Elena leaned against the doorframe as The S finished up their practice. They were singing the song Stefan introduced when they were back home a few weeks ago without clearing it with their label or manager. Turned out it was so popular among fans that they were forced to practice and perform it on tour, ready to record the second it was over.

They were incredible, truly. Four men, each so different, so unique, yet they jelled together like they were quadruplets. Elena didn't think it would make a difference if Enzo and Alaric weren't brothers of Damon and Stefan. She thought the four of them would fit together in the most perfect way anyway.

It was easy to see why America—and no joke, the world—loved them. It was easy to see why they had rabid, crazy fans. Why even mums and grandmas sang along to their songs.

The S was magnetic, their pull so strong it was irresistible.

Standing here, listening to Stefan drawled the words to the song, to Enzo banging a low beat on the drum, to Alaric strumming his guitar, to Damon on bass, every part of Elena felt alive. Every beat of her heart was in time with the music, every pump of adrenaline matching the strum of the guitar.

And she knew that this was what it was to feel. Really feel. To relax and love, to be one with something positive. To understand the sweep of music through your veins.

Each one of them had a different view of the song. It was in their expressions. Even when they switched to another song seamlessly, never taking a beat or a breath, it was evident. Every lyric meant something different to each of them.

Elena slid along the wall and took a seat on the chair in the corner. Somehow none of them noticed her, so she set her purse on the floor quietly and lifted her knees so she could hug them to her chest.

She rested her chin on her knees and listened. She just listened. To the drums, to the guitars, to Stefan's voice, to Damon's backing him up huskily. And Elena closed her eyes. Hearing them here was different from on a stage, whether it was a concert or not. This seemed more…them. How they did it. Where they were most comfortable.

"Enjoy that?" Stefan asked with a teasing lilt in his voice.

Elena smiled and opened her eyes. "It wasn't bad."

"You want to hear another?"

"I would love to," she admitted, still smiling. "You are all so different here from onstage."

"We are sing-in-the-garage boys at heart," Enzo murmured. "One day, we will find a hotel with a garage."

"Get on that." Alaric nodded his head towards her.

"I will make sure to put it on my to-do list." Her smile followed her gaze to Alaric.

"Anything else on that list, darling?"

Elena flicked her eyes to Damon. "Oh, a lot of things, but every one that includes your name also includes the word 'behave,' so don't get too excited."

Damon smirked. "Elena, I'm on the list. That is enough."

"But so are the others."

"And that just got a whole lot less sexy."

"It was never meant to be sexy."

"Are we singing or what?" Stefan interjected. "Fail to seduce her on your own time, man. My girlfriend will chew my balls off if I'm late for dinner. I promised Caroline we will have dinner together, so let's get a wriggle on."

"What are we singing?" Enzo asked.

"Make it sentimental," Alaric butted in. "What about 'Give my love'?"

Stefan smiled and ran his hand over his guitar. "All right, Alaric. 'Give my love' it is."

Enzo counted them in, and they all kicked in with the beat, perfectly in tune. Elena leaned her head to the side as Stefan began to sing.

When I look in your eyes I can see that you

Want to be with me but you're so scared

And I don't know what to say or do

But the tears keep falling from your eyes

And I know that times won't change my love

And I can't do nothing to keep you

Oh, I'll give my love

Oh when I hold you tight

Give my love through kisses oh so bright

And you know that I can't change my love

Take my love all through the night

"He wrote this for me," Caroline whispered, sliding onto the seat next to Elena.

"Really?"

She nods sadly. "It was one of the songs he wrote when we first met. I didn't know what to do."

Elena swallowed and looked at her. "He really loves you, huh? When you two first met?"

"Yeah. He does. And I do, too. I made some stupid mistakes, Elena, but I fixed them." She sighed. "I didn't know how to deal with having a relationship with someone famous back then. I feel guilty, even though he has forgiven me. I hear these songs…and, damn. I know they got to sing them, but I wish they wouldn't."

"They sing them so well," Elena whispered. "And Stefan—it is so easy to see why so many girls adore him. He means every word he sings, doesn't he? Especially the ones he has written."

Caroline lips twitched to the side. "How can you tell the difference?"

Elena shrugged a shoulder. "He sounds…different. Like, he smiles a little when he sings his. I didn't notice it before, but now I have seen them without tuning and all that other crap they do, I can see it."

"He does." Caroline smiled. "It is all they know. Music…It is their oxygen. Lyrics are their breaths. They couldn't live without it. Any of them. It has been that way apparently, Elena. If it was taken from any of them…" She shook her head. "Wes threatened to put Damon in rehab."

"I know. He told me."

"It isn't happening." Caroline looked at Elena, her eyes glimmering with determination. "These boys are my family, and no one is taking that cocky banana brain away from us."

Elena smiled. "It is up to him to stop it. Not us."

"No. Keep their schedule so full he can't go out and meet random chicks. Have him escorted from every concert, so even when he signs autographs, he is guarded. I won't have him taken away. It would kill her. It would kill Lillian. She loves him."

"He loves her," Elena said softly. "It is a total contradiction to his personality."

"I know." Caroline laughed quietly. "He acts like a big hard man, yet his mother can bring him to his knees."

"You are talking about Damon?" Stefan walked towards them.

"I wouldn't give his ego the satisfaction." Caroline winked.

"Wind it in, sugar, or I will come over there and kick your butt," Damon teased.

"Be nice!" Stefan demanded, frowning. "Be nice, Caroline."

"Yeah, Caroline, be nice," Damon nodded to Caroline.

"No! You be nice, Damon," Stefan repeated.

Both Caroline and Elena grinned.

Damon looked at his brother flatly.

"Caroline, stop being mean to him. He doesn't have his usual frustration outlet, and it is us with him all day," Enzo called across the room. "But if you brought a Playboy with you, carry on."

"Oh, yeah. Because a woman buying a Playboy doesn't look awkward at all."

"Does that mean you got one?" Damon asked, resting his elbows on his knees.

Caroline looked at him. "No."

"Crap."

"Behave." Caroline eyed him then turned to Stefan. "Dinner?"

"Okay, baby." Stefan looked at the others. "Anyone else coming?"

Elena shook her head no as everyone else answered. Everyone except Damon agreed to go out for dinner.

Crap. Should have gone with it, Elena thought.

"Looks like it is just me and you, princess." Damo half-grinned across the now-empty room.

"Or it is me and me, and you and you," Elena responded. "Just because we aren't going doesn't mean we have to dine together."

"Who said a thing about dining together?"

Her eyes found his across the room, slowly. His look back at her with a glint, one that looked suspiciously like desire.

"No one. But just in case you got ideas."

"Elena, I have always got ideas when you are around."

Oh hell. "I think I'm going to call for room service. Alone." Elena added as an afterthought, making it clear with a sharp gaze that "alone" really did mean "alone."

"Whatever you want." Damon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You are not—you are not going to fight me on that?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No. I'm just surprised you are not." She gathered her purse from the floor and hung it over her arm. "What are you going to do?"

Damon shrugged, a tantalizing smirk playing on his lips.

"Damon."

"If you keep saying my name, my answer is 'I'm going to kiss you.' "

Elena narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to call the security and get them to keep an eye on you. You are not to leave this hotel. Do you understand that, Mr Salvatore?"

The smirk fell from his lips. "Mr Salvatore again? Really?"

Elena whipped out her cell phone, pressed call, and shot him a look over her shoulder as she walked away.

x x x

That look was far too attitude-filled for his liking. And that smirk on her pink lips. Damn.

Damon left his guitar leaning against his chair and got up, following Elena out the door. Having dinner alone—there wasn't a chance in hell she was going to do that. He was going to follow her through this hotel and up to her room because he wanted to. Besides, with the others not around, it was the perfect chance to pull some of that past of hers out of her, to make her talk.

He wanted to hear her talk.

Nobody would ever run from one night of abuse. That much was painstakingly clear.

"Hey, sugar," Damon drawled, leaning on the receptionist's desk.

"Mr Salvatore." She glanced up through her hair.

"Come on, now, I have told you to call me Damon…" His eyes flicked to her badge. "Stacey."

Stacey blushed. "How can I help you, Damon?"

"I can't seem to get hold of my assistant on the phone, and she is sick. I know she is in her room. I'm real worried about her. What are the chances of you giving me her room key so I can check on her?"

"Oh—I don't…I don't think I can, sir, I'm sorry. It is against policy."

"Aw, Stacey." Damon leaned forward fully and her eyes flicked to where his arms were straining against his T-shirt. "Her room is booked in my name. Who is going to know, huh? It can be our little secret." He winked.

Stacey's eyes flicked to her colleague and back to Damon. "I tell you what. Buy me a drink tomorrow after work and I will give you the key."

"You drive a hard bargain, sugar, but I will agree. It can't be too bad taking a girl such as yourself for a drink." Damon gave her his most charming smile and held out his hand. "Room 218."

Stacey got up and programmed a new key in less than a minute. She put it in his hand, smiled, and let her touch lingered for a minute too long. Damon widened his smile and pulled the key from her grip before heading to the elevator and dropping the grin.

Hell. Elena better appreciate the effort he was putting in for this room-service chat.

He exited the elevator and walked down the hall to her room. The key card slipped into the door easily, and he knocked twice, then pushed the door open.

"Damon! What the hell!" Elena shrieked, holding a fluffy white towel firmly around her body. Her long brown hair was wet and falling about her shoulders.

"Well, damn." His eyes trawled across her wet body of their own accord. From her long, curled eyelashes fluttering in shock to the droplets of water trailing down between her breasts to the way that towel barely skims the tops of her thighs. "Hello to you, too."

"What are you doing here?" she squeaked, stepping back into her bedroom.

"Couldn't stand the thought of a beautiful girl like you eating dinner alone," Damon said to her half-towel-covered tits.

"Me or my girls?"

"All of you, darling. Your ass and pussy, too." And food wasn't the only thing he would like to eat around her.

"You are so crude!" She shut her bedroom door. The loud sound was followed by the click of a lock.

"Aw, hell. There goes plan B."

"Oh, my God!" she cried through the door, banging in the room. "You are unreal!"

Damon grinned and dropped onto her sofa. This was hell—no girl should ever be seen in a tiny white towel like that. Especially not if that girl was Elena Gilbert and he was the guy seeing her.

He was getting hard in his pants, steadily growing harder with every passing second. So easy. It would have been so easy to push her against a wall and rip away that pathetic excuse for a towel and show her exactly why she should be fully clothed around him at all times.

No, she shouldn't. She should be stark naked and clean-shaven around him. Making coffee, ordering pizza, watching a movie…This chick should not own a single item of clothing.

Except panties. Panties were okay.

He loved panties.

He adjusted his jeans over his rock-hard cock. Sweet Jesus. If he had had known Elena was practically naked he would have waited five minutes and saved himself the torture of seeing and not touching. But, man. That was a quick shower. He knew for a fact Caroline took at least fifteen minutes. Elena wasn't even in there five. Or maybe she was—Stacey the Receptionist's seduction attempt swallowed up several minutes of his time.

"What on earth are you doing here, Damon?"

Damon focused his attention to Elena. At least he tried to. "I already told you, Elena. You can't have dinner alone, so here I am, ready to wine and dine you."

Elena licked her lips and failed to hide her smile. "Really? You are going to wine and dine the assistant you have known for nine days?"

"Darling, I usually take girls to my room without finding out their names after ten minutes in their presence." He smirked. "You should count yourself lucky."

"Oh, I do. As lucky as the kid that didn't win the goldfish at the country fair when all his friends did." Elena gave him a pointed look over the top of the room-service menu. "So what is this? A business meeting? A casual dinner? A lame and misguided attempt at a date?"

Damon choked on nothing at that last question. "A casual dinner. I don't do dates, darling."

Elena sat next to him and threw a menu onto his lap. "One would assume you are not leaving, so there you go."

"One would be correct," Damon put on his best Richmond accent.

Elena looked over at him, her mouth tugging into a smile, her eyes sparkling. "Really? That is the best you have? You are way too country to nail it."

"What?" He sat up straight. "I don't believe you."

"You are!"

"Do a Southern accent then, Ms. You Can't Nail It. I dare you."

Elena rolled her eyes, set her menu on her lap, and looked at Damon. "For real?"

"For real!"

"Fine!" She looked away a second then back to him. "Well bless your heart, sugar."

Damon blinked at her. "What the hell was that?"

"A Southern accent?"

"You sound like Caroline. How the hell?"

"You seem to have forgotten I have spent a whole bunch of time with you all in the last nine days, mostly Caroline and I also went to school with a few Southerners." Elena shrugged, lifting her menu again.

"Damn. You are hot as hell, sort my legal stuff, love my music, and you can pull off a Southern accent? Marry me, Elena."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Damon Salvatore, the day you find a girl stupid enough to marry you, I will get your name tattooed on my butt cheek."

Damon grinned. "Better start looking then, eh?"

"You better. It is going to take a while." She giggled into her menu. "Okay. I know what I'm eating. What are you having?"

"I'm ordering."

"Not for me you are not."

"I never said that. I just said I'm ordering. It is polite."

"The add-on at the end of that sentence really rudened it up."

"Rudened? What the hell is that?"

"I made it up, all right? Lay off."

Damon laughed and leaned over her for the phone. He dialled the code for room service, stutter out his order between chuckles, and then Elena said hers into the receiver. He ordered one bottle of Moscato for her and a few beers for himself, to be brought up immediately, on ice.

"Moscato, hmm?" Elena looked at Damon questioningly.

"It is all you drink, darling."

"I'm surprised you noticed."

"Me, too."

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door and Damon got up to answer it. A small cart was rolled in with their drinks, and the guy popped the cork on her wine and uncapped a bottle of beer. Damon thanked him and took the glass and bottle.

Elena took the glass from him with a contemplative expression. He smiled as her fingers brushed his and dropped down unceremoniously on the couch next to her. She shook her head and rolled her eyes but she didn't say a word.

Their eyes met several times over the next few minutes. Damon was checking to see if Elena was looking at him, and he would bet she was doing the exact same thing. It was dumb, because he was always looking at her. Even if she was sans makeup, with wet, unruly hair.

The girl was unreal.

"Would you like me to dry my hair? You are looking at me all confused," Elena mumbled into her glass.

"That is because I am not used to being attracted to natural girls. Yet I find myself incredibly attracted to you."

"Must be my stellar personality."

"Or them killer tits."

Her gaze snapped to his. "God, Damon!"

"Now there is a phrase I'm used to hearing."

"Oh my God!"

"That, too."

"I'm just going to stop talking."

"No, Elena. Don't. Your voice is pretty."

Elena slapped his bicep with the back of her fingers. "My voice is pretty? For real, Casanova? That the best you got?"

Damon tugged on a lock of her hair. "I'm trying to be nice here, which is, again, something most chicks don't get. Give me a chance, all right?"

"But if I did that, I would be one of those dumb chicks you associate with."

"True story that, darling. Although I am not doing that for now. I'm being good. Except for that chick at reception." He brushed his fingers down Elena's jaw. "I had to agree to buy her a drink before she would give me your room card."

"Hmm," she hummed. "I wondered how you swindled that one."

"I'm a regular Romeo."

"Seems it. Are you sure this dinner isn't getting in the way of meeting Ms. Receptionist?"

"Nah, I don't have to grace her with my awesome presence until tomorrow evening."

"What time?"

"She didn't say."

"Shame. You are busy all evening, practicing, per your manager's orders." Elena smiled and sipped her wine. "Part of his plan to keep you on the straight and narrow and away from kissing random girls."

"What if I kiss you? Does that count?"

"As what?"

"A random girl." Damon set his beer on the table in front of them and scooted along toward her.

Her chest heaves, and she swallowed, holding her wine in front of her body. "I'm not a random girl."

"So you don't count," Damon breathed, taking her glass from her and putting it on the table. "Right?"

"Um. I do count. I'm kind of random. And I'm a girl. So."

"Elena?"

"What?"

Damon press his chest against hers and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. "Shut up."

Elena inhaled as he closed the distance between their mouths. The taste of her wine was strong on her lips, and he ran his tongue across her bottom lip, revelling in the silky sweetness of it. Despite her protests, she arched her body into his, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck.

Damn, she was everything that was bad and good. She was temptation and resistance. Damn, she was sin. She was dark and light, a contradiction, a mystery to unravel. She was every thing he didn't know existed.

Elena was everything he never wanted to know existed.

Damon ran his fingers through her half-damp hair to the ends, and hers went into the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him tightly to her. It was nothing like he expected.

By rights, Elena should push him away, too afraid to blink at him. But every sweep of her lips, every kiss, every grasp at him told him that she trusted him. It could be smart or it could be dumb.

But he would never hurt her. Never. Ever. Not the way she had been hurt in the past. The thought of marring her beautifully skin made Damon sick to his stomach. She was not a goddamn punching bag—she was a woman, formed and curved and gorgeous. More than that, Elena Gilbert was the woman you respect, because she respected herself.

Knock, knock.

What was it with people knocking when he was kissing her?

"Food," Damon whispered against her soft mouth.

"Get off me," Elena murmured, but he could feel her smiled against him.

Damon groaned into her, but she shoved at him, and he got up and answered the door. Another server wheeled a cart into the room, this time with two plates topped with those silver dome things. She uncovered each plate, his steak and Elena's chili nachos. He thanked the girl, shoved a twenty into her hand, then grabbed Elena's plate.

Damn, those nachos smelled really good.

Damon put her plate on the coffee table in front of her. Then he grabbed a nacho, dipped it into the chili topping, and shoved it into his mouth. She gasped as he backed towards the cart and got his steak. It was decorated with fries and salad, but hell, he should have gone for what she did.

Elena grabbed a cheese-coated nacho from the side and dived it into the centre of her plate. With a huge mound of ground beef on the chip, she forced it into her mouth quite spectacularly. Holy crap, this girl could open her mouth wide.

"See something you like?" she questioned, doing it again.

"Elena, I see a lot of things I like."

Elena rolled her eyes and ate another chip. "Of course you do. You are drooling, Damon."

"Elena, you are eating them like you have never had them before."

She paused, a chili-coated chip halfway to her mouth. Her eyes dropped to it, and Damon stared at her, her silence anything but accidental. Or maybe it was—who knew?

"I wasn't allowed them," Elena said in a quiet voice. "Only when I got to have a slumber party with the girls, which was way too infrequent." She swallowed, setting the chip down. "It didn't matter if we had company or not. I had to eat with cutlery, because fingers were for uncivilized people."

He couldn't look away from her. Her words were no more than a whisper, but they cut right through me. She couldn't eat what she wanted? What the hell?

"Pizza?" Damon asked softly.

"Had to be cut with a knife and fork," she answered, trailing a nacho around in the chili. "I'm sure my friends knew something was up, because if we ever had it alone, I would eat it normally. But Liam made sure I ate in a 'sophisticated' manner."

Liam. His name left a sour taste in his mouth.

"That was it. Perfection. Sophistication. There was no other option. If I tried something else…" her voice trailed off, and she nibbled at the end of the chip.

"How long?"

Elena's eyes moved to his but they left just as quickly.

"How. Long?"

She shook her head.

Rage swirled in his stomach, building and tightening and coiling. It spread through him with every second of her silence, her denial, her protection of him.

"How long was that bastard putting his hands on you, Elena?"

"Too long," she whispered, wiping her hands on a napkin.

"How long?" His voice was harsher than he wanted, the growl deeper.

"Two years."

That rage—it exploded. It consumed him. Drowned him. How the hell could anyone hurt her? This sweet and pleasant girl? How could anyone, for a single second, think it was okay to hurt her? To bruise her, to maim her, to put a blemish on her?

How the hell was that right in any place in this world?

Damon enveloped her body in his arms. Held her—that was what his body screamed. Held her so tightly she realized the safety he was offering her was stronger than the fear that was threading through her veins.

"How?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "How did you do it?"

"I was afraid," Elena whispered. Her fingers dug into his back tentatively, moving up and down, as if searching for their perfect landing spot. "I had nowhere to go, and to me, no real reason to go. I always thought he would change. He promised it. Every time. He had hurt me, then he would hold me and promise he wouldn't do it again. I believed him."

Damon slid his hand up her back and into her hair. "What made you go, finally?"

"We were about to get married. My mum sent me a message reminding me that I was getting married in exactly four weeks, and it was scary." She swallowed. "I was getting dressed, and there was this bruise on my stomach from the day before, and I knew…I just knew. We had been together for three years, and if he was still hitting me weeks before our wedding, chances were, he would be hitting me for weeks after, too. And I didn't want to be that girl. Before him, I never feared more than spiders and rats, things that seem so trivial now. So I knew, no matter what, I was going to run. Anywhere. I applied for jobs everywhere, whenever I could get out of the house. Hell, I did my interview with Caroline over the phone at a nail salon in Norfolk. Then you gave me this job. I took it and I ran without looking back." Her fingers dug into his skin almost painfully, her voice a whisper. "I'm not a punching bag, Damon. I won't be that. I'm more than that."

Her words, they shook. Her voice, it was weak. Like she needed to convince herself of it even as she said the words.

"Elena…Elena." Damon folded her into his body entirely, so her cheek was against his chest and her nose was against his shoulder. "You are, darling. You are so much more than that. You are everything that isn't that."

"But I'm scared. I say I'm not, but I am. A little."

Damon slid his hands to her face and looked at her. Her dark hair sweeping across her forehead. Her brown doe eyes boring into his, begging, pleading, sassing, confusing. And he brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, right beneath her eyes, his thumbs swallowing up any type of wetness there.

"Don't be afraid." He cupped Elena's cheeks and brought her forehead close to his. "As long as I'm near you, don't be afraid, darling."

"It is not your job." Her voice was so quiet it wasn't even a whisper.

"No. This kind of protection isn't my job. It is my will." He touched his lips to hers. "If he ever gets past our boys, promise me you will call me, and you will keep trying until I answer and get to you."

Elena pulled her knees to her chest. "I don't want to think of that."

"Neither do I. I don't want to think about a situation where he can touch you." Damon held her tighter. Her breath against his skin, her fingers trailing his stomach, her eyes set on his. "If he comes within ten feet of you, darling, you tell me. Elena, you tell me, because I will snap his neck. You understand?"

"I'm scared."

She was trembling in his hold. Trembling. Quivering. Shaking.

"Of him," Damon whispered into her ear. "Don't fear me, baby. I will never be anything but gentle towards you. Fear what I will do to him if he tries to come near you."

Elena nodded, her fingers grasping his shirt.

"I will never hurt you."

Her trembling body was in his arms, pressed against him, held against him. Her hands were on him, her lips quivering, too.

"I know," she breathed. The words were so quiet he could barely hear.

"Ever. Not the way he did. Trust me, darling. Believe me."

"I do." Elena took a deep breath then sat up. Her hands fell away from him and Damon loosened his grip on her body when she tilted her head back to look at him. "Do you have multiple personalities?"

"What do you mean?" His lips quirked.

"One minute you are storming in here being all rude, then the next you are being sexy, then you are being sweet."

"Did you just call me sexy?"

"What? No. I said 'being sexy,' not 'you are sexy.' "

"You said 'you are being sexy.' " Damon grinned. "So you think I'm sexy?"

Elena knocked his arms away from her and pulled her plate from the table and onto her lap. "It doesn't matter if I think you are sexy. You think you are sexy."

"I am sexy. I just want to know if you agree."

"And we are on another personality—the stubborn-toddler one."

He grabbed one of her nachos. "You are naming my moods?"

"You don't have mood swings, Damon. You really do have total personality flips. It makes no sense."

"You want me to be an asshole all the time?"

"I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with any version of you."

"You are comfortable when I'm kissing you." Damon winked and grabbed another chip.

"Will you stop eating my food?" Elena pushed his hand away with a sharp slap to his fingers, then froze.

Damon stared at her. Her hand was poised in mid-air, her gaze focused on it like she couldn't believe she just did that.

He flicked his fingers against hers and grabbed another chip. "No. They are good."

Slowly, Elena drew her eyes upward. Her dark gaze, full of uncertainty, lingers on his for a moment. Then—hell—then she dropped her hand and smiled. "Then order another plate of them."

"Pass the phone."

"I'm not your slave, I'm your assistant."

"I know." Damon grinned. "So you should be ordering them for me, darling."

She pursed her lips and reached behind her for the phone. Dialling the number, she pulled it to her ear and said, "Can I get another plate of chili nachos to room 218? Extra-large size?" Paused. "That is great. Thanks."

"Extra-large size?" Damon questioned, grabbing one of hers.

"Yes. All your talking is making me hungry, and since you have already eaten half of mine and don't intend to stop, I thought it was wise."

"You are a smart girl, Elena."

"The fact I'm eating dinner with you puts that up for debate," she muttered, grabbing her wineglass and pushing her plate onto his lap.

"Hey, thanks." Damon leaned back and coated a chip in salsa.

Elena shot her eyes towards him over the rim of her glass, twisted her lips to the side, then drank. "Idiot."