A/N: Welcome to another chapter. Thanks for taking the time to read and review.


"If he touches you again…he's dead."

"That's a real clichéd thing to say wouldn't you agree?"

His breath was a hurricane coming from between his clenched teeth. That's how hard, fast, and rough he was breathing. A vein had ruptured along his temple, and his pupils were mere dots. With him standing directly behind me, I was trapped, thighs digging into the lip of the dual-sink. I should have been scared. I should have been terrified, but…I was getting turned on.

"You think I'm fuckin' with you," he hissed.

No, I didn't. I knew he was being deadly serious. The unhinged look in his eyes I was never a fan of had been present for a majority of the night. You let a man smell your pussy once and this had the potential of happening. We went in with what I thought was an ironclad understanding that it would be no more than one night, and would stay behind the doors of room 203. The name of the hotel and the city the deed went down wasn't important.

"Answer me, Bonnie. Do you think I'm fuckin' around here?" his fingers, blunt and callused skimmed my arms. He was so close I could feel his heartbeat as if it were my own, and there was no denying the poke of the hard rod in his pants that could probably split steel. "His young ass won't make you cum like I can."

It was nice he had self-esteem, but honestly what he gave me that one night was nothing to write home about.

"How do you know I didn't fake it?"

His nostrils flared and I braced myself for the hand around my throat, the derogatory epithet, or him taking a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back. What I was greeted with was the unmistakable sound of masculine laughter that like a blended drink was one part seductive, two parts sinister.

"I should shut that smart, pretty ass mouth of yours up. I have a couple of ways I can achieve that," he smelled my hair, my neck, barely touching me now.

"We had one night together and everything you're doing is in violation of the ground rules we established."

"I didn't establish shit besides the fact your pussy is world-class, and your mouth is the fountain of youth. I was a changed man after experiencing you, Bonnie. Don't deny me."

"I have a boyfriend."

"Fuck him."

"I do. A lot."

That made him grit his teeth and I saw color flood from his neck to lodge itself firmly in his cheeks and forehead. "How would he feel if he knew you were into older cock?"

"He wouldn't feel anything about it. He can't get mad at me for something that occurred before we got together."

"But, Bonnie...would he still feel that way if he knew it was me?"

Two and a half years later I was staring from across the yard at the man who had trapped me in an upscale bathroom during a loose acquaintance's birthday party. He stalked the surroundings, hung on the periphery like the jaguars that were native to the part of the world he called home. He was still handsome enough to pull women ten years his junior, and for one night my legs had wrapped around that waist in a hedonistic mating ball, unaware how a daring hookup could one day bite me in the ass.

Tyler knew so much about me, and I him but I wasn't naïve to think there weren't secrets between us. I buried this one damning secret because if it ever got out, that would be the end of everything.

Needless to say I didn't want to be here. Nor was I in the mood to confront anything or anyone from the past. But I had been summoned and once summoned you couldn't decline for declining would be dubbed an insult.

So I thought back to just a couple of hours ago where I had been on set. The hugs, kisses, tears, sunshine, and happiness the cast and crew shared. The struggle, the roadblocks, the pain that went into my production company's art at the end had been worth every closed door and every no given like free prizes at a fair. It made everyone work harder, strive to prove that there was room for us at the table, it just meant sliding down some.

"You're not mingling with anyone and everyone is here for you," my mother snuck up behind me and hissed in my ear. "Stop being antisocial."

"Hi, mama. It's nice to see you too. How's the film coming along? I'm so glad you asked. After shooting for sixteen hours last night and another five today, we're finally wrapped. Yeah, I'm proud of us as well," I beamed facetiously.

Abby Bennett pursed her lips that automatically transformed into a beguiling smile toward a couple strolling by. It dropped once they passed. "I'm sorry. Come here." I obliged and she kissed my cheek. "Did shooting really go well?"

"Yes it did."

"Good. Glad to hear that. You know you could have invited Dietrich and some the crew to come."

"Yeah, but I thought it was going to be a private family dinner…not a cookout," I mused wryly.

"It began that way but well, your dad opened his mouth and here we are."

In her sun dress, caramel skin exposed to the elements, her long dark hair settled over her shoulders. On the outside Abby Bennett looked like the kind of mom who baked cookies just because and was head of the PTA. What many didn't know, and I only discovered by reading her journal because I was doggedly curious about the woman who raised me, she had gone through six therapists and suffered with an addiction though she never explicitly stated what it was. I didn't think it was drugs, alcohol, or hoarding. Sex? Ew, but probably. You'd never know it from looking at her. My mom was a devout believer in faking it.

"Back to my socializing…you don't even like a third of the people here."

"Whether or not I do is irrelevant," she said. "It's about perception. Plus the fact your dad is trying to drum up support."

"For? Don't tell me daddy wants a seat on the council," I plucked a grape off the tray she had balanced in her hands.

"Daddy wants the seat."

My chewing slowed. "Daddy wants to be mayor? He's a pharmaceutical rep!"

"Shush," my mom's dark green eyes darted around. She began walking to one of the many refreshments table and I followed.

The backyard I wouldn't describe as sprawling, it was big enough to set up a volleyball net. A game was in progress. We didn't have a pool but a hot tub. My father's pride and joy was his restaurant style grilling center as he liked to refer to it. Three stainless steel grills and a fire pit which was the focal point of the concrete patio. Usually he could be found donned in an apron, spatula or tongs in hand. When Rudy Hopkins was in the mood to impress he hired a chef and small catering staff so that freed up his time to network and socialize.

"He hasn't announced anything but well, you getting married to the current's mayor's son he thinks will give him a leg up on the competition though no one ever runs against the Lockwood's."

Suddenly I felt less like a woman who made an independent choice in partner, and like one being offered up as a sacrificial lamb in an arranged marriage.

"How do you think the Lockwood's are gonna feel about their in-laws running against them?" I asked.

"That's if Richard decides to run again. People get stuck in their ways and they shun change. We're getting left behind but everyone around us is too blind to see it. Richard represents the status quo."

She wouldn't get an argument from me on that.

"Like I said, Bon your dad is just considering it. I don't know if he's serious about running, but if he is, now you see how careful we have to be moving forward." She pointedly eyed my naked ring finger.

Heading into the lion's den without my ring which was one of the highest form of status in the south, I figured tonight wouldn't go well. It might not be spoken about out loud as it used to, but it certainly was reflected especially around election time that women only had value in three areas: her virginity, her ability to attract a husband, and her ability to have kids. I could own and operate my own business, build my investment portfolio, meet world leaders, win awards and stockpile accolades but it would mean nothing to the world I'm from without a man beside me. Rudy and Abby Bennett were old school, and expected certain things from their only child.

My father was a stern, unsmiling man. My mom—detached and bottom line driven. My source of warmth and affection came via my grandmother. Growing up I convinced myself it had been enough. Did I need parents who tucked me in at night, read to me, demanded to know my every move before I made it? Did I need words of encouragement and less criticism? Sure. However, what I needed most was protection, and unfortunately the adults in my life had been derelict on that front.

Severely derelict.

I observed the masses as they coquetted around one another, laughing, teasing, having what appeared to be a good time. I thought about the faces they wore under the one they were currently advertising. I wondered how many of them felt dirty, alone, and worthless. I wondered…how many of them were standing right next to the one who made them feel that way. I needed to know if I had company or not.

I lowered my voice as I said, "Tell daddy that if he knows what's best for him he'll keep his nose far out of politics. Would hate for your skeletons to be excavated and dragged through the mean streets of suburbia." With that, I smiled at the way my mother swallowed having received the real message, and went to do what she instructed.

Socialize.

I caught him in my peripheral. When I glanced he stood as the top point of a triangle, beer in one hand, the other tucked in the pocket of his dark jeans. His eyes shifted toward me. He didn't smile. Didn't nod. Just brought the bottle up to his mouth, made sure I caught the sight of his tongue before taking the nozzle between his lips to drink.

Shaking that off, I made my rounds working the outside before working my way in. Catching up with cousins who knew everyone's business but you were never sure what was going on in their lives. Greeting play uncles who had a tendency to hug you around the waist and whisper you're filling out nicely. Side-stepped lengthy explanations with aunties who wanted to know where that 'lil boy at' whom I was engaged to.

Finally it was the moment of truth.

Carol Lockwood in her heyday was the definition of a trophy wife. She was trim, wore her hair cropped in a signature bob without a speck of gray to interfere with her sable strands compliments of Revlon no doubt. She could entreat you to do her bidding with her marble sized blue eyes tinged silver around the irises that gave me more of a censure warning than a friendly greeting. Her lips were thin typically coated in one shade of pink lipstick or another, and she wore Chanel religiously.

We gave one another air kisses while her cold hands wrapped around my own, imprisoning me. She picked me apart even as she inquired after my health and asking if I had done something different with my hair.

"I changed the conditioner I use," I deadpanned.

"Your ring," her lips puckered. "Tyler told me you misplaced it. How on earth could you lose your ring, Bonnie? Don't you know how important it is? You're not a child. I practically had mine surgically infused to my skin after Richard slipped it on."

The man standing next to her guffawed before tossing back a shot of bourbon. Finally those dark brown eyes Tyler inherited were on me. Assessing but not in the way his wife had done. He wasn't checking for flaws to stealthily bring up at inopportune times. I wasn't an anomaly to Richard Lockwood, mayor of Mystic Falls. He figured he knew everything he needed to know about me based solely on the family I descended from, and I passed his acceptable Negro test.

"That is true," Richard concurred but there was a particular snarl to his mouth, minute as it was. "Until you saw the canary rock your sister swindled out of Keaton and you demanded an upgrade."

"Oh Richard," Carol playfully elbowed him but her jaw was a little too clenched to carry off the desired effect. "Anyways, as I was saying, Tyler explained what happened so I've taken the liberty of inviting my good, good friend Roy Reston who's a jeweler, and should be here shortly. He's bringing some rings over in your size and all you have to do is pick one."

"Consider it a wedding present from me and the missus," Richard chimed in, bored.

My heart, which had already been pounding, stopped and resumed its erratic beat tenfold. They couldn't be…oh but they were.

"We were planning on paying for the honeymoon but—" Carol deferred to her husband.

"—figured why not cover the cost of the ring."

They waited for my eyes to go big, my jaw to go slack, and for me to clap my hands and hop up and down. What they got was:

"I…that is…you guys. That's really nice of you but I can't, we can't," I was stumbling and stuttering.

"Bonnie," my dad's authoritative brogue sliced through my incoherent refusal. He sidled next to me in his all white linen outfit. He was bald and droopy-eyed and the beginnings of a gut could be seen, but other than that, he was a healthy man of fifty-six years. "It's not every day your in-laws offer to…"

And I tuned out the rest of what he was saying because all I could think about was being indebted to Tyler's parents and how often they'd lord it over our heads, mainly my head that they bought and purchased my ring. Yep, more and more this was beginning to feel like an arrangement, and anything that happened without my expressed consent made me rebel. Made me feel like the powerless adolescent from years ago who ran from sadistic monsters that grew hard from the chase. Somewhere deep in my mind I was telling myself it wasn't that deep, but I just didn't have a good feeling about this.

Nausea rose up in me and I tasted and smelled rust.

I bolted.

Or I wanted to bolt.

If I gave in to this, if I let them have their way on something as important as this, this would only be the start. Altruistic they may have wanted to appear, I knew the Lockwood's did nothing without expecting a return of some kind on their investment.

As if they sensed my refusal, Mayor Lockwood said to try to sweeten the deal, "We talked it over with Tyler and he's fine with it. This doesn't come with strings attached, Bonnie."

Richard sounded sincere, looked sincere but he was a politician. They knew how to dress it up and go hard. The really good ones were proficient at getting people to play into their hands and surrender their livelihoods believing a better future was just around the river bend. Unfortunately they were just going to get screwed in the end. Nope. I refused to let it happen to me.

"That is a tremendous gesture and I am deeply appreciative, but I'm going to have to decline."

"What?" my dad and Carol blurted.

"Bonnie, don't be ungrateful. It's a very nice and generous offer the Lockwood's are making," my mom had joined us and glared at me.

"I get that. I really do. But I really think this is something Tyler and I should decide on together. Like you said, Mrs. Lockwood. I'm not a child. I lost my ring. I was responsible for it. I shouldn't be rewarded with a new one, because what's the lesson? Tyler and I…we can't always depend on you guys to bail us out. Sink or swim. Isn't that right, daddy?" I inched away from them. Inched away from their looks of disapproval though Richard was fairly amused.

My father was ready to blow a gasket. He was more so embarrassed I would turn down the Lockwood's because of who they were. Knowing him he'd feel the same way even if I had been too eager. He didn't want them to have the impression I'd never had nice things. The diamond studs in my ears and the Cartier watch on my wrist dispelled that myth, but my father wouldn't see it that way.

"Can you just think about it?" Carol bartered. "I know we probably seem overbearing right now but you…you're special to our son and we just want to do this for the two of you."

Hmm. If I agreed to think about it that would buy me some time. But I already knew I wasn't going to change my mind.

"All right, I will. I'll think about it. Excuse me."

Bustling through the crowd, I grabbed my phone and fled to my bedroom though to be fair this house wasn't the one I grew up in, but one my folks purchased when they moved up to another tax bracket.

I dialed Tyler who actually answered.

I barely said hello. "You told your parents about the ring situation?"

"Well, hello to you too and I was supposed to keep it from them?"

"No, but a little warning would have been nice. Why would you agree to let your parents pay for me to get a new one? I thought we had agreed to shun tradition and do things our way?"

Tyler sighed heavily and chuckled. "Yeah, well how was I to explain to my dad why I'm the one wearing the ring and not my woman?"

"Easy, 'hey dad, my woman and I decided to switch things up and I'd be the one to wear the token symbol of I'm off the market.' See? Painless."

Tyler scoffed. "Let's not pretend we don't know who my father is. He wouldn't have gone for that. I told them about the ring, they offered to pay for a new one. It was an honest gesture."

"Which I thanked them for. If you can't stand up to your dad about this, what else will you bow down to?"

"So it's just your orders I'm supposed to follow?" he retorted bitingly.

"They weren't orders, Tyler. It was a compromise you agreed to."

"Look," he grunted, "I really don't have time for this. Accept the ring or not. It's your choice. I have a meeting in about ten minutes. When's your flight?"

"Seven tomorrow morning. I have a layover in Chicago."

"Call me when you make it to Chicago. Bye." He hung up.

Well, that went left.

I took up refuge in the kitchen. Stuffed my face and mingled with the stream of guests who wanted a reprieve from the heat. From there I could easily see through to the living room and out into the backyard since the far wall was made up entirely of glass, and the Venetian blinds were pulled wide open. I caught sight of my parents literally connected at the hip, their arms around each other's waists, laughing with their friends. And I could tell how both of their eyes were crinkled at the corners that the laughter was genuine. It was a rare sight to see my parents like that.

I jumped a little at a hand landing a few inches shy of the dip in my spine. Swinging my head towards the culprit, I had to resist stepping away.

Richard Lockwood sidled beside me and ditched his empty and fingerprint stained tumbler on the center island counter. He smelled faintly of sweat, bourbon, and his wife's perfume.

I looked up at Richard. His eyes were vacant and glassy.

"Carol and I are about to leave. Just wanted to say good night."

"Good night and drive carefully."

Richard came closer. Close enough his thigh touched mine. If anyone were to see us standing so close they'd think we were up to no good. My entire body went rigid hoping he'd hurry up and say whatever he needed to say. "You've always been a good girl, Bonnie. Make my son happy. Understand? I won't tolerate anything less. But don't ever spit in the face of our generosity again," he pulled away and the ugly smile on his face filled in the blanks. He'd make me regret it if I did.

See why I loved coming home?

The domme in me wanted to pushed his head down and dig a six-inch heel into his neck. The little girl in me wanted to run and tell my grandmama. Richard bopped me gently on the nose with his forefinger and swaggered off to collect his wife before she exposed her drinking problem which everyone was already aware of. Asshole.

I remained at the party long enough to appease my socially conscious parents. Around dusk I collected my belongings, and managed to make it to the end of the driveway. Escaping works best if no one sees you leave.

"Were you just going to leave without saying hello or goodbye?"

That voice stopped me dead in my tracks. I could pretend I hadn't heard, but we both knew it was much too late for that. Lightly groaning I turned around. "Hello…Mason."

Damn, still ruggedly handsome. He was grayer up top but it subtracted nothing from his overall aesthetics. His salt and golden mane enhanced them. Made him more distinguished. More seasoned.

In my defense I hadn't known he was Tyler's uncle at the time of our indiscretion. I had known Tyler for all of my life but we had never been particularly close. Until we started dating. And the few times I'd been welcomed inside his home growing up, the pictures that were on display were of Lockwood's and members of Carol's family who had accomplished something, made a name for themselves. Mason was the black sheep. Moved to Florida at eighteen and very seldom came home.

Additionally, Mason and I had exchanged first names. That was it.

Seeing him and being introduced two years ago when Tyler and I had been together for a few months, yeah I almost pissed my pants. And instead of just pretending we had no idea what the other looked like naked or tasted like, Mason cornered me looking to repeat a mistake.

"You look nice," he complimented and gave me a once-over; heat and lust thankfully was absent from his gaze.

"Thank you. So do you."

"So," he tapped his fingers along the beer bottle in his hand.

"So," I parroted.

Mason flashed a smile revealing the gap between his teeth. "Look, I want to apologize for being an asshole the last time we saw each other. I was drunk," he tried to pander that excuse.

I shook my head. "You may have had a drink or two but you weren't falling down drunk."

"Maybe not but regardless, I want you to know I'm usually not that…persistent. I was just caught off guard."

"You weren't the only one but I do have this thing called self-control."

"Right. Again. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted, Uncle Mason."

He grimaced but laughed and scrubbed a hand down a grizzled cheek. "Yeah, how 'bout you just call me Mason and we start fresh from there."

"Works for me. Look, I gotta get going. Enjoy the rest of the party."

"Hey," he grabbed me by the elbow.

Damn he moved fast. I looked at him over my shoulder, brow arched in question. His aftershave triggered memories. My fingers sliding through his sandy blond curls which were cropped short now but had been thick enough in the past for me to grip and hold on to. His blue eyes that reminded me of jeans that had been washed too many times. I couldn't forget the rest of him. Hard muscles, nice dick. He hadn't been a scintillating conversationalist on the night we met, but conversation wasn't what I had been after.

"How long are you going to be in town for?" he questioned.

"I'm leaving in the morning. Why?"

I watched Mason visibly struggle with whatever ingenious plot hatched in his mind. It didn't need to be stated aloud that we could have no further contact with one another that went beyond platonic. He eventually let go of my elbow leaving a heat stamp behind.

"Yes, Mason?" I said when he took too long to say whatever he wanted to say.

"You did the right thing by turning down my brother and his wife's offer. They very seldom help anyone without a price tag attached to it. But…watch out for Carol. You think my brother's a prick? His wife…has him beat by miles."

I nodded. He searched my face. Drew closer.

"Are you ever going to…tell Tyler about what happened between us?"

I should have known that question was coming. If he was having an attack of conscience I needed to see how far it went. Was it a superficial thing or subcutaneous? I hated lying and liars, but informing Tyler about our one-time indiscretion would prove what exactly?

"Do you think I should?" I turned the tables around on Mason. He was a bit startled. "It happened before he and I got together, before I knew you two were related. Besides it's not like we had a fling or a relationship."

"It's the principle."

"If that's the case," I stepped away from Mason, "you should have said something once you realized what I meant to your nephew. But you didn't. In fact you tried to arrange a repeat."

Mason's nostrils flared. I could see the notorious Lockwood anger fattening his veins. I could have sworn I heard the beer bottle in his hand crack.

"We just agreed not to talk about it again," I went on. "Therefore, it stays in the past. Time moves forward not backwards."

"You're not worried about me telling him?" He was trying to call my bluff.

Yes I was worried. He may have called his brother and sister-in-law pricks but that didn't make him exempt from being one as well. But I couldn't fault Mason for wanting to tell the truth, either. There was no statute of limitations; however, and I was hoping I was reading Mason right, he wouldn't want to do anything to hurt his nephew.

"Like I said, Mason…If you wanted Tyler to know he would have known about it two years ago."

"Maybe I didn't think it was the right time."

"Bullshit."

The dimple in his cheek appeared when Mason graced me with a lopsided smirk. "You really love him?"

"Yes."

He broke eye contact, nodded, stuffed a hand in his pocket. "And you're okay with this? Marrying my nephew after what we had?" Had? "Did," he corrected. "Sorry."

"Do you want me to say I feel guilty? That I regret it? Sure, I do but I can't change the past and take it back so why dwell on it. We didn't do it to hurt him. I didn't use you as some kind of, I don't know, stepping stone. You and I met, liked what we saw and acted on our attraction. An attraction that's gone, by the way," I stated emphatically. I didn't need him believing there was still a spark there that with the right fuse would be reignited.

Mason sighed after a tense moment or two of silence. "Fine. I won't say a word. It never happened."

"It never happened," I murmured quietly.

"Congratulations again on your engagement." With those parting words, Mason strode back to the house.

Ten minutes later my Uber finally arrived. I hopped into the backseat and was whisked away to less convoluted territory.


Fiery whiskey burned a path from my esophagus to my stomach. My eyes were pierced shut and my hands flapped around as I waited for the scorch to subside. Deacon, the owner I was chummy with, had come through with the free drink which had become plural. Slinging drinks as one of his specialties, he learned to read the kind of mood people were in and supplied them accordingly if they were having trouble making a decision. He took one look at my face and knew I needed something that would get me lit in five seconds or less.

I had had the worst flight, got sick midway through, and disembarked under heavy clouds and an ominous sky. I was feeling slightly better and had just enough energy to attend the litany of post-production meetings. I should have gone home and fallen face first into bed, but made a detour to my favorite club.

That was a lie. I didn't want to go home because I'd end up thinking about Mystic Falls. Think about rings, slimy future fathers-in-law, and hot uncles who could ruin your life. I had to laugh about that, or maybe it was the whiskey. A hot, queasy feeling broiled my stomach remembering Richard's cold eyes and veiled threat, and the trouble Mason could rain down on my head. I wanted to believe he would keep his mouth shut, but who was I fooling? Some secrets never made it to the grave. Ben Franklin had it right; three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.

I started to calm down as a scene unfurled in my mind. Dark room on the edge of some town that's absolutely gorgeous at night. Secluded but not exactly private or isolated. The quiet was disrupted by the sound of wrists and ankles straining against corded satin rope looped around the posts of a four poster bed, and the squeaking of bedsprings with every single enthusiastic thrust. Hands on a broad chest filmed with sweat…a face obscured by a clear plastic bag sucked so far into his open mouth you'd wonder if he's choking…the threat of asphyxiation happening right at the pinnacle of climaxing.

"Another round, love?"

Deacon's question snapped me out of my daydream. Good timing. I wasn't sure if my mystery man would have survived his predicament.

"Make it a double this time," I requested.

After tossing back that shot I got up to stretch my legs and discovered my bladder was near to bursting.

The corridor leading to the bathrooms was dungeon dark. Just enough light to direct your footfalls, but dark to the point you wouldn't see anyone about to jump out at you until it was far too late. The women's restroom wasn't a total abomination, but it was getting there. There were pools of water on the sink counters, the trashcan overflowed with paper towels. Balled up pieces of tissue was stuck to the tiled floor, and it smelled of disinfectant and perfume. I heard giggling coming from one stall. Arguing from another. I waited my turn, did my business when one became vacant, and washed my hands. I didn't leave right away. I lingered. Waited for my arousal to settle. I should know by now not to fantasize in public.

By the time I reemerged another band had taken over the stage. The atmosphere changed from laid back and sultry to punk rock and frenetic. I moved between the crowd, dodging thrashing hair and elbows. Squinting I could make out the lead singer, the drummer, bass guitarist, and keyboard player. Yet I did a double take at the drummer and found myself inching closer to the stage. The black snapback on his head concealed his face, but I could swear there was something eerily familiar about him. He pounded the snare and cymbals and when needed, provided backup vocals. I turned my ear more towards him. His voice was melodious which kind of reminded me of Incubus' front man Brandon Boyd whereas the lead singer, his voice was reminiscent of Trent Reznor. Together they sounded like sneaking out of the house to fuck.

The song they were belting out was titled, I'm assuming, "Eat You Alive" and I had to give props, it was a banger. The crowd loved it. Women screamed at the top of their lungs, people snapped pics on their phones. This band, whatever their name was, performed three more songs before saying goodnight.

My eyes zeroed in on the drummer when he rose. He wore a loose white sleeveless shirt, Tupac's face monogrammed on the front. He hiked up his unintentionally baggy skinny jeans as he fell in step with his bandmates. He swiveled around his snapback.

I could now see his face.

Covertly I surveyed the crowd wondering if his older brother was in attendance. It was hard to tell. There were too many people and I was exceptionally short.

As if he could feel me watching him, his head turned. I didn't so much as fidget. He shielded his eyes from the bright lights aimed at the stage, and perhaps he looked right at me. A smile spread across his face and two minutes later he pushed his way to me.

The crowd swelled and ebbed around us like ants. People cursed, people laughed, people yelled, others glared at us in annoyance. Women clamored for his attention which he denied them. The most sought after person in a band after the lead singer was the drummer.

"Fancy seeing you here," he grinned.

"Fancy seeing you're in a band!" I yelled to be heard above the noise.

Stefan's grin widened and I had to say he had a nice smile. He tilted his head slightly, bent down and shouted in my ear, "You thought I was a career server?"

"No, professional college student."

His laughter tickled my ear. We were close, close enough for me to be able to count his lashes, smell his aftershave. He was a little sweaty, cheeks were flushed.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Before I could accept or decline, the bass guitarist found us and slung a sinewy muscled arm across Stefan's shoulders that then became a headlock. Stefan twisted away. His hat came off in the process.

"Knock it off, asshole."

"Come on. We got business to attend to in VIP," the guitarist sized me up and the sensual grin that spread across his handsome face made me shake my head back and forth. "Bring her with you."

Stefan shoved him. The two exchanged some choice words I didn't hear but could tell from Stefan's expression and the guitarist, the latter was used to it, but nevertheless backed off and disappeared in the maelstrom. Stefan bent down to retrieve his hat inspiring me to look elsewhere, because with us standing so close well, that put him at the right height.

"Now about that drink…" he tried again.

"Thank you but I have to get home and you have important business in VIP."

"Nothing more important than a bunch of guys pushing thirty getting shitfaced drunk and hitting on anything that moves. Though I should go up and monitor them because we have a meeting with a label tomorrow."

"Really? Congratulations! I hope everything goes well."

Stefan preened for a moment. "Thank you. You sure I can't change your mind?"

I affected an apologetic expression. "Positive."

He huffed in disappointment but accepted it with a nod, turned, and walked two paces before retracing his steps. "Is it because of my brother? Are you into him because if you are, I get it."

Okay, wow. "Damon has nothing to do with why I won't let you buy me a drink."

"Do you mind if I ask why?"

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I have to answer," I let my sweet girl next door smile take effect. Stefan's gaze darkened. "You guys sounded really good. Good luck again on your meeting."

With that I turned to head out, but stopped halfway there. Looked to my left.

He wore a black suit; the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. It might have been the strobe lights but he appeared darker, perhaps sporting a tan via sitting ocean side at a beach. He hadn't noticed me yet. His gaze was glued to the woman grinding her ass on his dick. From the looks of things he was enjoying her attentions, and if I were in his shoes I would too. She was gorgeous and thick.

I circled around the other way, always keeping him in my sight. I was a jaguar ready to wrap my jaws around a vulnerable neck and release seven hundred pounds of pressure. I was behind him now. He was a…terrible dancer. Truly tragic. But it made him, I don't know, human, real. I approached him from behind. Seven feet away. Six. Five. By four the song had changed again. At two feet I swear I could feel his body heat. A foot away, I could touch him. He stiffened when I lightly grabbed him by the waist.

"Having fun?" I spoke into his ear as best I could. With the help of standing on tip-toe.

His head shifted just a fraction. I saw him mouthed more than heard him say: "I am now."

Damon fully turned toward me, the woman he had been grinding against forgotten and she wasn't too happy about that. He gave me a thorough once-over. The little ivory dress I donned suddenly had become full-fledged lingerie from the way he eyed me. And I secretly kind of loved it.

In five seconds, I felt my attitude changing, shifting. I felt a level of comfort with Damon that after spending so many hours in a day being professional, firm, and distant it was a welcomed change. It wasn't until now that I realized I missed him.

He had adhered to my rule in terms of communication. I told Damon to only use my number when he had something important to say. He hadn't called. Hadn't sent a text or anything. I had essentially been iced out, to use a hockey phrase. Now I was dying to know every detail of his life, even the mundane.

Dangerous.

Stating the obvious as to why he was here would be counterproductive. Damon had donned his big brother robes and shown his support for Stefan who had more talents than being able to recall an order without having to write it down.

"Who are you here with?" Damon asked.

"Myself."

He looked slightly disturbed by that. "Don't you know it's not safe for a woman to go to a bar alone?"

"Statistically speaking it's not safe for a woman to go anywhere. But we can't live in fear of what might happen now can we?"

"No we can't. What are you getting into after this?"

"My bed."

"Can I come?" I gave him the evil eye. He shrugged. "I had to try. I'm hosting an afterparty at my place. You should come."

"I've spent the last forty-eight hours on a plane and the rest of it in meetings. I want to shower and snuggle with my cat."

Damon grinned naughtily.

"Get your mind out of the gutter. I do have a cat," I laughed.

"Just for a few minutes?" he entreated. "I haven't seen you in a week."

"Before we met you hadn't seen me at all."

"That means we have a lot of catching up to do."

I couldn't lie, his comebacks were invigorating. The self-doubt I had been prepared to indulge in had fallen back.

We were shoved. Whether it was driven by instinct or just a need to touch, Damon wrapped his arm around my waist, steadying me. That brought us even closer. My breasts touched his abdomen. It only seemed natural to begin swaying from side to side. When I married I would have to give this up. Dancing with strange men in crowded, noisy clubs. The two of us moved, eyes locked. My arms grew a mind of their own and loosely wrapped around Damon's neck. In response his arms wove around me tighter.

For the most part we kept things very clean, very PG. Sometimes it was harder to be good than bad.

I looked at him, looked away, caught myself staring again. He was so distracting.

"Something happened while you were gone," Damon said. "I can tell."

"Something is always happening with me."

"What's his name and where does he live?"

I smiled a little. "No need for you to get arrested on my account. It's nothing."

"It has to be something if you're here by yourself unless you're trolling. Are you trolling?"

"Yes, and I've had my way with Elijah Craig. He didn't last as long as I'd like but we can't win them all, can we?"

Damon tilted my chin with a finger, his face serious, "Do you know how many times I wanted to call you? How bad I wanted to hear your voice?"

"What stopped you?"

He shook his head. "I knew if I called you I'd try to convince you to go out with me and…I know that's impossible."

"I like your honestly."

"You have a gift for bringing it out of me," he groused. "Maybe I was telling myself I could handle this. Just this."

"Can you?"

"Can any of us handle anything when we want more?"

My heart was speeding and I couldn't get it to stop. I could blame the sudden rush of dizziness on the drinks but I wasn't sure they were a hundred percent at fault. He did this to me. This was all Damon's doing. We stared at each other searchingly. So openly, intensely, too intensely because…

Neither one of us stopped to consider the fact people might recognize him. Might pull out their phones which they had never put away to start with, and might start filming us together, making us go viral on the Gram, snapchat, twitter, tumblr, and every single social media known to man. If we had broken eye contact for just one second we might've realized our images were being broken down by pixel and splashed across the global net. It might have been brought to our attention there was little we could do to stop the storm that was coming.

No, none of that factored in. None of it mattered. When you're addicted to risk nothing does.