A/N: Merci beaucoup for the reviews for last chapter! I've written and rewritten this chapter maybe 6 times and I still can't say I'm pleased. My goal is to finish this story because we're almost on the final leg of this crazy journey, but remaining motivated is difficult so I need you guys to help me. Struggling writer over here. Enjoy the latest!

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith/CW Network (Christian Grey belongs to EL James, and OC's are mine.) No copyright infringement is intended.


Some years ago on a Mystic Falls highway….

"Stay the fuck down, Damon. I mean it."

A reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg was currently taking place in my uterus on top of a murderous yearning for chocolate and sex despite feeling bloated and achy. But placating my Aunt Flo symptoms had to wait while I dealt with this crap which landed on my doorstep, and inconveniently wrecked my car because Damon just couldn't keep his jaws together.

I ignored the twisted metal, broken glass, the moaning vampire writhing on the hard asphalt as I approached the newest slayer to enter our mist. This woman wasn't a hunter or I should say she wasn't your "average" hunter. She didn't ask questions. She came in, fucked you up, and strolled out without anyone realizing she had been there.

Karma, her being here was all about karma. Years ago when a witch hunter had been after me, Damon killed him. This chick wanted to get revenge.

Tonight was the closest she's come to actually taking Damon out, but so far the only thing to die was my car. Now there was definite hell to pay.

She stood fixed to her spot in the middle of the road, dressed in indigo leather, with her crossbow aimed precisely at Damon's heart.

The huntress had ice green eyes; her red hair like a flame against the night backdrop. She was beautiful in an understated way, and probably used her good looks to disarm many enemies in the past.

"I don't want to hurt you," I told her.

Her steady arm never flinched. The crossbow had to weigh close to twenty pounds. It looked ancient, probably dating back to the fourteenth or fifteenth century which informed me that she was a Legacy, born into a family of hunters. She didn't become one by happenstance. This was her life's purpose. I could certainly commiserate with her on that. Staring at her face again, I couldn't really determine her age. She could be my age or older, or possibly even younger. In any case, she had proven she was crafty, highly intelligent, and had very little fear.

"And I don't want to hurt you," she retorted.

She had an accent of which the origins couldn't easily be placed. She might have been from Scotland, or Wales, or even Australia.

"I know the rules. You feel anyone who isn't a hundred percent human shouldn't be allowed to live, but I'm sure we can come up with an agreeable compromise to appease all parties involved," I bartered.

"Why are you defending him? Why are you working for him? You know what he is!" she accused.

"I don't work for him. He's my husband."

"That's right. You tell her," Damon threw in his two cents.

I glared at him crossly to shut up.

Something shifted in her eyes then. A flicker of disgust and outrage. "Husband?"

I nodded my head.

"You pervert yourself with a demon," she laughed mirthlessly. "I guess we can find some way to make this even," the hunter said aiming the crossbow at me.

Oh, great, she was going to take me out. Moi? Was she crazy?

"Don't be stupid," I warned.

"Some of the greatest minds border on insanity," and the bitch pulled the trigger.

It took every bit of my concentration to stop the arrow just a foot away from my heart. She looked surprised but not by much. You have to get this close to me to learn my secret. She figured I was just a Plain Jane, not supernatural or special in any way, shape, or form. A non-threat. A supernatural sympathizer. Many of our targets underestimated me, and we used that to our advantage every single time.

Her astonishment lasted for mere seconds before her face hardened once again. By this time, I plucked the arrow out of the air, and snapped it in half. I didn't hear Damon moaning and groaning behind me, which meant he was coming up from behind to surprise her. If I could keep her attention locked on me, we could finish this tonight. If not, we'd have to pick this up another day.

The hunter finally caught on to the fact that Damon had gone M.I.A. She quickly spun around expecting to see him and when she didn't, she reached for a blade.

"Now you don't want to be stupid," I cautioned her and stepped just a little closer.

She pivoted on her heels to face me. Her grip on the knife wasn't shaking. She wasn't afraid of me. I guess I needed to work on inciting terror into my enemies, but I didn't need her to fear me. I just needed her to hear me out, and understand that foolery of any kind would not be tolerated if you stepped foot in my city. I didn't want to have to hurt her. I certainly didn't want Damon to kill her, which he would, given the first opportunity to do so.

"Where the hell is he?"

I shrugged because honestly I had no clue.

"You call that asshole your husband and he ditches you at the first sign of trouble. You should have married someone who has balls and applies them when necessary."

"Trust me never question the size of his balls…" I paused to give her the chance to tell me her name. She knew what I was waiting to hear and yet remained mute. I sighed. "What's your name?"

"Like I'm going to tell a handmaiden of Lilith my birth name," she spat pugnaciously. "You're going to be dead in the next two seconds anyways."

Her words were kind of drowned out by my own thoughts because I was trying to figure out what she meant by "handmaiden of Lilith". I knew who Lilith was in folklore, and believe me, she and I didn't even come close to running in the same circles. That was an area of the supernatural I stayed the hell away from.

"I know what your grievance is about," I informed. "This is about the hunter who came here before. Killing me or my husband isn't gonna bring him back."

"This is ironic coming from someone who's aligned herself with a killer. You can look me in my eye and say your bastard husband has never taken a human life?"

"No, I can't."

"Then your words mean absolutely shit to me."

She decided to charge me, but a blur came out nowhere and punched her lights out.

The hunter was spread eagle on the ground.

Damon whistled before squatting on his haunches and looked the huntress over. My husband then cuffed the woman's arms behind her back using zip ties, and bound her ankles.

"You were cutting it kind of close don't you think?" I criticized.

"I knew you could handle yourself, babe, and you've told me plenty of times not to get in the way while you're working."

"What should we do with her, Damon? Where one hunter goes, more follow."

"And we'll deal with them when they come. I'll get rid of her and see you back at the house," he said and hauled the woman over his shoulder.

"My car?" I reminded him hotly.

Damon shrugged apologetically. "Totaled. Don't worry, corazon I'll buy you a new one."

And like a thief in the night he was gone…

Where one hunter goes, more follow.

Body snatchers, witch traffickers, both of my homes had been invaded. The empusae had held me hostage for a week and on the tail end of that, witch hunters had broken into my apartment during my stay at the hospital.

Severina, Rebekah's cousin, stood like a sentinel as she reported her movements as if I were her commanding officer. She had been in town, more specifically on my side of town and witnessed two men enter my apartment building.

As led by her misandry, Severina followed them, and they led her straight to my humble abode. Needless to say, she put foot to ass on my behalf thinking I was home and unaware. Gruesome and unkind, her words verbatim on what she did to those bastards.

"I cannot say if anything had been taken," she provided, "but they made it clear they were looking for something. I'm sorry I could not stop them from sullying your things sooner."

"No, it's okay," I smiled gratefully at Severina. "They're just things and they can be replaced."

"Yes, but your sense of security cannot after suffering a tragedy."

Couldn't argue against her point; and considering how she was turned, Severina had every right to think and feel that way. Yeah, I was still amazed with her height and childlike features that coerced one into giving her a glass of milk and a plate full of cookies before handing her a sword.

Caroline snuggled up to my side, "We'll take care of it. Stefan and I can get your place back in order."

"Don't worry about it. You guys didn't fly clear across the country just to clean up my apartment," I stared at my best friend and her husband-to-be. All of my dramas were taking away from their shine, but I would think of some way to make it up to them.

Like by not getting into anymore trouble.

"I've spoken with your apartment manager," Stefan informed. "She's going to do what she can to beef up security, but in the meantime, maybe you should stay with someone else."

I pursed my lips at the sly suggestion. "I know exactly who you have in mind. I'll stay with Rebekah," there that was settled.

"I'd love to have you, but," she proceeded to sink my battleship, "my flat is in the middle of renovations, and I'm currently lodging at The Four Seasons. Though there's a bloke around here somewhere with a spare bedroom if I'm not mistaken."

And there was no mistaking that knowing and wicked gleam beaming out of her retinas.

"You mean the immortal she had carnal relations with?" Severina asked bluntly.

Caroline pinched her lips to contain her cackles, whereas Stefan grinned and shook his head.

"My ex," I sat straighter on the bed. "Yes, that's who your cousin means for me to shack up with."

"These are volatile times, Bonnie," Rebekah asserted and tucked a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear. "Just until the threat of being pursued by the hunters is over, you shouldn't be alone. My cousin has done away with two. I've heard countless rumors about their numbers dwindling as of late. Witches are highly coveted commodities, which garners their protection by the Guild and individual supes. Hunters have now become the hunted. So if they're smart they won't ever poke their nose here again."

Stefan added, "By that logic and to be on the safe side perhaps it would be best if you stayed with Damon."

"Yeah," Caroline pitched in her two cents. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Certainly, but um what about me? Things were still so awkward between us even after our discussion back in Nova Scotia where Damon admitted he wanted to start over from scratch, become friends. He hung out with what he perceived to be me, but was really a demon from hell—not the metaphorical kind either. So whatever progress he thought we made had been incinerated the minute he caught "It" and Christian together.

I was out voted in the end.

Stretching out my hand, I said, "Lemme see a phone."

Three cell phones were whipped out toward me. I chose Stefan's.

"Just hit the number two button," he advised. "I have him on speed dial."

Nodding absentmindedly, I held the phone up to my ear and then shooed everyone out of the room though I could use some moral support.

The line connected and my breathing stopped.

"Something wrong with Bonnie?"

That gooey muscle in my chest melted at the first thing to come out of Damon's mouth once he answered the phone. "No, she's just fine."

A very noticeable pregnant pause rent the air.

When Damon came back on the line his tone was dulcet. "Hey, how are you? Finally being released from the hospital?"

"Maybe tomorrow. I um…how are you?"

"Want my honest answer? Pissed off."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Just…" Damon sighed harshly, so harshly I could almost feel his breath run across my cheek. "Just a bunch of shit I wish I didn't have to deal with at the moment. I hope to be back in town tomorrow. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm good, Damon even if my blood pressure keeps fluctuating. I…I feel like my old self. Listen, there's a reason I'm calling. Two witch hunters broke into my apartment."

"Jesus," my ex hubby lamented.

"Severina, Bex's cousin she um…ah…they won't be a problem. Anyways everyone, myself included thinks it would be best if I stayed with someone until this whole thing blows over. So is it all right if I bunk at your place for a couple of days?"

Another pause came, this one sizably longer than the first. So long, in fact, I had to tell myself to take a breath.

"If you think you can handle living under the same roof as me, I don't have a problem with it."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be feel uncomfortable in your own home."

"I can rest assure you, Bonnie, I'll be fine. Give me a call tomorrow and we can iron out the logistics. I have to go. "

"Okay. Be safe and thank you, Damon."

"Don't mention it."

We disconnected at the same time and not a second later a flood of vampires reentered my room.

Caroline was practically beaming then thrust her hand toward Stefan. "Pay up."

He grumbled as he extracted his money clip and pulled several crisp Ben Franklin's from his stack. He slapped the money into the palm of his fiancee's hand.

"You two had a bet going?" I pointed my finger at them.

"We sure did," Caroline sing song. "The bet was how long it would take for you and Damon to find yourselves living under the same roof again. We kind of came up with it during our engagement party before you went all Leather Face on people."

I tried not to laugh, I really did, but couldn't keep it together. "Leather Face, seriously?"

Caroline pinned me with a knowing look. "Anyways, I said it would take four weeks to the day for the two of you to be…back together in a roundabout way, and Stefan forecasted it would take another seven months. So clearly I'm the winner because in less than twenty-four hours you will be playing house with Damon. Aren't you excited?"

Excited with a dash of anxiety.


The following day I had been cleared for takeoff.

Everything was too stifling and nothing felt the same anymore. I couldn't really explain it better than that. I'd hear whispers in my head, see someone else's memories and believe them to be my own when it was just residual energy the empusae had consumed and integrated into my cerebellum. What made it even worse was the fear. The fear my life was about to end and I was too paralyzed to do anything about it, but again that fear wasn't mine. It belonged to those men, and yes, to Christian who remained in the ICU under heavy guard.

Another shiver spiked through me, a pleasurable buzz that felt completely wrong and out of place, given the circumstances. It was like coming without coming, if that made sense. A throb within an echo of what the real thing felt like. It became even worse whenever my male physician entered the room to check my prognosis. Trapping my hands between my legs was the only sensible thing I could think to do to stave off the need to pounce and eat.

How long was I going to be like this? I had no answer, but continued packing my things waiting to be released from the hospital.

My attention was thwarted for a moment to the floral arrangements decorating the otherwise Spartan room. Gifts from coworkers I was doing to have donated to other patients since I couldn't bring them all with me, and didn't want them to go to waste. My dad had been notified I was in the hospital, but he wasn't given many details, and I told him very little other than saying I collapsed. He, of course, wanted me to return home once I was cleared for travel by my doctors, and I was very tempted to take him up on his offer. Yet there were still too many loose ends I could so easily trip over if they weren't taken care of. Getting the skinny on Christian and if Rebekah's blood had improved his condition in any way was high on my list of concerns, but for now it was best to stay away.

Once again, my thoughts turned to the matter at hand. Going home with Damon.

Repeatedly I told myself I had little reason to be nervous. Hair and makeup done, jeans and chiffon blouse ensemble on, I chewed my bottom lip raw waiting out the last few seconds of my solitude.

A nurse appeared and lightly tapped on the door, "Miss Bennett, are you ready?"

I nodded and was shoved into a wheelchair looking like Miss Universe, given my discharge papers, and wheeled out back into the cold, stark world.

Once outside for reasons unknown terror snuck up on me. Everything seemed much too bright, too much to take in, but things stopped looking bigger and more intimidating than what they truly were the second my R8 rolled onto hospital property.

It stopped on a dime right in front of the automatic doors of the hospital. The driver side door shot open, and Damon, at a languid pace emerged.

His distressed caramel leather coat molded to his body like chocolate on a Snicker's bar. That wasn't nearly as astounding—the fact he hadn't donned his customary black leather threads, as the fact he had gotten another haircut.

That may seem like an inconsequential thing to most, but where Damon Salvatore was concerned, him actually changing hairstyles was the equivalent of him going on a bourbon fast. Just didn't fucking happen. So hell to the yes my ass stared at him mesmerized.

His raven locks were short in the back, spiky in the front, shaved years off his face. A face mired by a dusting of dark whiskers poking out around his jaw and mouth. He actually looked twenty-two, which made me feel like a cougar for the first time. Ever. But there was an unmistakable new energy around him; a pep to his step that I had to admit was infectious.

Vaguely I wondered if I was drooling.

"Bonnie," he nodded at the orderly, grabbed my bag before taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.

"Hi," my voice croaked. I coughed to clear it. "Hey. You're driving my car. Why?"

"Stefan has my whip. He and the future missus are headed to some fancy B&B upstate so for tonight, you and I will be alone. Let's go, naughty girl. We're holding up the line."

Damon stashed my overnight bag in the trunk and walked to the driver side of the car; my eyes followed. We settled into our respective seats and the ex wasted not a second peeling out of the parking lot.

"Thank you for letting me crash at your place," I vaguely heard myself say.

Damon nodded.

We were quiet, affording me the chance to take in the sight of Damon while he drove. One hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, foot popping the clutch as he wove through traffic seamlessly. Eyes focused on the road, lips moving as he sang along to Linkin Park. He stole a glance at me, which I quickly averted my gaze, cheeks blazing.

He was grinning, could feel it in my soul.

Jitters began to take over, the quintessence of hyperawareness. That moment you realize you're about to walk past your crush, and you're looking hella fly and you wonder if he or she will notice. You hold your breath waiting for that one second of acknowledgement, the rush like a sugar high. You want the affirmation yet at the same time you want your secret thirst to remain unrequited just to spare your feelings.

Before I could control it a bashful smile bloomed on my face.

"What are you smiling about?" Damon's question broke into my euphoria.

"I was just thinking about…how I didn't feel this nervous on our first date."

"Oh yeah? Our first date…" he muttered reflectively, "it was attending the Masquerade Ball, right?"

"Mm-hmm and I left completely and totally pissed off because we kept getting interrupted by horny housewives wanting to dance with you, and you just ate that shit up."

"You hotwired my car and then stole it."

"Well, I didn't have the keys. How else was I supposed to get home?"

Damon made a noise in the back of his throat. "Ah, but you didn't go straight home. You ran over to the Gilberts and complained to that little snot."

"And you walked in right before Jeremy was about to kiss me. How many stitches did he end up getting in his head that night?"

"Twenty-two."

"Only because you refused to give him your blood."

"I didn't refuse, he didn't want it," Damon corrected. "And hey, I apologized. When do I ever do that? But he wasn't going to get to first base before me and survive!"

I smiled, "He wasn't even going to get past the gates. I didn't want anyone else's lips to touch mine that night or any night that followed. Except yours."

Damon and I looked at each then.

"Why are you nervous?" he asked.

"Why do you think? This will be our first time living together…under the same roof in two years. You're not feeling weird about all this?"

Damon palmed the steering wheel as he took the exit to his bachelor pad.

"No. Something's are like riding a bike," he looked at me, sank his teeth into his bottom lip. "You never forget how to get back into rhythm."

"Is that what we're doing? Getting back into rhythm?"

"I don't know about you but I never lost my stroke."

Help me, Jesus.


Being in an enclosed space such as an elevator was one way of making you painfully aware of another person. Their proximity, the scent of their cologne or perfume, wondering if they'll try to make small talk to hasten the trip down or up. The last time Damon and I had traveled on a lift, he had eased his way behind me and dry humped me on the low. Now we stood side by side, not exactly touching but close enough to leave the faintest imprint of our signature on one another.

We arrived on his floor, the elevator doors swooshed open and I was smacked in the face with surrealism. For the next few days I would be on Damon's turf, living under his roof, and submitting to his rules. It wasn't that big of a deal but in many ways it was because I had grown accustomed to living alone. I had gotten used to not seeing Damon first thing in the morning, or having him be the last person I spoke to at night.

Crossing over the foyer to the double front doors leading to his penthouse condo, Damon inserted his key in the lock.

I hesitated for a second at the threshold, swallowing the last of my trepidation. Well, I tried to. In the times we hooked up, not once had we ever christened any surface of his house, and I knew it wouldn't happen, but things happened.

If Damon was nervous or had any misgivings or was second guessing his decision to let me crash here, he didn't let it show. Yet playing things close to the vest was his specialty.

Damon's space was epicurean and utilitarian at the same time. A dichotomy of hard dark surfaces illuminated with bright pale light. Technically speaking it had only been a few days since I had last been a guest, of the voyeuristic variety, the place seemed different. Smelled of potent virility with a hint of some spicy herb that made me think of this dish Grams used to make every year for Thanksgiving. Mouthwatering.

Damon tossed his keys on the breakfast bar and glanced at me over his shoulder. "I'll show you to the guest room. Did you get any sleep at the hospital?"

"Not really. When I wasn't being frozen to death by the air conditioning, a nurse would come in and have her way with me."

A hint of a smile flitted across Damon's face as he led the way into his sunken living room and down the corridor to the bedrooms. He swung open the door and allowed me to walk in ahead of him. Damon dropped my overnight bag on the queen sized bed that looked extremely welcoming to the point I actually yawned.

His hand cupped my elbow and warmth immediately shot from his fingertips up my arm. My eyes widened as I stared up at him.

An indiscernible expression marred his features. "Get some rest. You'll need it later."

Oh wow, "What are you about to do?"

He grinned, "Don't worry. I know how to keep myself busy."

Damon vacated the room softly closing the door behind him. I toed off my shoes resisting the urge to call him back, reminding myself things between us were precarious and platonic. He had business to take care of and I was already imposing on his bachelorhood by being here. Yet if Damon didn't want me around I wouldn't be around.

Crawling under the covers I was out in two seconds and when I was drop-kicked back into consciousness it was semi-dark in the room. I freshened up, changed into a fresh shirt since my blouse was horribly wrinkled, and ventured out.

Rock music led me to the kitchen where Damon was leaned over the counter flipping through a book. His shirt had ridden up his back exposing a sliver of skin and just the barest top of his sculpted butt cheeks.

"Hey," I said.

"Bout time you woke up. I was getting bored."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Five hours."

My eyes bugged. Whenever I napped, it was never for longer than an hour, two at the most. I should have been hella tired, but was wide awake as if adrenaline had been injected straight to my heart.

"Ready for dinner?" Damon straightened to his full height.

Nodding, I padded the rest of the way into the industrial kitchen, his real man cave. Sniffing the air, I scented something already cooking on the stove and baking in the oven. My stomach rumbled.

"What are we having?" I questioned and hefted my weight on a chrome barstool.

In lieu of answering, Damon tipped my chin up and twisted my head from side to side.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making sure I'm dealing with the real you," Damon pressed his face close to mine, our foreheads touching, lips grazing one another. "Do you have an urge to eat me?"

"Ah…"

"Is your mouth salivating because you want to drink my blood?"

It was starting to but not for that reason. "Umm…no…"

"You don't sound too sure about that. I just need to know if I'm going to need to lock my bedroom door tonight."

The glint in his eye had nothing to do with fearing for his life but another type of attack of the illicit kind possibly happening between us.

I couldn't deny a niggling sensation flowed through me. My fingers tingled with want. An upheaval was occurring in my erogenous zones, and I was overdosing on Damon's pheromones.

"You won't need to," I whispered. "You're safe with me, Damon."

He made a noise of contention in the back of his throat. "I don't think so. I've never actually been safe with you. Have I?"

I pulled away from him, only a fraction. "This goes both ways. Am I safe with you?"

"You know you are," Damon slipped away and returned to making dinner.

I cracked open a bottle of wine and poured us both a glass.

Periodically he'd look at me over his shoulder I guess to make sure I didn't poof out of existence, but I had no intentions of going anywhere. I was a sucker for his cooking. He created meals with the same passion and voracity as he did when he'd turn me into a meal. Damon prided himself on his laziness, but he was really a busy body. Always up to something. Always dipping his hand in the cookie jar hoping to get caught. I wanted to add up these silent cues he had been throwing out since picking me up as an open-ended invitation, but naturally playing mum was the safest bet for me make. And until Damon outright did or said something, I would be a harmless little lamb.

My ex was in a nostalgic mood as he was playing Journey and Bad Company's greatest hits from the seventies. Presently, "Lovin, Touchin', Squeezin'" by Journey was blasting through Damon's home sound system.

"Here, wrap your lips around this," Damon held the wooden spoon out to me, hand cupped underneath to catch any run off from the spicy concoction waiting for my seal of approval.

Leaning over a bit, I accepted the spoon in my mouth. The bouillabaisse was delicious but too damn hot. I licked away the residue from my lips and cocked an eyebrow in the air. His red pepper soup wasn't so bad.

"It's okay," I replied nonchalantly and took a hearty sip of wine.

He glared at me not happy with my lack of an orgasmic response. "Just okay? I've been slaving away on this all day. The tomatoes used to make this had to simmer for three hours by themselves, not to mention I shelled out forty bucks for olive oil that was blessed by Monks in Italy!"

"Forgive me," I muttered contritely. "It's really, really…okay," I winked.

"Slag," Damon shook his head and returned to being his alter ego Julia Childe. "Do you at least approve of the wine?"

"Yes, it's delicious and works well with the soup. Cancels out its spicy taste that leaves my tongue a little numb but tingly."

"Can you check on the bread?"

Like a compliant sous chef, I hopped off the stool and waltzed to the other side of the grand kitchen, slipping my hands into industrial sized oven mitts to open the stainless steel double oven. The loaves, perched on a wooden board, were nicely browned and smelled of butter and honey. My mouth was practically salivating.

"I think they're done," I gave my two cents because Damon knew I couldn't exactly work my way around a kitchen like he could. There were but a few dishes I learned to perfect through the years, but I wasn't a master chef; not like him and Stefan. It was because of them I didn't walk around imitating a skeleton.

Damon walked up behind me to check, pressing into me slightly. "You're right. They are done. Take them out and slice them up any way you see fit."

Extraditing the baked goods from the oven, I sat them on top of thermal mats to absorb the heat preventing the granite countertop from being damaged. Using my wonderful psychic abilities I found Damon's carving knife and cut the loaves into thick, two-inch slices. Once completed with that, I started working on making the salad.

Blue and orange flames caught my attention as Damon doused a sterling silver frying pan with sherry. He was about to get started on pan searing chicken breasts.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?" Damon asked.

"Talk about what?" he had a bad habit of starting conversations like it was an ongoing discussion without first informing what he wanted to talk about.

"The fact that today is the anniversary of the first day we met."

My eyes widened. Shit! It was our anniversary? How the hell did I forget that? My silence was incriminating which didn't go unnoticed by Damon. He pursed his lips in disapproval while I merely shrugged sheepishly.

"You forgot?" his eyes almost literally turned red.

"Can I get a pass on the fact that less than a week ago I had been possessed by a blood addicted empusae? Dates are a little muddled," I added a smile to win my case but then turned serious. "I may have forgotten the day we met…"

"The day you were running through the woods at night like a white girl."

I balked, "I can't believe you just said that," I picked up a handful of lettuce prepared to throw it at him, but Damon grabbed a pot lid holding it like a shield. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Says the woman holding a fist full of foliage."

The pieces of lettuce clutched in my hands immediately tumbled toward freedom into the waiting bowl on the counter.

"I can tell you what I did the night of our wedding anniversary after our divorce was finalized," I offered. Damon's attention was rapt on me. "I showed up drunk at Rebekah's, cried myself to a migraine, and passed out on her couch."

Damon flipped over the chicken. "I went to a strip club and paid way too much for a lap dance that did nothing for me."

Conversation lapped into an awkward silence then. The music playing throughout the house segued from one track into another so that helped alleviate some of the tension, but not enough.

"Will our lives ever stop being a mess?" I questioned out of the blue. "I don't want the important things, the important events between us to get lost in all the bullshit we have to deal with when we're together and when we're apart."

"That'll only happen if we let it. You have to fight for what's important to you."

He was right. Damon was absolutely right.


My stomach purred in unadulterated contentment at the completion of supper. I felt sublime and full in every single place that mattered. My mind, my heart, my stomach were totally satiated. Swiping the wineglass to consume the last dribble of chardonnay left, I locked eyes with Damon over the rim. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and tossed it over his empty plate once finished.

"That was delicious," I complimented. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Slowly my fingers began to inch closer to his. Perhaps I was being presumptuous, but making even the smallest amount of contact would be the perfect cap to the night. We survived sharing a meal without getting into an argument. We bantered of course, but it had been of the witty and light-hearted kind.

Just when I puckered my lips to ask about dessert, the buzzer went off. Someone was here to see him.

"Scusi," he muttered in Italian, got up from the table, and headed to the intercom.

A minute later, Damon opened the front door waiting for his guest to present him or herself.

It was Naomi, his assistant. She didn't spot me seated at the glass dining room table, but I certainly got an eyeful of her. Naomi had ditched her conservative garb in favor of a tight little chocolate leather dress. Hard to say if she was dressed so snazzy because she had a hot date and merely dropped by Damon's for a quick visit, or she put in the extra effort just for him. Needless to say she did look amazing.

But I promise you the only reason I was sucking my teeth was to dislodge a piece of chicken stuck in my back molar. Pinky swear.

"Damon," she presented her cheek for a kiss to which he obliged. "Sorry to come over unannounced but my contact at the Justice Department finally came through," she handed a bulky black folder over to Damon.

"Thanks, but you could have waited until tomorrow to give this to me."

"Oh…are you entertaining? I do smell something delicious," Naomi's nosy ass looked around and she did a double take when she saw me.

I wiggled my fingers in hello whereas her eyes narrowed into slits but she composed herself and flashed a smile.

"Bonnie," she said succinctly.

"Hello, Ms. Qureshi. Working late?"

"Yes, some of us actually take what we do for a living seriously. I heard about what happened to Christian."

The usual pang of culpability slammed into me thanks to the needless reminder. Keeping my poker face intact, I merely nodded my head. "It is awful."

"If I knew who was responsible well…they might not wake up for a while or ever again. If I had my way."

"Yes, because killing solves everything," I remarked flippantly and went back to polishing off the crumbs I managed to leave behind on my plate.

"I don't want to be an intrusion," Naomi clearly was addressing Damon now, "but I think we should go over the contents in this file and strategize our next move."

"Not tonight," Damon vetoed that idea. "Tomorrow will be good enough. Thanks for bringing this over."

"All right," the reluctance in Naomi's voice wasn't hard to miss. "If you have any questions, you know I'm available."

"Good night, Naomi."

"Good night."

I didn't look back up until the click of the lock was in place. Damon negligently tossed the folder on the breakfast bar and headed back towards me and our empty plates. His hand landed on my right shoulder, trailed across my back to my left shoulder as he walked behind me to get to his seat.

He left his hand there when he sat down to which I grabbed and kissed the center of his palm. "Everything okay?"

"Should be. Want desert?"

"I can't eat anything else," and to prove that point I yawned involuntarily. We shared a soft laugh.

Damon finished the last of his wine zoomed back into the kitchen and returned with:

"Cannoli's!" I squealed early tiredness momentarily forgotten.

You know I couldn't waste a second before grabbing one and bit down on that soft golden shell and through a fluffy layer of ricotta cheese. I ate that thing like I was sucking dick, and when it was about a third of the way consumed that's when I realized Damon had been as quiet as a mouse.

Heat spread from cheek to cheek and found lodgings on the tips of my ears and probably the center of my forehead as well.

"What?" I snapped and lapped away the powdered sugar from my fingers.

"Nothing, I just forgot how you like to eat cannoli's as if you're…never mind."

"Say what you were going to say."

"I don't want to offend you. The night's been going well. Almost too well."

"That's not bad."

"But I don't feel like it's us, either. We're behaving ourselves and for what? I wanna say," and he leaned forward, getting closer to me, "I want to say that seeing you eat my food and enjoy it makes me want to come all over your twat, but I can't say that."—Did someone turn up the heat?—"I want to say that I found myself being jealous of a damn pastry because it got to know the warmth of your mouth, but I can't say that. I can't let you know I've thought about taking you right here on this table since the moment you walked through the door. I can't say those things to you, Bonnie," Damon swiped a dollop of whipped cream from the corner of my mouth and sucked it off his thumb. "That's all of you I can taste right now because we're friends, trying to be friends and I don't want to mess that up."

Damon rose from the table, collected our dirty dishes, and left me sitting there with the seat of my panties irrevocably soaked.

Chapter end.

A/N: Bamon living under one roof. How will this all pan out? Please, review and let me know what you think. I can probably bang out the next chapter if there's a want for it. Is there?