A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you for the reviews for last chapter!
||Bonnie||
Over ice, pour six parts of orange juice and three parts tequila. Add one part grenadine syrup last as it will sink to the bottom. Garnish with a cherry and orange slice and its bottoms up.
Tequila Sunrise. That's what I was thinking about instead of what was being discussed in the editor's meeting. Ever have your mouth so ready for something you could not only taste it, but smell it, could roll around its imaginary substance on your parched tongue? I stifled a moan as the phantom taste bloomed and rushed down to my belly. I squeezed my thighs together as I thought of the goosebumps that drink would bring if I were to sip it right this second.
Hmm.
I sat up straighter realizing, almost belatedly, I was in full view of the public, and if my coworkers weren't looking at me strangely now they would in a few seconds.
Thankfully, the vice president of the division concluded the meeting by leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms that he then folded behind his head. He was fairly new. Nathan Meyer. Had been on the job for six months, and though he told bad jokes and needed to work on his finesse and charisma, it was hilarious how he bent over backwards to ingratiate himself to Linda Park. Linda had applied for the position, and despite her five years' experience as Deputy Editor, her degree and awards she was passed over. Good ole white male privilege was still very much a thing, even with my so-called liberal and progressive magazine.
Every time Linda's eyes narrowed at Nathan (who was completely oblivious), I imagined she had thought of a new, untraceable way to kill him.
As the rest of us literary miscreants muddled to the door, I counted down in my head. Five, ten, fifteen…
"Hey, Linda can you hang back a sec? I want to get your opinion on something."
Wow, he broke his record and went a full twenty seconds without asking for Linda's opinion, which was code for her idea that he would then pretend he was the brains behind when he and Linda met with our president, Melanie Breneton to go over the issue before it went to print.
I hit Linda with a sympathetic glance she acknowledged by the subtle movement of an eye roll.
"Sure, Nathan," I heard Linda say.
The assembly walked down the carpeted aisle, talking and gossiping, some parting for the break room. Others to the elevator for a smoke. A couple to the restroom, and those remaining, we trudged to our offices or cubes.
This morning I had been working with one of the magazine's interns combing through letters that our readers submitted for publication. The public forum as it was called. Once a month a real-life horror or love story was selected in which I gave feedback on the situation. It was honestly one of the few times there was a bump in online traffic, and I had been pressing Malta, the managing editor to make this a more frequent staple.
"We'll see," was the typical standard response I received whenever I brought it up.
Simone looked up from the pile of mail in her lap. She was twenty, a rising senior at Howard and has the cutest baby face, which she detested. People always mistook her older sister for her mother when they were out and about. She wore her auburn locks in a bun, gray skinny jeans. The collar of her white Oxford shirt flipped up fashionably.
In an office of sixty personnel, Simone and I were two of eleven black women, and we black ladies were two-thirds the percentage of overall women of color. We thought our numbers would change with a new VP, but so far Nathan hadn't fired or hired anyone. Though we figured the day would come. One of his buddies from his previous company or a college friend would come a callin'. Then little by little the bait and swap would commence.
"Found anything good?" I sailed into my office, voice catching Simone off guard.
"I have potentials," she indicated two piles with what looked like maybe fifty letters in each stack.
"Trim what you have to thirty and then trim that down to fifteen," I grabbed a stack out of the post office bin, settled behind my desk.
Running the letter opener under an envelopes flap, I pulled out the next would-be potential skimming through the accolades and how much the responder loved the magazine. The letter went on to talk about how being featured on the Kiss Cam at a Capitols game resparked a couple's romance.
Another hour passed and stories were beginning to blend together. Simone's arm shot up as she waved a letter around. "I may have found a winner," she passed it on to me.
Antsy was the best way to describe Simone as she waited for me to finish reading. The detailed account of falling for the absolute wrong, not worst but wrong person I couldn't lie and say didn't pique my interest, but it was risqué.
I looked up at Simone, who had arched her brows in anticipation of my ruling.
"We should print that," had been her vote.
"I can hear Malta now saying 'this isn't Penthouse'," I mocked in a high falsetto.
Simone stifled a laugh, "Maybe with some creative editing."
The idea was dicey, juicy, but dicey all the same. Still I shook my head. "Our readers are mostly progressive conservatives if such a thing exists. Those on the tail end of the baby boomer generation, split with millennials. The older demographic would be up in arms, and the only feathers Malta and Nathan are interested in ruffling are those of our competitors."
"Yet you, Miss Bennett talk about sex all the time. I'm not seeing the difference."
"It's buried under context. People like sex just fine. Our base has a problem if the sex they're reading about is better than what they're having."
My office phone chose that moment to ring. I recognized the number and couldn't fight my smile with a pair of weighted gloves. I picked up the receiver, "Hey, hold on a sec," then directed to Simone, "Simone, could you run out and get us some Starbucks?" I rifled through my purse and handed her a $20.
"Sure thing. You want your usual?"
"That's fine. Thanks."
Simone headed out and I put the receiver up to my ear, "Hey"
"Hey."
His voice was like sipping sweet red vermouth by itself. Rich. Resonate. A voice I'd heard a million times before, but everything becomes different when things stop being strictly platonic.
"Busy?" Stefan inquired.
"A little. What about you?"
"I haven't been able to get much done as events from last night keep rudely interrupting my day."
"I wish I could say I feel bad for you, but I don't."
"Witch."
I smiled, "That's the only way I know how to be, Stefan."
"Is that right?"
"Yep."
One minute. That's how long it had taken to shuffle Jared out of the apartment last night. The excuse of Stefan not feeling well tumbling from lips that were growing exceedingly dry while my mouth and other parts grew exponentially wet. And it wasn't an outright lie. After a time, hard-on's could begin to hurt much in the same way a clitoris could when too stimulated. The feeling like a little mini-hammer pounding hypersensitive flesh. I couldn't have my roommate in pain now could I?
Stefan had changed into his sweats, chest and feet bare. He had been seated up against his headboard, hands resting in his lap, legs crossed at the ankle.
I watched him as he watched me. My gaze dipped to his chest rising and falling, washboard stomach contracting and relaxing, the veins in his arms convalescing to his hands, to his fingers. Fingers that were hiding what I most wanted to see.
The darkening of his irises, the hardening of his jaw, Stefan was all careful control.
My feet brought me to the bed where I mounted it.
Were we really about to do this? Was I really going to watch him jack off? It's one thing to dream, wish, and fantasize, and quite another to actually receive. There was a tiny part of me that thought things were unfurling too quickly, that we were missing some very important steps, that this wasn't natural. That we shouldn't be doing this. Had I, in my own way, pressured Stefan to feel what I felt, or had he been struggling with his attraction the same as I? Was he at all bothered by the fact we had been friends for years, and now we were sharing intimacies? Did he care?
With change came the fear of uncertainty.
"Wait," I burst when Stefan reached for this sweats. "Are you okay…doing this with me here?"
"Are you okay? You look nervous."
"I am."
"I don't have to do this, Bon. We don't have to do this."
What did he mean by that? This as in what he was about to do or this as in seeing where things could go? The confusion was etch-a-sketched across my brow. Stefan translated it flawlessly.
"Bon, I know I just ended things with Amber tonight, but you know I hadn't been feeling her for a while. We're trying something here, me and you, and yeah it's scary as hell, but I'm not scared of it, if you know what I mean."
I did get his meaning. There were few times when I didn't understand Stefan. "Well, if you don't find this too sudden or weird…"
Stefan looked a little hesitant and uncomfortable but it was brief. "Why do you always smell so good?" he said randomly.
I rolled my eyes. "I bathe."
"I feel like we're losing the moment."
"Then concentrate. Pretend…pretend I'm not here but that you want me to watch you."
Bemused, Stefan shook his head. "That seems so backwards because you are sitting here."
"Are you starting to get performance anxiety?"
"Shut up," he pinched my knee, and like the flip of a switch Stefan grew serious.
He stared at me a moment longer, roaming, stopping pointedly at my breasts before ogling my thighs and the tight space between them. Stefan uncrossed his legs and pulled at the knot holding his sweats in place. I gulped. The waistband dipped lower, exposing that V-line. Stefan lied down and in doing so brought his erection closer to where I sat giving me a bird's eye view. He slipped his right hand into his pants.
I bit a corner of my lip at his first throaty groan. I'm sure it felt amazing. Touching his cock; and it would feel even better if I were to do this for him. I wouldn't though. I just wanted to watch, learn how he liked to get himself off.
Stefan stroked a few times before brandishing his vein-lined dick. Swollen, reddish-purple bulbous head that beaded clear pearls of precum. Thick across, nice length sure to fill you up just enough to cause some slight discomfort until you adjusted. He rubbed his slit and spread his precum around the head and down as much of his shaft as he could cover. His lashes feathered until his lids were closed and Stefan fucked his fist.
His hips rose, back arched with each stroke and squeeze right under the hood; he alternated between cupping his balls and tweaking his nipples. I could hardly sit still, too enraptured, too horny that I nearly stuck a hand down my pants to diddle myself and come with him. I wouldn't even last long, I knew this as sensitive as I was. I've seen men who had no technique whatsoever. Just rapid up and down fisting until it was over, while others took the scenic route to an orgasm or switched between the two. Some focused only exclusively on the head of their pricks. Stefan did what felt good to him, but he was in no rush.
He slowed down, lids half-lidded, "Can you hand me the lube? It's in my bathroom."
I had something better. Spit.
Stefan hissed when I leaned over him and let my saliva drizzle his sausage. "Oh…god that feels so good…"
I was so close I could take him in my mouth. Didn't. When he groaned again I knew it was one of disappointment.
I touched his chest, his neck as he resumed stroking. I lied down beside him and between kissing his neck and snatching glimpses of what he was doing, his lips pulled back from his teeth. Sweat dotted his hairline, heat rose from his skin. His chest and throat was salmon pink. Stefan was getting close.
Right up against his ear, I whispered what would send him over the edge, "Stefan. Come in me."
"…ah fuck..."
An impressive load spurted from his cockhead while a strangled moan wrenched from his diaphragm. Stefan shuddered and shook, laughed tiredly, and squeezed his eyes shut as he languidly drained every drop of cum out.
Stefan blinked up at the ceiling coming down from his la petite mort, skin cooling, member softening though it seemed determined to stay rigid.
What a way to end the night.
"Bonnie? You still there?"
"Y-Yeah, I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"I was saying that I wanted to get a conversation in because tonight is going to be crazy. I still can't believe I fuckin' agreed to do this. I blame the heat."
I smothered my laughter as best I could but then thought why censor myself. It was Stefan, and just because we entered into a new arena didn't mean we became different people. He was still my best friend. That meant I had to give him a hard time.
"Poor little Zoolander," I teased.
"Shut up. Bon, I expected empathy, not giggles."
"Come on, even you can find the humor in this. But you'll do fine. You're not walking in ten inch heels across marble or ice. It'll be painless."
Stefan grumbled some more.
"Just think, in a few more days we'll be at the beach and this'll be nothing more than a distant memory. And…should I tell you I have a thing for male models?"
I could literally see Stefan perk up. "You do?"
"Un-hun. Give me a reason not to look at any other model there, Stefan. Give me a reason not to fantasize about taking one of them home with me, or…sucking them off backstage. Though I much rather keep that in-house if you know what I mean."
"Dammit. I have a meeting in five minutes. I can't go in there with an erection."
"Then I guess you better drop some ice cubes down there, buddy."
"You're evil."
"And you keep my panties wet."
"Fuck."
I needed to end this before I really had to take a trip to the bathroom. "I'll see you tonight, Stef. Have fun in your meeting."
Hanging up, I bit into the base of my pen, smirking.
Another work day under my belt, the city didn't conspire to have me running late as my train arrived on time. Packed as all get out it was standing room only. Barely. We stood ass to crotch like imported booze. So long as no one tried to grope me I could grin and bear the ride.
I had just enough time to eat a light dinner, shower, and waste the rest of the hour and some change before the show started on deciding what to wear.
Suhad knocked on the bathroom doorframe dragging me out of my musings.
"You almost ready? We don't want to be late."
"I'll be done in five minutes."
Suhad and her beau Hamun would be my dates for the night. Damon had been nice enough to leave our names on the VIP list so we shouldn't have any trouble getting into the venue.
Suhad attired in a lacy cranberry sheath was all long brown legs and curly hair parted down the middle making her the quintessence of slay. Hamun wore a button down that matched her dress. Black trousers and Gucci loafers finished his ensemble. His shoulder length mahogany locks, while not perfectly brushed, were beautifully finger combed. The patch of hair on the bottom of his chin and mustache were sharply trimmed. They were a striking pair.
Hamun let out a low whistle when I emerged. I twisted from side to side showing off my flowing high waist skirt and long sleeve crop top.
"You look cute. Can we go now?" Suhad tried to rush me.
Grabbing my purse, we hit the curb and rode the metro getting off at Waterfront.
It had rained during the brief period I left work and made it home. The air was moist and humid like a sauna. What was missing was the aroma of foamy earth if we were out in the 'burbs. The pavement had been hot enough that curls of steam rose lazily, and every wet surface shined and glistened.
The three of us made our way to a three-story clothing store nestled between a Cosi restaurant and an independent bookstore. There was no red carpet or press, which wasn't unusual. DC being a political town, the only time celebs descended in droves was for: a march, headlining concerts at the Verizon Center, correspondent and state dinners at the White House.
Up three flights of steps, bypassing the clothing store which was closed for the night, we were emptied into a large industrial space painted white. It was freezing. There was no traditional runway or stadium seating. We'd all be standing from the looks of it. I did notice there were four raised platforms spaced in an arch in the center of the room.
Luckily there was an open bar, DJ, and a few critics. They were easy to spot amid those who dressed with no intention of leaving this event empty-handed. The buzz simmered like heat trapped below soil. Men and women sized one another up, judged, critiqued, laughed behind fingers and phones, leaned into and away from those they conversed with. The mating game.
"I still can't believe Stefan Salvatore is gonna be in a fashion show," Suhad remarked after we nabbed flutes of champagne.
"Neither can I."
Hamun asked, "What's the name of the designer again?"
"Penelope something," I replied. "I half listen to Damon when he talks to me."
Suhad snickered.
"And he's only been in town for a few weeks?" Hamun questioned.
"Yep, he moves fast. He's always sticking his nose and other things into something."
"Speaking of something to do," a familiar look came into Suhad's dark brown eyes, "how's that new guy you've been seeing?"
My stomach, for some strange and annoying reason, decided to knot with a sensation akin to guilt. I disregarded it, scolded myself for being ridiculous.
To stall I strolled from the spot we had been standing in. Suhad followed. Hamun did at a slower pace. He pulled out his phone knowing the two of us were gearing up to forget his existence at least until the show started.
Walking side by side, our voices a conspiratorial whisper, I filled Suhad in on the developments with Jared. How I liked him but now might not be the right time to start a relationship. I didn't expressly say I left him in the dust for Stefan, and perhaps I wouldn't need to make that clear. Suhad was perceptive which came in handy during certain situations. Particularly those that didn't involve my drama.
I waited for her admonishment that I didn't give Jared a fair enough chance. She merely finished off her champagne and licked the corner of her lips.
"You have nothing to say?" I said.
Suhad shrugged and glanced around. "What do you want me to say? You've obliviously made up your mind. I'm just ticked I didn't get to meet him. He sounded like cool people."
"He is a cool person."
"So why did you list a litany of excuses as to why only being friends is the right course to take? I know you really liked him or wanted to fu—get to know him on a more personal level," she cleared her throat.
Shaking my head I didn't want to talk about this. "It's complicated."
"Most things are when you're involved."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Suhad shrugged again and plopped her glass on a nearby table. "You're Bonnie Bennett. Your mind rarely changes on things, and when it does it typically means something."
All right, she had me there.
The lights flickered signaling the start of the show. There was a hoot, some whistles, a holler. Applause. Music began blaring from speakers, and an unseen woman greeted the crowd thanking everyone for coming out.
I turned to trail the flow of the crowd that started funneling toward the center of the room, but Suhad lightly touched my elbow. I waited for her to speak.
"Whatever you're about to do…I just want you to do it with integrity and be happy. Be careful. We think we want something," and just then and maybe even unbeknownst to her Suhad focused on Hamun, "we get it and find out sometimes it's not what it's cracked up to be. That it's a lot more work than it should be."
"Suhad…are you and…"
She blinked out of it. "Girl, I'm sorry," she laughed but it was forced as hell. "Just…never mind. Come on, let's get a good place to stand. I can't believe we have to stand up. They couldn't afford chairs?"
Snickering, we grabbed Hamun and settled to the far left of the venue. The designer, an average height and size woman who might be European or perhaps from Texas for all I knew came out in all black. She looked tired but excited and explained the theme of her collection: post-Apocalyptic Americana meets London finance district. This was going to be interesting to say the least.
We clapped as she disappeared behind the scenes. Strobe lights flashed and a spotlight zeroed on the far back wall where the first model appeared.
One after another they walked. These male models weren't as tall as I thought they'd be and were a lot skinnier as well. Waifs with enough musculature to hint at their strength and that they ate some semblance of a balanced diet. Maybe. Strong bone structure, eyes that looked dead and bleak. Occasionally they was one who shattered that mold, looking lively and engaged.
Stefan finally made his entrance and I had to pinch my lips to stop from screaming like a fangirl. The track spinning was "Find What You're Looking For" by Olivia O'Brien, and the slow beat suggested Stefan was going to strip out of that thick leather coat with the exaggerated fur collar. He was shirtless and, yes, his torso glistened with the lightest film of baby oil. The army green pants he wore were baggy around the groin but tapered into a tighter, near skinny jean fit from his knees on down. Suspenders clipped to the waist, hung to his sides. On his feet was a pair of battered combat boots.
He walked his Stefan walk down the center of the room. Unhurried, unself-conscious and came to stand on the platform almost in front of me. He stared straight ahead, but he did look down. Our gazes connected and my Kegel muscles contracted, scorched since the way the light struck Stefan, it made his eyes seem deep-set, foreboding.
That muscle in the corner of his jaw flexed rapidly before relaxing, the only sign Stefan was combating the urge to smile. He stuck a hand in the pocket of his pants, which made the waist dip lower, showing just a hint of the top of his ass. I sucked in a breath I hoped wasn't audible. He turned on the block to the left and right, stepped down, and repeated the process until he had stood on each raised platform.
He looked just as good from the back as the front as he made his way to the dressing room.
"Here," Suhad handed me a napkin.
"Ha, ha. I'm not drooling."
"Really? Because I see something dribbling from the corner of your mouth."
Cute. Real, cute, Suhad.
My porn was a handsome man in a tailored suit. Clean-shaven or with a little scruff, or in a pair of jeans and a fitted T-shirt, a quiet yet uncowering swag that could back up what he said he's capable of doing. The pieces in Penelope's collection bolstered the ideal of masculine and feminine beauty intersected with vulnerability and grit. What she styled Stefan in caught more than the viewer's eye of where his physicality clashed with fabric, it showed not everyone was out of ideas yet. That there was still something in the unknown to be found.
Absentmindedly picking snatches of comments here and there about the collection, most speculating about the origins of fabric, what stitching was used, if she was inspired by some other designer from way back when, I thought of last night. I thought of tonight and what could happen.
And if I were to go by the look that came into Stefan's eye each time he stood there on that platform…tonight would be my turn.
As customary we held our applause until all the models took their final walk down the runway and the designer popped out at end, waving both hands. Belatedly it occurred to me I should have mentioned the show to my style editor, but since it was so last minute, and my thoughts centered elsewhere, well, shit fell through the cracks.
Suhad and Hamun abandoned me for the bathrooms. My girl could never hold her champagne.
Fingers brushed up my arm and I jerked away, scowl on the ready that flattened once I saw who the groping culprit was. Should have known.
Folding my arms, poking my hip out, "Damon," I said.
The naughty grin he delivered was as practiced as reciting lines. "BonBon. What d'you think?"
I nodded and relaxed my posture somewhat, still acutely aware of things around me, still impatiently waiting for my roommate. "It was a good show. Penelope has talent."
"And our boy?" Damon waggled his eyebrows.
"Stefan did a good job."
Damon didn't agree or disagree, but it was clear he was waiting for a more elaborate reaction from me, and I was very pleased not to give it to him. When it wasn't forthcoming, he let it go. "Let me introduce you to some people."
"I'm waiting for my friends and Stefan."
"Stefan probably won't be coming out for another twenty minutes or more. Last I saw, he was talking to a reporter, and I'm sure he wants to shower the oil off," Damon guffawed. "As for your friends, you can text them and let 'em know you're with me."
"You just have it all figured out, don't you?"
"Yes," Damon snapped his jaws together, then extended his arm. "Shall we?"
It was either go with Damon or stand around feeling stupid. I wrapped my arm around his.
As promised he led me around making platitudes and introductions with diplomacy. Not being overly complimentary and in his usual Damon flair, adding subtle shade. I had to give it to the veritable ass, he was funny. And again, I couldn't say I was surprised he knew most of the people in attendance. Damon was not a traditional people person, as in people liked his good nature, but knew him because he liked to force his way into your orbit.
Nevertheless, things happened so quickly I could barely tell anyone apart, but we did linger for a minute longer with a group of southeast Asian brothers, each tall and undeniably good looking. Two of the four eyed Damon like he was a sirloin steak and his cheeks grew rosier by the second.
The tallest and perhaps even the oldest eased his card toward Damon, his want clearly naked in his obsidian orbs. "In case you ever want to grab lunch or dinner. I can show you sides of DC you've probably yet to see."
Damon accepted the card and slipped it in his pocket with a wink. "I'll keep that in mind."
We eventually moved on.
He groaned a little and I stared up at him curiously. Damon looked down at me, eyes practically dilated. "What? I'm trying to be a good boy this year."
"Ha!" I barked in skepticism. Not to mention the fact the year was almost half over.
Damon snickered and for some reason began kissing my knuckles one by one. I tried to tug my hand away wondering why the hell he was being so damn touchy and affectionate. That wasn't our thing. Ever.
"What are you doing?"
"Sorry," he didn't sound sorry at all. "You just look so yummy."
"Yeah, I know," and the yumminess wasn't for him. "Let go of my hand."
Damon stopped kissing it but tucked it in the crook of his elbow instead.
Incredible. I redirected to a point he made that sounded so preposterous coming from him. "Why are you trying to be a good boy all of a sudden? Are you seeing someone?"
"Not exactly. I've come to the conclusion I haven't not had sex since I started having sex. I guess you can say…I'm trying an experiment."
"A celibate experiment?"
Damon's nose scrunched as his eyebrows narrowed. From the way he was looking you would have thought I told him to get castrated. "I'm…abstaining from random hookups. I actually want to be…" his cheeks blazed hotter and he didn't say anymore.
Ooh, this was too precious. Damon Salvatore, bashful? Get the fuck out of here.
"Ohmygod, what is wrong with you?" It wouldn't be right of me to pass up this opportunity to embarrass his ass.
Damon actually looked startled, "What?"
"Are you…you're being coy. What is up with that?"
Now he looked annoyed. "As usual, judgey you're reading way too much in nothing."
"Oh, am I?"
"Yes."
Being I had a knack for this kind of thing, I was willing to bet half of my savings on the fact Damon was looking to be truly romanced though he'd rather have an eagle eat his liver everyday like Prometheus than admit that. What surprised me the most was how quickly after moving to DC Damon had grown an interest in settling down. Unless he's felt this way for a while, and living in fast-paced New York hindered his resolve to fully commit to finding that special person to be with. I've known Damon for a long time, but didn't really know him. Not like I knew Stefan. And within the span of years Damon hadn't changed much. That could be admirable or a show of his stubbornness, hard to say.
I could tease him some more about wanting to star in his own rom-com, but then that would leave me open to his ribbing about how I wanted his brother.
Naturally thinking of Stefan would conjure him. Only, he was sandwiched between two women, both vying for his attention, touching him un-fucking necessarily. I could feel Damon giving me a sidelong glance.
"Let's go interrupt them," and he steered us toward Stefan before I could make any sound of protest.
I wouldn't have anyways.
"Hello, brother."
Stefan tried to unwedge himself once he spotted us, but one of his thirst buckets wasn't having it. He literally had to remove her hand from his shoulder. "Hey. Where have you two been?" Bluish-gray orbs dropped to Damon and mine's combined appendages. Lines encroached on Stefan's forehead.
I snorted.
"I've been keeping Bonnie company while you lived out your secret fantasy of setting up your very first…"
"Don't," Stefan cut him off, "even finish that sentence. It's been a long day and I'm ready to go."
"Not so fast, little brother. Who're your friends?"
The blonde thrust a hand and her boobs toward Damon, and from the lascivious way she groped him without touching she had already cast Stefan aside. "I'm…"
I tuned her out and merely stared at Stefan who shuffled closer, coming to stand right in front of me. A modicum of space was between us that could be easily eradicated if I stepped forward or he did.
Just as he opened his mouth, here came Suhad.
"There you guys are. Stefan, amazing job," my two BFF's hugged it out.
"Thanks."
Hamun congratulated Stefan though that was an awkward exchange. They weren't friends simply because Suhad and I were friends, weren't associates either, but were cordial albeit distant toward one another.
My roomie faced me once more as both his admirers had turned their full scale attack on Damon who lapped it up like cream. Though he was toying with them, if I were to believe his change in standards.
"How'd you like the show?" Stefan asked.
I waited for some form of contact but stubborn Stefan folded his arms. Why aren't you touching me?
"It was good. You were…impressive."
A slow, easy grin spread Stefan's lips. "Impressive?"
"Un-hun. Has the check been cut?"
"Yeah? Why?"
"Good. That means we can get out of here."
Suhad chimed in, "Yeah, where are we going to celebrate?"
"I thought we were heading home?" Hamun formed the question as quietly as possible, but we still heard.
"Hamun, we can hang for one drink at least."
"Yes, but it's getting late…"
"Late? It's barely nine o'clock!"
"That's not the point."
Couple spats were entertaining however cringe worthy when it involved your friends.
"Look, guys," Stefan stepped in to mediate. "It's not that big of a deal. I rather go home and let tonight fade into the background. We don't need to celebrate."
"No, it's been a minute since we've all hung out and I'm not ready to go home yet. I'm not 90," Suhad declared in a tone that told me she's had this argument with Hamun more than once. "Bonnie?"
"What? I mean, if Stefan and Hamun don't…"
"Wait," Hamun, though irritated didn't want to be labeled as the killjoy. "I don't want to be the reason we all head home early."
Damon interceded, "Hey, one drink, I'm buying and no objections. Gotdamn, bicker like an old marry couple that's run out of Viagra later. Let's move. Ladies," he addressed the blonde and her friend who looked hopeful, "it was nice meeting you."
Hope crushed.
Hamun extended his hand to Suhad who reluctantly took it. Damon followed after him, his eyes probably volleying between ogling both of their asses.
Stefan and I were embarking on another bridge. Interesting how something so simple could become complex. Guilty as charged when it came to public displays of affection, Stefan and I were repeat offenders. But now the meaning had changed. There was nothing to it with friends. But we were friends and…it was the "and" that defined the next plateau. Our friends (minus Damon) would think we were just being Stefan and Bonnie, and we could play that role. Or we could make another statement.
Stefan wrapped his arm around my waist, brushed the tip of his nose on the shell of my ear. "I know what you've been craving all day."
"Yeah and what's that?"
"A tequila sunrise."
I chuckled because he knew me too well.
A blurred form walked past my peripheral and I turned my head to look. For one solid, frozen second I could have sworn I saw…
"Bon?"
"What?"
"You see someone you know?"
I shook my head positive I was seeing things again, but that didn't account for why my heart was pounding and my hands suddenly grew clammy. As we neared the stairs, I looked one final time searching for a face that I prayed I hadn't actually caught a glimpse of.
Kai Parker.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I say this all the time, but I still enjoy hearing what you guys think of these chapters. Was that Kai? Someone else? I'm on the fence about that myself. But if any have forgotten, Kai is Damon's ex (which yes, is weird). But anywho, the train must move on. Thanks again for reading!
