I wish I could say we left the club at a respectable hour, remembering certain societal norms such as maintaining the correct amount of space while walking or talking to someone. I wish I could say that I hadn't hidden behind my hair, nor stared at him from beneath my lashes without biting into a corner of my lip. I wish I could say we only danced to that one song and parted ways as neighbors who occasionally said hello and goodbye. I wish I could say that Damon hadn't sneaked in a couple of close calls with his lips, brushing the corner of my jaw, the shell of my ear, my temple. But then…I'd be lying.

The Den of Sin was the unspoken name of Sugar Venom's VIP area. You couldn't get more private than an underground grotto. My good friend Deacon wanted his clientele to be able to do more than simply overlook the crowd and convince themselves they were better than the lowly peons below who didn't have the paper or the connections to grant them exclusive access up above. However, he didn't want his establishment to be confused with a brothel or escort service. No fucking. That was the rule and one I'm sure Deacon knew was broken every single night. Edinburgh had the pubic triangle where three strips clubs were in feet of one another. This section of Vancouver where Sugar Venom resided was known as the pubic square. It sat between two strip clubs and a sex shop.

I traipsed down a red carpet lined tunnel outfitted in mirrored glass to one of six VIP rooms. Stefan reached me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He started crooning in my ear and I joined in, singing the lyrics to "Say Ah". He was no Trey Songz but damn his voice was raspy enough to inspire chills.

He stopped singing abruptly and said, "If you're not into my brother…you might want to work harder to convince yourself of that. Be careful with him. He's more fucked up than he appears." Stefan untangled himself and broke into a light jog to catch up with the rest of his band mates.

My footsteps slowed as I processed what he said. Wasn't everyone fucked up? But hearing someone who had grown up with Damon, knew him say he was fucked up gave me a perverse, twisted thrill.

Damon and I had gotten separated but I caught sight of him speaking with another man, maybe the band's manager. Nevertheless, I veered to the right, entering a dome-shaped room with ecru stucco walls. A red velvet couch, well more of a bench really, ran the entire circumference of the room. Stationed here and there were burnished gold low tables that were riddled with bottles of every brand of alcohol you could think of. A bar was set up in the back manned by two bartenders who wore tight sleeveless shirts reenacting scenes from Cocktails. Below the buzzing conversations, music streamed from hidden speakers. If you wanted a break from confessing your crimes to total strangers, you could watch any program of your choosing on the mounted flat screens.

The band's entourage, about fifty deep flooded inside and then fanned out. Women were in abundance making the ratio three to one. It was turning stuffy and crowded, and with the waning hour my interest was fading but it piqued for a second.

A waitress sashayed by in an itty bitty number that dipped low along her spine, revealing the dimples above her ass, carried a tray that was loaded with a bottle of Absinthe, a bowl of sugar cubes, lighter, a perforated spoon, and six Torsade glasses. The bass guitarist crowed, "That's what I'm talking about!" before patting the waitress on the bottom. She blushed and said something that had everyone howling in laughter.

"Ever tried that before?"

I craned my neck to acknowledge the man who sidled next to me. "That's surprisingly one of the many things I've never done."

"Feel up to losing your virginity in that regard?"

"You promise to be gentle?" I quipped with a roll of my eyes.

He chuckled in response, "Always. Come with me."

Damon spread his hand on my lower back and ushered me to another VIP room. It was smaller but the motif was the same. The major difference was this room came equipped with a door that could be frosted.

Already on the table were an assortment of drinks and a platter of veggies, fruit, and thinly sliced pieces of pancetta, dipping sauces, feta and provolone cheese. What drew my attention and made a brow arch was a bottle of Absinthe. I shot Damon a look that he missed.

We sat down together, knees slightly bumping together. I eyed the spread while he eyed me.

"Help yourself to whatever you like," he said.

I nibbled on a slice of flatbread while he answered a phone call.

The low rumble of Damon's voice caught my ear anytime he replied to whoever he was talking to. In that moment he was less hockey player and more CEO. His hair was a little more tousled. I could see fuzz growing around his jaw, but his dark suit was still pristine as if any minute he'd board a helicopter to buy up more real estate.

"Set up a meeting with Paige and confirm for the twenty-second. I still haven't decided about the Grand Prix but remind me about it in a couple of weeks. Is that everything? All right. Enjoy your day off." He hung up. "My assistant," Damon explained. "She believes she's my sister, mother, and soothsayer."

"Does she run a tight ship?" I sampled a slice of pancetta next.

"Tighter than the inside of Voldemort's nose."

I choked out a laugh. "It's kind of late for her to be calling."

Damon fought off a smile as filled a tumbler with three fingers of bourbon. "She knows I keep odd hours. Plus she knew I'd be out late tonight," he leaned forward, "I'm not a cliché. I'm not fucking her."

"I never said you were."

"The implication was there."

"Was it?" I cocked my head a little. "I was more so making an observation about how late she works, and wondering if maybe you're one of those demanding alpha bastards who believes everyone's schedule and life should revolve around theirs."

"Do I come off like that?"

"Not exactly. But it's not like we've had a ton of scintillating conversation to get to the meat of who we are."

"I'd say our conversations have been illuminating," he waggled his brows.

"To a degree," I concurred.

"Then let's have a scintillating conversation," he sat back, crossing his long legs and throwing an arm over the back of the couch. "We've had what? Ten or so encounters since the day we rode on the elevator together…we're practically in a relationship."

"Are we now? I must have missed that memo."

Damon hid a smile behind his glass before taking a sip. "And in those encounters we've had roundabout conversations until that night at the deli. We've been frank but vague with each other and I understand. Gotta maintain those boundaries. So let's break a couple."

"We already have."

"Then let's break a few more."

I angled my body more towards him causing my dress to ride up. Damon stole a peek at my thighs before they roved higher to my crotch. I was wondering if he was wondering about the color of my panties. Or if I was wearing any. "Everything that's already been broken could be grounds…" I hinted.

He finally made eye contact. "Grounds for what? We're just two people who live in the same building…have a common interest neither one of us is practicing at the moment. So what else do you like, Bonnie? What do you enjoy? What bothers the shit out of you?"

"This feels like an interview."

Damon hunched shoulder. "Aren't most things? We interview people without realizing it. See who can be trustworthy with our secrets to gain that BFF status. See who is sane enough to date, invite into our private circle. Hell, we interview people on which brand of toothpaste is better."

He had me there.

"All right…How long have you lived in our high rise?"

Damon made an indecipherable noise. "I thought you'd start off with something far more interesting."

"Ever heard of a slow burn? I'll get to the good stuff. How long have you lived there?"

"Five years."

"Besides Miss Josephine, have you befriended any of our other neighbors?"

"Yeah," he spoke mostly into his glass as he took his next sip of bourbon. "That…situation was a bit of a rollercoaster nightmare."

Interest piqued I sat up a little straighter, "How so?"

"I'll save that story for another day."

"Tease."

"You started it," Damon countered.

"I did. But maybe…"

"What if telling that story is triggering for me?" he pressed his lips together. I was beginning to learn to read him. He had shut the door to that vault, or rather placed more guards outside of it. Beefed up security. I inched away to neutral ground.

"Then I guess I shouldn't force you to share. Consent is highly important to me."

"For the usual reasons?"

"And the odd ones too," I paused. "So do you have any other siblings besides Stefan?"

"No. He's it. You?"

"Only child. That I know of," I winked.

Damon smirked. "Papa was a rolling stone, or mama?"

"I discovered, shockingly, that my parents had relations with other people before they met."

"Scandalous."

"Not assuming any births happened but I wouldn't rule it out. However, my father is Captain Responsibility and though my mama might have been fast," I air quoted, "as my paternal grandmother likes to imply, I think she tried to be as careful as she could be. But there's this one guy a few years older than me who looks like he could be her son. The resemblance is uncanny."

"I know a producer that works on Maury if you're interested."

"I'll keep that in mind." We shared a quiet laugh.

Damon plucked a strawberry out of the pile and bit a huge chunk of it, "Did you ever want a brother or sister?"

I shrugged, "Sure. As an only child you're either the obsessed focus of your parents, or you're given far too much independence and treated like an adult before you actually become one. It would have been nice to have someone my age to talk to in the house. Play with, get them in trouble, have a best friend for life."

"Not all siblings get along."

"So I've heard."

"Stefan and I…we weren't the chums we are now growing up in rural as hell Connecticut. My brother was this pudgy, frog-looking snitch who sang like a fucking canary twenty-four seven three sixty-five."

I giggled at his description of Stefan while asking, "What were you doing he had to sing so much?"

"Living," Damon deadpanned. "Seriously in the history of my life he's said my name more times than our parents. As soon as I could, I moved opting to go to school out of state."

"What college?"

"Penn State. I mean, he wasn't the only reason I wanted to get the hell out of Connecticut. A lot was going on and I just…I wanted to do something that would make me happy for a change instead of doing what my father said so he could live vicariously through me. Nothing's worse than being a self-insert," a tic went off in Damon's jaw giving me the sense that his dad was a sensitive topic of discussion. His brother's comment about him being fucked up rang in my head. "Stefan followed me as soon as he could. But by then I didn't hate his fucking guts so much. He had finally started to get a life of his own."

"Your folks still together?"

"Nah. They divorced years ago. My pops has since remarried and lives in London, and my mom is in Cali where she owns and operates her own vineyard with her boy toy. They have a cat named Seth. Little bastard is a spawn of Satan, and a rescue dog called Arthur who, I have to admit, is very sweet. You said you have a cat, right?"

"Yep. A three year old American shorthair named Sphinx."

"Cool name. Any particular reason you call it Sphinx?"

"I just like the name. It felt it suited him. He's extremely laid back and really thinks he's ruler of our two bedroom kingdom."

Damon refreshed his drink. "Kids…you have or want any?"

"No and one day. You?"

He didn't reply until he took a sip, re-crossing his legs, planting his right ankle on his left knee, unbuttoned his blazer. "I don't have any and I go back and forth about having some. The ones I've been around are mean, noisy little shits, but sometimes I think about having a little boy or girl and I guess if I had ovaries they would explode at their potential cuteness."

We laughed.

"If you had a boy or girl," I began, "would you want them to play hockey?"

"Of course. If they want to. I was forced to do a lot of shit I didn't want to do growing up. Things that were supposed to quote unquote make me a man, and I've told myself I wouldn't put my kids through that, but what if I do anyways? Aren't we all doomed to become just like our parents in the end?"

Good question. Excellent question.

"What are your parents' names?" I asked.

"Giuseppe and Lillian, but my mom goes by Lily. Yours?"

"Rudy and Abby."

"Would you say your parents have had a good marriage?"

Flashbacks of my parents sitting across from one another at the dinner table not saying a word to each another floated to the surface. Listening at their door as they fought, their voices muffled. Walking into the Grill, a local restaurant and seeing my mom sitting in a booth, smiling, practically glowing but the man she was smiling at was not my dad. Hearing my father tell someone over the phone in his office he loved them and couldn't wait to see them again with my mom sitting just feet away in the living room. Seeing him in the park kissing my mom's best friend.

I put on my glossiest smile, "They've found a way to make it work."

Damon nodded, "Have you cracked open that bottle of wine I gave you?" he changed gears on me.

The switch in topic threw me for a second. "I haven't. I'm saving it for a special occasion."

"You're a sentimentalist?"

"I am."

Jhene Aiko's "When We Love" wafted through the speakers. An electric tingle spread through me.

"This song isn't so bad," Damon commented.

"No, it's not."

"Usually not my taste but I can vibe with it."

I was amused. "Is that right? Let me guess at the kind of music you listen to."

"If you say Justin Bieber…"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Foo Fighters."

"I'm shocked you know who they are. Millenials tend not to know of any artists that existed before the year 2000."

"There you go with the millennial slander, grandpa. Before this conversation continues just exactly how old are you?" I side-eyed him.

"I'm thirty-one. Is that too old for you?"

"No. Thirty-one…that technically makes you a millennial."

The face Damon made suggested I just insulted him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight. Seriously, you probably like…Nine Inch Nails, Pearl Jam, U2, Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, Lynard Skynard."

Damon shook his head, "Am I that old fashioned? All right, I do like Nine Inch Nails and some U2. My brother is the Pearl Jam fanatic. I listen to pretty much…everything," he tossed his hands up in the air and started rattling off a pretty eclectic list of artists that spanned decades, genres, and cultures.

"But who's your favorite?"

"Asking me who my favorite artist is would be like asking to choose one thing to eat for the rest of your life. I can't make that kind of commitment. I'm a variety whore," he winked.

"All right. Fair enough. Is there any particular song or artist you constantly find yourself listening to?"

"There is," he started to answer my question, hesitated. "There is one group that I've been listening to damn near obsessively for the last six months…no judgement," Damon pointed a finger.

I held up my hands in surrender. "You'll hear no judgement from me."

"I feel I should get that in writing."

"Will you just spit it out?"

"All right." Dramatically he cleared his throat and muttered lowly, "BTS."

"What was that?"

"BTS."

We blinked at one another. He was waiting on me to react and I did by biting my lips.

"I knew you were going to judge," Damon rolled his eyes.

"I'm not judging!"

He grunted next.

"They are a talented kpop group. There's nothing wrong with liking their music," I put in overtime to placate him.

Still Damon huffed petulantly.

"Tell your hypermasculinity to chill. You can like BTS and still go out and build something with your bare hands, or work on a car engine, or chop down trees."

"Now you're mocking me."

Impulsively I gripped his chin. "When I mock you, you'll know. You've just shown me another layer and I find it adorable," slowly I let him go.

"Yeah. That's what every guy over the age of fourteen wants to hear. His musical tastes are adorable. Okay, what's the one musical artist you're embarrassed to let people know you like, and it better be a good one," his eyes narrowed.

"There's not anyone I won't own up to liking but…its more so…ever heard of Kidz Bop? Children doing covers of popular songs?" Damon stared at me blankly but I knew he knew what I was talking about. The fact a corner of his mouth twitched said so. I felt myself blushing and hated it. "Well I might have downloaded a few of those albums," I grumbled.

Damon said nothing for a second or two. Then, "Well thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must have been hard."

I punched him. He rubbed the area, chuckling, "What's your favorite color?"

"Cranberry. You?"

"Black. Everything looks good in black."

"I agree."

"Good. I think this calls for a mini-break," Damon reached over me, brushing against me as he grabbed the bottle of Absinthe and poured the outlawed liquor into two glasses. I watched nervously as he lit the sugar cube and let it burn for a few seconds before blowing out the flame and dropping the cube inside.

"I've heard lots of horror stories about this drink. You're not going to let me do anything stupid, right?"

"You can trust me," but that wolfish grin of his said otherwise. "Not to worry because I have it on good authority this brand of absinthe doesn't have that much thujone in it which was the main ingredient slated to cause hallucinations and affect a person's behavior. Just sip it slow." He rose his glass in the air. "Alla fata verde!"

My pulse palpitated. I studied the glass for a minute, psyching myself up to partake of something I'd heard different stories about, the main one being it was poison. I regarded Damon who looked at me encouragingly. On the count of three in my head, I took a tentative swallow.

At first it was like drinking licorice but quickly following that sweet flavor was a face puckering bitterness. My eyes watered and it felt every little nose hair I possessed was being singed.

"Oh god help," I coughed.

Damon handed me a bottle of water that I chugged.

"Why would anyone do that to themselves?" I drank more water. "Are you laughing?"

"No," Damon answered quickly, too quickly. He sipped his drink like a pro, downing about half of the emerald substance.

"You've gotten quiet on me. You okay?" his voice carried an echo but I nodded.

I drank two more sips of absinthe. "So tell me, Damon…when you were in the league did any puck bunnies break into your hotel room?"

A corner of his eye shrank but I was too busy watching his throat work as he finished off his drink. Damon rotated the glass staring at it like it was a crystal ball. "Let me put it to you like this…those who were ambitious and cunning enough to make it to my room without security chasing them off…deepening on my mood and if I was attracted to them I rewarded their efforts. For a while there was even a fan page created by chicks who I hooked up with. I went on there once out of morbid curiosity. Most of what was posted was true, but an overwhelming amount of it was pure fiction."

"Fanfic."

"Exactly. Can I assume you keep up with regular physicals and testing?"

"Religiously. I've only gone bare back twice and that was with…" he cut himself off. "What about you? Any fans willing to stalk your every move to find out exactly where you'll be on any given day?"

I did have a fan. If the person was a fan of mine. I thought of my anonymous letter writer. I thought about the fact I had one in my purse right this second that I've yet to read.

Now was as good a time as any. I grappled for my clutch and removed the letter.

"What you got there?" my sexy neighbor questioned curiously.

I tapped the letter on my knee, "It doesn't look familiar?"

"No. Should it?"

"I don't know. You tell me. About two months ago these, well they're not love letters since they err on the side of eroticism, have been popping up in my mailbox."

"And you think I'm the writer?" Damon pulled his lips back from his teeth while shaking his head. "That's not my style."

"So what's your style besides boldly offering yourself up to another man's woman?"

"I never claimed my methods weren't stupid. However, I'm not a very effective communicator on paper. I don't have the patience for it." He motioned to the letter with his chin. "Read it to me."

"No, Mr. Salvatore. You read it. It's told in first person from a man's perspective."

I extended the letter to him. He glanced at it then me then back at the letter before slipping a pointy corner between two fingers and plucking it from my hand.

"Fine. I'll read while you finish that drink. Nothing is going to waste, you hear me?"

I giggled at his attempt to be stern. "Yeah, I hear you."

Damon unfolded the letter …

We were on a train that traveled eighty miles an hour. It could go much faster, but the speed of it, seeing the scenery beyond the windows zoom by made us feel we were on a rollercoaster. We weren't alone. Seemed to always be the case with us. We were in a car that seats four, and across from us was another couple engrossed in their own instruments of distraction.

You pulled out a blanket and draped it over our laps. Your head fell to my shoulder, and I turned mine just enough to kiss your forehead.

My hand wandered to your thigh. You had donned my favorite dress. The light material could be practically see-through depending on the light. But it granted me easy access, which I took full advantage of. I heard your breath quicken at my touch, saw your lashes twitch as you fought not to make a sound that anything was happening beneath the blanket. I circled your knee, light, barely perceptible touches. I could feel your muscles flex and contract at each sweep of my fingers. I love it when you squirm.

You sighed, gnawed into your full, lower lip. You wore our favorite shade of lipstick. A beautiful, sexy as fuck red that I pictured leaving stains over my chest, stomach, and yes wrapped around my cock. Damn, baby I want to bury my dick down your warm, tight throat.

Damon cleared his throat after reading that.

Higher my hand traveled, taking the hem of your dress with it. I thought about the wet spot forming on your panties and my cock went rock hard. I shifted so I could reach better, feel more of you. I didn't sink my fingers into your panties, but merely added pressure on your mound. On reflex you spread your legs farther giving me more room to work. I looked down and saw your hard nipples. Your dress was cut low enough that if you breathed any deeper they could poke out of the top.

But my fingers though, the middle tweaked, rubbed your clit that felt like a pebble. You moaned loud enough to draw the attention of our cabin mates. I glanced at the woman as she scrutinized the both of us, probably trying to figure out what we're doing. But I'm sure she knew. Could she see my hand moving subtly beneath the blanket? Was jealously beginning to stir in her, wishing her pussy could get the same attention? She cleared her throat and went back to reading her tablet, but every now and a then she peeked at us. The man beside her, he was riveted.

Wider your legs spread, but I still refused to slip my hand under your panties. Just as I knew it would be, the seat of them were soaked.

Your breathing changed and this time you weren't pretending not to enjoy what I was doing to you. Your eyes closed, your back arched as you sunk lower on the seat. Maybe you looked like you were going to sleep, but I knew better. You were too fucking hot to sleep, too wet, craving my cock to plunge in and out of you.

The woman murmured something. She wasn't addressing either of us but I answered anyways while steadily massaging your clit. Her eyes widened and she blushed yet cleared up she was speaking to the man beside her. I asked her a question, inquiring where she was from, where they were traveling. She replied and your hand landed on the one getting you off. Your nails dug into my skin.

"Don't stop," you whispered.

No, I'll never stop.

I knew you were getting close. The man stuttered profusely. I moved my finger faster, edging you closer to the end.

I told a joke and the sound of their laughter coincided with your cunt convulsing out of control. Watching you cum never gets old, baby.

It never gets old.

It was so quiet when he finished apart from the stucco thump of the music from upstairs. Damon folded the letter, looking pensive. I followed the trail of saliva his tongue left behind on his bottom lip when he licked it. He met my gaze, pupils so dilated his eyes appeared black.

In my mind we lunged for one another. Arms wrapping tight, mouths latching, tongues rolling over one another. And because that thought sprung to my head and my muscles twitched in anticipation to do just that, I got up and walked across the room. There weren't any windows to look out of or open to get some fresh air to relieve the sexual pressure in the room. Just the TVs on the walls, and the bar that was without an attendant. It's where I took up refuge.

I didn't hear his feet moving across the carpet but I knew he was crossing it like it was an ocean, the waves and wind bringing an enemy ship closer to shore. I braced my elbows on the bar top, cataloged the bottles stacked on the shelves, all the while the fine hairs along the back of my legs stood at attention as if stimulated by static. I should leave because I knew if Damon touched me or said the right thing I'd shed him out of his suit and pull my panties to the side.

One pale hand landed on the bar followed by the other. He bracketed me in, surrounded me from all sides. Every time he exhaled it tickled the nape of my neck, "Whoever wrote you that letter…I don't know if I should be jealous or take notes. Right now I'm feeling a combination of both, but I'm feeling something else too, and I think you know what that is."

"Damon…"

"Why are we fighting the inevitable, Bonnie? We both know how this story ends."

"This is lust. Lust fades."

"Perhaps but the longer you ignore it the louder it becomes. How loud will it get before you do something about it? We should just fuck and get it out of our system."

I laughed. He was no different from Mason or Kennedy. One I wanted out of the novelty of sleeping with a stranger, and the other had simply been trying out her luck. Here I was in this position again. Was there an epithet tattooed across my forehead? Was I nothing more than a body to rut in and against? But I replayed Damon's words. He made it so clear a dolphin could hear that he wanted me as his domme, now he was reducing that to simply wanting to fuck?

As if he could hear my thoughts, he pressed closer, lips right there at the hypersensitive shell of my ear. "You know I want more but I'll take whatever you want to give me."

I shook my head from side to side. This couldn't happen. Even as I thought it I knew I was lying to myself. The palms of my hands burned, my heart was in a full gallop, and my nipples were so hard they could engrave steel.

Damon moved. It was an imperceptible move at first. A move that made it hard to distinguish if it had been an accident or done on purpose. He did it again smashing to pieces my earlier confusion. My lids fluttered as liquid heat speared through me, pooling in my pussy at the feel of him. Gotdamn. He had to be working with nine inches. The word stop dangled on the tip of my tongue, but it never made it from my lips. I looked at him standing behind me. His eyes were riveted to my ass. Heat ratcheted up, making my cheeks sting. I arched my spine and rubbed against him.

What we were doing was wrong. Illicit. My dress was literally halfway up my ass and my pink palace was practically wrapped around his prick. The flimsy barrier of my thong was simply no match. When Damon slid up, I slid down. Dry humping. But I convinced myself we were merely dancing.

His grunts in my ear matched each hiss and whimper that was involuntarily wrenched out of me. If we were naked right now, the slapping of our skin would be so loud you'd hear it in China. Damon reached around seeking out my clit but I caught his hand in a vice. So he detoured and headed north attempting to pull down the bodice of my dress, but I stopped him again.

His stroke changed and he was rubbing just right, moving fast enough to cause friction right on my clit that had hardened obscenely. "I want to fill you with my cum and eat it out of you," he roared. "Gotdamn, Bonnie I want you so much!"

Hearing that nearly flung me over the edge. I stuck my ass out more as he thrust his hips faster and I swear all the veins in my head were about to explode.

"Hey Damon, you in here?"

"Shit."

The world spun. One minute I was bent over the bar and the next I was facing away from the door, Damon acting as a shield. With shaky hands I fixed my clothes and tried to make myself as invisible as possible while my heart hammered my ribs unmercifully. I could taste my fear as it coated my tongue and made my knees tremble. How could I be so stupid! We were caught!

"What the hell do you want?" Damon barked.

Whoever interrupted us didn't say anything for a beat or two. Probably trying to figure out what we had been up to. But it was a wakeup call, a bucket of ice to the face. I had given my hormones too much power.

"I said what do you want?" he repeated his question and I heard malice in his voice for the first time.

"I just…ah…Stefan and Gabe got into it again. One of them is bleeding."

"Dammit, all right I'm coming. Now get the fuck out," he addressed me the second we were alone. "Bonnie?"

I said nothing as I slipped away once I was presentable, and picked up my unfinished glass of absinthe. I tossed the rest of it back, squeezing my eyes shut. I'd made two—no—three mistakes tonight. Being alone with temptation, allowing myself to be seduced, and drinking this shit.

Damon was notably worried but he was far more composed than I was. His brow was sweaty, cheeks and ears pink. "Are you okay?"

I waved his question away. "Go see about your brother. I'm not going anywhere," I said. He didn't look convinced. "I promise. Besides…I'm a little shitfaced."

I plopped on the couch like dead weight, proving my point.

"I'll be right back, okay? Please don't leave this room."

I left. It was just the figurative kind of leaving.

Either I had poor attention skills and never noticed this phenomenon until day, but everywhere I looked I saw couples. Displayed in windows advertising cotton weaved shirts and the latest footwear. They strolled hand-in-hand along the gum speckled sidewalks, sat in booths laughing and touching, blocked pedestrian traffic arguing over which route to take to get somewhere. There was no escaping them but they served as motivation to run the last remnants of absinthe out of my system even harder.

Running through a sea of people did little to ease the scary feeling I was being watched. Everyone was a spy. Everyone was staring at me harder and I couldn't overcome the sensation my actions were being reported. But that's what a guilty conscience does. Makes you think what you've done has been magnified and thrown up on billboards.

Regardless of how fast I ran, I had to question and be real with myself and ask if I were infringing on having an emotional affair. Being with someone didn't make you immune to the magnetism of someone of the same or opposite sex, but once you began to fantasize, and feelings attached themselves, you were no longer just having fleeting thoughts but actively seeking comfort in someone you shouldn't. The plotting began to see them whenever and wherever. Those were clues you were about to throw everything you cared about out the damn window. The correct response would be to distance yourself, but people loved going after what they can't have. I loved Tyler and he loved me. We had something special but…

I was never one to believe that love was only real if you felt like you'd die or couldn't live on if you lost the person you loved. If Tyler and I were to end right this second I was sure I'd be pissed, sad, and feel lonely, but I wouldn't crumble and fall to pieces. That was the theory and not one I wanted to try out, but I knew I'd be all right. Losing him wouldn't be the catalyst for me swearing off men.

So what did that mean? I loved him but wasn't in love? I was in love but at the same time I was indifferent? I was perfectly okay with making a life with him, but if he wanted out, a divorce I wouldn't fight it?

Ideally I could write off what happened last night as a consequence of drinking while horny. But I knew better. I needed to deal with this before I fucked everything up.

Before long I was at my high rise. A couple beat me to the door. Great. Their heads were close together, their conversation hushed, their hands clasped. I followed behind them and smiled my thanks at the man who held the door open so I could walk through.

The couple headed for the elevators as I made my way to the mailboxes but stopped.

Damon was there. I shuffled out of view and watched him. He was talking to a blonde, her back to me. I've seen her a couple of times in passing. He was smiling. Then laughing. The blonde touched his arm, flipped her hair. She moved closer, inclined on her toes and from my vantage point it appeared they kissed. My nostrils flared. The blonde left, wiggling her fingers in salutation. Damon observed her for a moment and eventually grabbed his mail. I didn't move from my spot until he boarded the elevator. Didn't know any of our other neighbors, my ass.

"Whatever." I took the stairs to my apartment though my legs were jelly and I still hadn't properly caught my breath. I slammed my door harder than necessary and pulled off my exercise gear as I headed to the bathroom to wash the funk off of me.

Shower done, my phone buzzed. I cursed after seeing the numerous missed calls and text messages that filled my inboxes. I hadn't checked my phone since I left the office yesterday. Sighing I realized the number of notifications I had was more than I was used to and what was even more perplexing was most were from friends I hadn't seen or spoken to in months. However, a majority of the calls were from M. I listened to one of her voicemails where she simply said to call her back. I did but she didn't answer.

I checked my text messages. They pretty much asked the same question: Is this you?

Someone provided a link to a website.

Ohmygod.

My phone started ringing. It was M. She was screeching before I could even put the device fully up to my ear.

"Are you fucking Damon Salvatore!"

My voice almost didn't cooperate but I managed a resounding, "No."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying." Technically.

"There are pictures! Pictures of the two of you dancing and leaving some club last night."

Yeah, the two of us leaving the club was kind of hazy. I remembered Damon helping me to his car, and him putting me in bed, but that was about it.

"That doesn't mean I'm sleeping with him," I refuted.

"But you're with him?"

"No I'm not, M. Will you calm the hell down?"

She huffed but at least she quieted down. "Then explain to me what's going on, because it looks like my best friend is leading a double life when she's supposed to be madly in love with her fiancé whom she's been with for the last two and a half years and has known all of her life! If you don't want to be with Tyler that's fine, but don't go behind his back in full view of the public."

I plopped down my couch where Sphinx immediately curled up beside me softly whacking me with his tail. "It's not like that. Things between Damon and I are…" they weren't innocent, "it's not what the press is trying to make it out to be."

"You know lies spread faster than the truth, Bonnie. Did you stop to think how this will affect not just you and Tyler and you guys' families, but your business?"

"Like I said," I was growing irritated, "it's not what some nosey assholes with cameras are trying to make it out to be. We're not having an affair. We're just friends."

"But you can't possibly tell me that things are strictly platonic either, can you?" she jeered. "You know, in the back of my mind I knew he only asked me out in order to get closer to you."

"M…"

"I'm not mad he didn't want me. I'm too damn shy to be thrust under a microscope if he really had been interested in me. I'm not cut out for it. I just…I don't want this to blow up in your face. Talk to Tyler about this before he sees and draws the same conclusions. Do you really want to lose him over a misunderstanding? You want to be with him, right?"

My other line started blowing up. Checking the caller ID, I groaned. It was my mother.

"I have to go, M. My mom is calling probably to yell at me about the same damn thing. I'll call you back."

I hung up on M but I didn't answer my mother's call either. I already knew what she was going to say. That I needed to fix this, bury it before it gained anymore traction. She would also tell me to stay the hell away from Damon, relocate to Germany for a while and work remotely or come home. The thing was, putting miles between me and Damon wasn't going to stop anything. A ball had been set in motion. Where it traveled I couldn't say but I couldn't deny it was there. Cami, my therapist, said to go over every variable before making a decision. The first response was sometimes the wrong response and do-overs were hardly granted. I needed to be smart about this.

Gnawing my bottom lip, I looked at Sphinx who stared up at me with his large ocher eyes. "What should I do?"

He meowed.

Yeah, Sphinx always knew the right thing what to say.

I went to Damon's apartment. The surprise on his face when he opened the door pleased me. Him taking in my attire stroked my ego even more.

"Bon…"

Shutting his mouth with my forefinger, I said, "Have you seen the article about us? The one speculating you've found a new puck bunny?"

"Yeah, I saw. A few more articles have popped up. I was on the phone with my publicist all morning trying to get the shit taken down. We're working on it so I don't want you to worry about it."

"I'm not worried. Right now the only people who know it's me are the people who know me. If my name gets released, well I can spin it to work in Themyscira's favor. There's something I need you to do, though."

"What?"

"I have an investor friend who's agreed to let me borrow his private plane for the next twenty-four hours. Pack a bag. We're going to Chicago."

"Why?"

"You'll see. Pack. Now."

"Yes, ma'am." He couldn't contain his grin as he stepped aside and allowed me entry into his pad. "Anything in particular I need to bring?"

Yeah…your safeword.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Reviews are love.