A/N: Oh wee oh wow, was not expecting that response to chapter 2. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations. Enjoy and thank you!
Friday night and I was on the prowl. In search of a good time that wouldn't leave me in too much trouble. I jockeyed for position at the vanity mirror in the ladies restroom at Mickie's Bar and Grill, ducking elbows and half-listening to the convos around me. Almost everyone was on some sort of mission tonight. Get drunk. Ignore the person you really wanted to talk to. Make someone jealous; knock a bitch out if she looked at you the wrong way. Collect evidence to support or deny someone's fidelity. I loved the feeling of espionage camaraderie.
I gathered my hair wondering if I should pin it up because the crowd grew thick and stifling on Friday and Saturday nights sometimes spilling out onto the sidewalk. So far things weren't bad. I wasn't in danger of sweating anything out. Nevertheless, I twisted my head this way and that, gaze zeroing in on that tattoo behind my right ear. A cenotaph of a past life. I dropped my hair, gave myself a once over satisfied with my relaxed look of: super tight gunmetal blue V-neck shirt and black skinny jeans. My ass, the literal one, looked phenomenal. Round and perky. My tits included, well with the aid of a really good push-up bra.
I rejoined the bedlam sliding into the U-shaped booth sitting next to a red-haired firecracker who shared my first name. Bonnie McCullough.
Sprite, linear, effervescent, naïve, but with a heart of gold is how I'd describe one of my dearest friends. We met in undergrad sharing some of the same classes. Bonnie, whom everyone called M to differentiate between us, studied acoustical engineering with aspirations of being a sound engineer. She tried her luck in the land where dreams came true (for some). It being such a male dominated area and not a lot of opportunities were coming her way, M grew fed up and I lured her to my company. It wasn't terribly hard. She was the director of our sound department and the girl was superb at her job.
Right now she was licking salt from her hand and tossing back a tequila shot. She slammed the rock glass on the table, squeezed the lime between her lips. Her big brown eyes were bright which she fixed on me.
"Fifteen," she said.
"Fifteen what? Shots you've done since I've been gone?"
"No, fifteen as the number of guys I counted who broke their necks to ogle your ass."
I affected an English accent, "Well it is rather lovely."
"I'd tap it."
The really gorgeous thing about M was that she believed in sisterhood above all. Anyone else might have pouted about not being approached or receiving appreciative glances. M, I wouldn't say was above that. She loved flirting and squealed whenever she was called sexy and not cute. She had her moments were self-esteem correlated with male advances. At the heart of it she was a romantic and human, and anytime she was bothered by the lack of offers, she would let you know.
"How many offered to buy you a drink?" I surveyed the spoils. We came here often enough it was easy to spot the regulars from the first timers. So far things were mixed.
"Only one and he was so not my type. Ugh."
We shared a laugh. More drinks arrived in addition to a basket of waffle fries and hot wings. One more person was set to join us, and until our third wheel made their presence known, I stuffed my face and continued perusing.
Naturally my phone would choose to buzz. Oh wonderful, another scathing update from Dietrich who I was beginning to suspect was sabotaging Themyscira Films' latest venture because he used to fuck the director , and let's just say he and Sheldon Reese parted on less than amicable terms.
"Should I answer this?"
"Who is it?" M ripped into a hot wing.
"Dietrich."
"It's Friday and you're not at the office. Send him to voicemail."
"That'll just piss him off more. I'll tell him to text me."
M shrugged, emptied another shot glass, and delicately wiped her lips. "Having the same issues with Sheldon?" I nodded absently while texting. "How cute. He's pissed at his work husband and wants solace from his work wife."
M was not lying. I was pretty much married to Dietrich. Had to be in order to keep the train moving. Dietrich worked with his right brain whereas I worked with the left; together we climbed mountains.
I put the finishing touches on a message letting him know I was doing the one thing he didn't do enough…have fun, and that having a gripe session wasn't ideal at the time, to list his complaints in the order of relevancy in an email in which I'd deal with tomorrow.
He responded with the middle finger emoji. Ah, love him.
Suddenly M shrieked.
I tucked my phone away. "What the hell's matter with you?"
She was trying not to point but was pointing. "Do you know who that is?"
That was another thing about M that took some getting used to. Her no chill levels of excitability. It didn't take much to set her off.
Yet I humored her.
At first I saw nothing but a horde of people. Maybe horde was too generous, but there were at least seven people who just walked through the front door and passed our table. Not one of them was recognizable. The latest patrons paused, two of them shifted aside and I gulped.
Him.
I…oh…this was…
I thought perhaps I'd grown some type of immunity, but from my own inability not to gape it was clear something about him snared me and refused to let go.
We had one encounter since his birthday. On the elevator which I was beginning to revere as our spot. He was going down, dressed in a ribbed tank and sweats, holding a gym bag. He nodded as I boarded but said nothing else as the elevator eased to the fourth floor. His arm very narrowly grazed mine as he stepped out, and that had been the end of it. No backwards glance, no have a nice day. His silence had been a vacuum.
My throat mysteriously grew dry, but I swallowed and replied nonchalantly, "Yeah, I-I do. He lives in my apartment building."
"Wait what? Damon Salvatore is your neighbor?" M's voice went higher in decibel.
"Yeah, so who is he?"
M was positively offended I didn't know whoever that man was. Her face was flushed as she informed, "Only the best defenseman of the Vancouver Canucks! He's retired now after suffering a career ending injury. But he turned his bit of bad luck into solid gold by developing some sort of protective gear piece to prevent the kind of injury he had. And now it's pretty much used by everyone who plays hockey. And you two share the same address and I didn't know! Unbelievable," she slumped against the booth.
From the size and opulence of his home, I knew he had to be a big-wig of some sort. Former hockey player turned inventor…I could see it. He had that intimidating air about him down pact.
"I knew none of that before," I argued in my defense. "His penthouse is nice."
M's eyes bulged. "You've been to his place?! What's it like? What's he like?"
"Intense."
"I figured. Dude rarely smiled as he tore down the ice and checked dudes right from left. The way he moved bordered on supernatural. You gotta give me more, Bon. More!"
"There's not much else to tell. I was being a good neighbor and promptly left."
I should drop any and all talk about Damon Salvatore. Shouldn't entertain thoughts of pumping M for more information, information I could gather doing a Google search. But seeing him standing in the midst of his admirers, rosy cheeked, and commanding without having to raise his voice to be heard since everyone was hanging on to his every word…the smart thing to do would be to ignore him. Pretend he wasn't here.
That was impossible though. Doubly when he removed his jacket. His shirt looked like it was straining to keep his torso covered. The sight made my heart pound.
Damon kissed cheeks, doled out elaborate handshakes. He was solicited for selfies and pleaded with for his John Hancock.
The latter I kind of knew what it was like.
Damon commandeered a spot at the end of the bar, far away from where I was. The horde gave him not an inch of breathing room, but he didn't complain or looked put out.
I looked at the people who were drawn to him. The guys were ordinary. After a pint or two they might be cute. There were quite a few women who were beautiful but not exactly striking. Five blondes of the same height and shape, nearly cookie cutter, two brunettes, and a single redhead, who by her confident stature, was used to getting anyone she wanted. She was the one who stood out the most, tossing her long hair to one side without making it seem like that's what she was doing. She flashed her dimples as bait. Out of those surrounding him, Damon looked at her the most.
Without warning he was looking right at me.
"Ohmygod he just looked at you!" M ducked behind her hair, blushed. "Is he still looking?"
Her question went in one ear and out the other.
For twenty seconds it was he and I and no one else. I swore his chest was rising and falling in time with mine. Every bit of me was aware of him and I wondered if it were the same for him. Then it was over. He was back to being everyone's hero.
The abruptness left me in a state of vertigo.
"You should ask him to join us," my petite friend nudged me. "I'm sure he wouldn't turn you down. You're practically besties."
After the way I fled his apartment without so much as a goodbye, and the fact we were strangers that was a stretch.
"I won't be doing that," I shook my head. "He's busy and I'm busy."
"Hmm, he seems to like the redhead," M observed. I peeked and sure enough the redhead had sidled next to him. "Think I have a shot?"
"Go for it," I wasn't going to stop M's shine.
Though there was a tiny piece of me that was irrationally territorial where Damon was concerned, which concerned me.
I was knocked me out of the moment when a pair of lips smacked my cheek, "Hey."
My head shot up and our third wheel rounded the table and slid into the booth. "You finally made it."
"Would have been here sooner if I didn't get tied up with work. Hey M."
"Hi," she nearly whispered.
I volleyed between Avan Borgia, Tyler's frat brother and my neighbor whose once passive features. He was looking at me again. His brow had flattened and he was definitely frowning.
I poured my all into looking strictly at Avan's dark brown eyes and not the blue ones from across the room, but it was really no use. I did manage to pick up on the fact my chatterbox of a friend, M had gone quiet. Her usual response when around Avan who she was crushing on hard.
Avan was stunning. His Spanish-Lebanese blood gave him the kind of face that was a dichotomy of adolescence and refinement. He was of average height, carried a slim build, yet it made him no less appealing. Speaking three languages didn't hurt either.
"What did I miss?" he asked.
"Not much," M shockingly piped in. "We haven't hit the dance floor yet and neither one of us is intoxicated."
Avan plucked the drink menu from the condiment carafe. "I'm glad because I hate thinking of you two getting sloshed with no one to keep the predators at bay."
"That's not the best part," M's words were starting to slur together. Those shots were kicking in. "We have a celebrity in the house. Damon Salvatore."
"Really?" Avan turned all the way around. Like most, if not all Canadians, he was a hockey enthusiast. "Damn."
"Get this…he's Bonnie's neighbor and she's been to his place," she snickered giddily.
Avan refaced us and his delighted façade clouded with suspicion. "Is that so?"
"Don't start," I warned with a raised brow. "I was roped into dropping off this dish to his penthouse by an elderly neighbor. I didn't stay long." I wouldn't tell him about knowing the possible length Damon was working with either. Nor would I say anything about the anonymous letters. I loved Avan, but in Tyler's absence he designated himself as my human chastity belt.
"You talked to Tyler lately?" he asked, right on cue.
"Yesterday but only for a few minutes. This working in separate countries shit is for the birds. When I'm up, he's asleep. When he's awake, I'm asleep."
"You still plan to go see him next month, right? You guys have to stay connected."
I breathed heavily. "If no crisis arises then yep, that's the plan."
"Excited?" Avan prodded.
"As a virgin on her wedding night."
M cackled whereas Avan snorted, possibly detecting my sarcasm. He flagged down a server to order a drink.
With him distracted and M trying not to broadcast she was just two drinks shy from being drunk, I let my gaze wander to and fro.
Fortunately I never found the one I shouldn't be searching for.
We moved the party from the booth to the dance floor. For thirty minutes I found myself in the music. The typical saying was lose yourself in the music, but no I found the person I aspired to be when the right beat, tempo, and lyrics played.
Once the heat became too much, when my dance partner kept trying to cop a feel of my tits, I gave him a stinging slap on the arm and yelled, "Asshole, I need a breather."
Don't know if he heard the 'asshole' part or not, but he nodded and bent his knees to say in my ear, "Don't forget about me."
He was a distant memory the second I wove through the other gyrating bodies, pausing as I spotted Avan and M bouncing around. With a smile on my face I quickly exited through the front entrance breathing in the chilly Vancouver air. It felt good against my skin even if it immediately pimpled into goosebumps, nipples too.
"You ran out on me…Bonnie."
My head snapped to the left. There he stood against the brick wall, unlit cigarette in his hand. He flicked a lighter open but closed it just as quickly.
"That wasn't very nice," he chastised, staring beneath dark lashes.
Talk, Bonnie. "Sorry."
"I was hoping to share my tetrazzini with you."
"How was it?"
"Perfect. I only eat the best."
My lips twitched and so did his.
"That guy with you…he's the fiancé?"
Abrupt, straight out of the gate with no warm up, I see. "No, he's just a close friend." And why do you care? "If he was my fiancé…?"
Damon pushed from the wall and sauntered closer with slow deliberate steps. Like did on his birthday. He stopped right in front of me. "I'd tell him congratulations."
"You would?"
"I can concede graciously when I need to," he was fighting off a smirk.
"I'll bet," I spied the cigarette still in his hand. "Are you going to smoke that to keep warm? It's cold tonight." Not that I felt it much anymore.
Damon shrugged a brawny shoulder, "I haven't decided."
"What's stopping you?"
"It's a habit. An old one," he tapped the cigarette on the palm of his hand. "Something triggered the urge to smoke."
Urges and triggers, I knew them very well. This sparked an idea, really an excuse to keep him around, keep talking though that could be dangerous.
"Is that the only one you have?" I questioned.
"No, I have a pack in my coat."
"Go inside and bring it to me."
Damon squinted possibly trying to discern my angle.
"I'll take this," I plucked the cigarette out of his hand, broke it in half, dropped it on the ground, and smashed it with my pump.
From the muscle pulsing in his jaw, he was grinding his molars together. He would either curse me out for destroying his precious nicotine dick, or he'd do what I told him to do.
"Hurry up and bring me what I want."
"If I don't?" he folded his massive arms.
"If you don't…the next time Miss Josephine prepares you a meal and uses me to deliver it, I'll eat it and tell you how good it was."
He stared at me searchingly for what felt like hours. "Wait here."
Damon left and came back with the pack that he handed to me plus his lighter. I opened the pack which was pretty much full, but said:
"I don't need to frisk you to make sure you haven't smuggled any for later, do I?"
He snorted and shook his head. "I'm clean."
I pulled out a butt remembering old times. Wedging it between my lips I tossed the pack into a nearby trash can. Flicking the lighter, I covered the flame, lit the end, inhaled.
"You smoke?" Damon seemed startled.
"Recreationally but I quit years ago. I'm just feeling a little nostalgic," I murmured quietly and gauged his reaction through the thin cloud of gray smoke. Hungry was the best way to describe it. I shuttered my eyes against it and centered on the familiar scorching burn, the acidly addictive taste that filled my mouth and lungs.
When I opened my eyes, Damon was still watching.
He licked his lips, nostrils flared as he breathed in the smoke. I held the butt up to him and, lightly cupping my hand, he drew it closer. His lips brushed my fingers as he sucked on the filtered end and inhaled.
If I heard things properly he groaned just a little.
"I missed this," he rasped.
As Damon blew out, I took another hit, "One more for the road and that's it. We're stopping."
He was ready to argue but he conceded. "Yes, ma'am."
I took my turn and he never shifted restlessly or gave his attention to anything besides me. Damon eagerly leaned forward as I held it up for his last and final drag of nicotine. His head fell back and he puckered his lips. Little O's floated from his mouth.
"You look like a chug boat."
He choked a laugh, expelling the rest of the smoke from his nose.
"There you are," that feminine voice was like a needle on vinyl.
It was the redhead from earlier. She all but ignored me though she did the scan and dismiss as if I were truly unimportant and a non-factor.
"I wanted to buy you another round. If you're interested."
And that was my cue to leave. Only, Damon's arm shot out. His hand was on my stomach. Heat. The temperature of his palm made heat flare low in my abdomen. Our heads turned toward one another.
"Can I get your number?" I raised a brow at his presumptuousness. He explained, "I know we can't be more than friends."
"You want to be friends?" I sounded a little too breathless for my own good.
"Why not?"
"We don't know each other."
"Hence the reason for exchanging numbers so we can get to know each other," his fingers pressed into my stomach. I squelched making any kind of noise. Being touched where he was touching me was one of my spots.
"I'm engaged."
"Well aware of that. You're already in love so you know there's nothing that can happen besides friendship."
"I see I've interrupted something," Red sniffed but made no tracks to retreat inside the bar.
I continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And that's all you want? Friendship?"
"Yeah. Unless that ring is just for show to keep people from hitting on you," his gaze glinted. "If not, what do you have to lose?"
Everything.
I shouldn't be negotiating exchanging numbers with a man that I was, let's be real, very much attracted to. It would be character suicide if I gave him the means to contact me at whim. If the situation was reversed I wouldn't want Tyler talking to a chick that had him delving into a habit he cut ties with a long time ago. I wouldn't want him to talk to someone who made him nervous, jittery, or greedy for a touch or an encounter.
Sliding my hand atop Damon's, our fingers laced together for two seconds before I removed his hand. "Sometimes it's best not to play with fire even if it's nothing bigger than a flame. Goodnight…Damon."
A/N: *Edited 4/14/17* If you're reading this again, I took out the beginning that was italicized. It was supposed to be a story within a story but I'm scraping the idea because this storyline is already complicated enough. *Original A/N* If any are curious as to who I'm drawing inspiration from when it comes to Avan Borgia, yep I'm using Avan Jorgia. I know I wasn't that creative with the name but nothing else really fit. Anyways, I hope you liked it. Please show your love in the comments. Until next time. XOXO.