glared slightly, eyebrow raised as he looked from the finger in his face up at Nick's serious gaze. He pushed the other man hands down, "Cool it, Nicky; what could possibly go wrong if I did try, huh?"

"I've heard from other guys that she's a bitch, rejects everyone that ever approaches her—she doesn't care about anything a man has to say." Tommy gave him a doubtful look.

"You heard this, huh? From who?"

"Guys just like you, Tommy."

At that, his gaze darkened a little, "Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?"

Nick held his hands up defensively, "You know exactly what I mean. Now forget about her."

"Just tell me one thing," Tommy started, looking back around to stare at the woman for a few brief moments, "what's her name?"

Now, both Nick and Frankie gazed at the woman in discussion, and the first let out a sigh, "Last name's Airaldi—never actually heard anyone call her by her first name."

Airaldi. Tommy let the name roll around in his head a bit as he continued to watch her. He wouldn't say it fit her—it just didn't sound like the right last name for the type of woman she was. It wasn't harsh, but soft; not threatening, but easy. It didn't suit her at all. Now, he wondered if her first name was the same way.

v.

After their performance, Tommy finally found himself drifting toward the Airaldi woman, much to Nick's protest. At first, he didn't even realize he was heading her way, but suddenly his legs were moving at their own accord. She was still sat in the barstool, looking out at the crowd of people and a drink in hand like there always seemed to be. Her friend had disappeared to the bathroom, Tommy assumed, giving him the perfect opportunity. And then her eyes finally fell on Tommy, and for a moment she stopped. Her stare followed him carefully, watching with slight interest as he moved. At meeting her gaze, Tommy could see just how difficult she'd be, and a part of him wondered why he even wanted to try. But then she quirked her eyebrow and there was another smirk teasing at her lips, and he realized that he had to at least talk to her.

So, Tommy put on his signature smug look, and finally he was stood right next to her, leaning against the bar top. She looked into his eyes with that harsh expression, and he realized her eyes were green, something he didn't expect (though he wasn't sure why it mattered). For a moment, Tommy caught himself just staring at her.

Then, he became his typical self, an underlying tone of mischief and danger in his gaze, "What'd ya think of the show?" He started, and, again, he thought he saw the hint of a smirk on her lips. But, looking back at her eyes, they remained difficult to read.

She licked her lips quickly and let her eyes wander back toward his band, "That kid's got some talent." And God, her voice was something—it was husky, a little throaty, and nothing like what he expected. But Tommy found himself interested in even her voice.

"Yeah, that Frankie's really got something." He responded, never letting the grin leave his face, "And the rest of us?"

She let out a "hmm" that sounded almost like a laugh, "Nothin' special." She said it so plainly and so jeeringly, making Tommy scoff.

"Oh, you think so?" His brows had furrowed slightly, but he maintained a cool composure. All the woman did was raise her eyebrow and stare at him. Tommy bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, as his dark eyes stared into hers, before smiling confidently again, "Tommy DeVito."

The woman looked him up and down quickly, "I don't care who you are." She was so straightforward in everything she said, and it cut Tommy down quickly, "I'm also not interested."

"Sweetheart, you don't even know why I'm talking to you."

And then she laughed, a real laugh that turned into a mocking one, "I am not your sweetheart." She glared at him, "I will never be your sweetheart, or anyone else's for that matter. I don't even remotely care why you say you're talking to me, because I already know why."

Now, Tommy was glaring back, growing frustrated with her, "So, it's true, you do shoot down every guy that tries, huh?"

"Oh, hun, of course I do." Her tone was amazingly condescending, and yet Tommy couldn't help but remain amused, even as she practically insulted him. She turned away from him then, certain that her efforts would make him walk away in annoyance.

"But I'm your hun?" She couldn't mask the slight surprise that crossed her features as she peered back at him, "You're not my sweetheart, but I'm your hun?" He repeated, giving her a ridiculing glare. Her rich, red lips were a straight line as she stared, trying to figure out something to say back to him. Usually, she could get a man to walk away within a minute, but it seemed like she'd need to use more effort with this idiot.

She continued to stare when she realized she didn't know what to say. Tommy could see in her eyes that she was trying to think of something to say, but he could also see how she was drawing a blank. So, he gave her another large, assertive grin, making her eyes narrow even more.

And then she stood, throwing some cash on the counter, "I have better places to be than spending time with you, sweetheart." She whipped around and began walking for the door, her heels clicking firmly on the ground.

"Nice talking with you. And don't forget about your friend, hun." Tommy called after her, and he couldn't hold back the triumphant expression that crossed his features when he saw her freeze momentarily. He watched as she walked to the door, noticing how—even now, when he was certain she was frustrated—she still walked with such confidence and self-assurance and grace.

Tommy walked back to his bandmates, still grinning largely.

"What you so happy about, she rejected you?" Frankie questioned him, having watched some of the scene unfold in front of him.

"I told ya so, Tommy." Nick added.

But Tommy looked smug and amused and confident, "That Airaldi girl has met her match…"

vi.

She wasn't there the next time they were at the club. Of course she wasn't. And Tommy just knew it was his fault. That thought made him grin, amused by the whole situation.

He hadn't thought about her all that much during the week. As per usual, she was just a fleeting thought that would randomly appear in his head. But now, he had memories and he had her voice and he had her eyes all in his head. So, maybe she wasn't as fleeting a thought as before, maybe she lingered a little longer. But even still, Tommy had better things to think of.

It was that next performance when he caught himself thinking about her more than once. Because now she wasn't here. He thought it was dumb for him to get caught up thinking about the girl, but he couldn't help himself when he was back here again.

Tommy found himself wondering about her, about where she was now and what she was doing. At first, he wondered if she often goes out with friends or if she's more of a stay at home type. But suddenly, his thoughts turned to wondering if she was a top or a bottom. This, he decided, was a topic he preferred considering. There was the usual Tommy DeVito again, only caring about what women might be like in bed. And he decided he'd keep his thoughts that way.

So, there's the first part! If you have any questions/comments/concerns, message or review, I'd love to hear back, especially since this fandom isn't very large, it's nice to interact with new people!