Chapter Three

Seven Years Ago, or The Summer After Elena Graduated High School

"I don't know what's wrong with it, Elena." Stefan gave her old gray Volvo a hearty kick. His shoe made a thunk against the tire. Black smoke puffed out from under the open hood in a defiant, bilious cloud. "I can't get it to start."

Elena sighed and pulled out her phone. "Let me call work real quick and let them know I'll be late again." She rolled her eyes. "They'll be so thrilled."

On top of worrying about her work's reaction, she had to worry about how much it was going to cost to get her car fixed. Again. And how many more times could it be patched back into service before it gave out completely?

Caroline hopped down off the stone wall where she was sitting in the shade and came over. She was wearing cheerful pink lip gloss and had her blonde hair in two low braided pigtails. "I can ask my mom to give you a ride, if you want," she offered.

Elena winced. Caroline was trying to be helpful, she knew, but Caroline's mom was the town sheriff. Showing up to work in a cop car was less than ideal. But if her own car wouldn't start, what other choice did she have?

Why did Stefan's car have to be in the shop? He'd have no problem giving her a quick lift to work. Sometimes, it felt like she had the worst luck.

Thank god, in just a few short weeks that couldn't arrive fast enough, she wouldn't have to worry about her waitressing job at the Mystic Grill anymore. Recently turned nineteen as of one week ago as well as recently graduated from high school, she was eager to go forth and begin the next chapter in her life. Like a normal person. Her parents would've wanted that for her.

Of course, she couldn't go forth too far – she was still technically Jeremy's legal guardian, given that they had zero other available family members to take them in, and she'd be his only legal guardian until he turned eighteen.

So she was going to Whitmore College, the perfect compromise. About forty five minutes away, it would be a long commute but one she was willing to commit to if it meant she could be there for Jeremy while still getting the college experience she desperately wanted at the same time. Something normal. Something fun. For once.

Life wasn't all sunshine and roses for Elena Gilbert.

As she reluctantly nodded her acceptance to Caroline, a rumbling sound like thunder diverted her attention. Glancing down the long driveway that led up to Stefan's mansion, in front of which she and her friends were standing, she saw a sleek black motorcycle approaching. A man was on it, dressed all in black – black helmet, black leather jacket and gloves, black pants and boots.

"Ooo, incoming," Caroline announced, "mystery biker hottie."

Stefan rolled his eyes. "Why do girls always react that way?"

Elena gave Stefan a surprised look. "You know him?" She took a step back as the rider glided up to within a few feet of her car's bumper and killed the engine, the loud roar dying away instantly.

Into the resulting void of silence, Stefan sighed. "It's my brother."

The black helmet came off, and Elena was treated to the most devastating set of eyes she'd ever seen in her life. They glittered, clear and sharp and impossibly blue. So blue it took her a few seconds to even see the rest of him. And oh what a sight it was. The shape of his mouth, so masculine and sensual. Sculpted cheek bones and a fringe of black eye lashes so thick it looked like he was wearing eyeliner. And slightly longish hair that touched the nape of his neck and hung softly down over his temples. It was black as the motorcycle he rode and the leather jacket he wore.

Stefan's brother. Damon Salvatore.

He looked so different from the few pictures of him that were hanging up around the Salvatore mansion. In those pictures, he was a boy with a perpetually unhappy expression. And she could understand why he'd be so unhappy. The Salvatore family might've been the richest family in Mystic Falls, having made their fortune by way of a sawmill and owning most of the land in and around the town - only the Lockwoods even came close to competing in terms of generational wealth – but that didn't prevent them from having a tragic and messed up story.

When Stefan and Damon were younger, their mother died of cancer. Almost exactly one year later, their father dropped dead of a heart attack completely out of the blue.

Stefan was eleven when his father died and Damon, eighteen at the time, took off out of Mystic Falls and never came back. Thus, their father's brother, Zach Salvatore, became Stefan's legal guardian. Even though Stefan'd never said so directly to her, Elena knew he felt abandoned by his brother, and hurt by his prolonged absence.

All she had to do was remember how sad Stefan had been when she first befriended him. They were both eleven at the time, but he had this mature, melancholy air that drew her in. Her only desire was to help him, to make him feel better, and she learned how to draw out the morose, gloomy, introspective boy who'd rather keep to himself. They'd ended up becoming extremely close, and he was an integral part of her friendship circle – Caroline, Bonnie, Matt, and Stefan. He was someone she trusted implicitly.

He'd also been such a source of comfort when her own parents died unexpectedly in a car crash when she was seventeen, because he could unfortunately so readily relate.

And now tragedy had struck again. Their uncle Zach died last week in a hunting accident – some sort of wild animal attack. Elena hated to dwell on the details. His mangled body had only been recovered in the woods after days of intensive searching.

That must be why Damon was back. For their uncle Zach's funeral. It hadn't even occurred to her that Stefan's long lost brother would return, but of course it made sense. He'd want to pay his respects to his relative, like any normal, decent person would.

But he didn't look normal now, or even particularly decent. He looked like he was twenty four, maybe, or twenty five, a grown man, and a far cry from that boy in the pictures. He looked darker, edgier, more dangerous. Like pure sin on wheels. She wondered what sort of woman would be lucky enough to catch the interest of someone like him.

"Hello, brother," the motorcycle rider drawled.

"Damon," Stefan replied. Stefan's voice was full of bitterness, and also pain, though Elena might've been the only one to detect that last emotion, given how well she knew him.

Damon sat back on the seat of his bike, still straddling it, and rested his helmet on his thigh, under his forearm. He took in the scene before him in about an instant, his gaze bouncing from the raised hood of her smoking Volvo to Stefan to Caroline and then to her, where he lingered for a long moment. Though there was technically nothing indecent about his gaze, her cheeks started to flush and she felt hot all over.

"Car trouble?" he inquired. When no one jumped to reply, he held up his gloved hands, palms out. "May I ask?"

"Her car won't start, and she has to be at work in less than ten minutes," Caroline piped up before anyone else did.

"Mind if I take a look?"

Stefan moved in front of Elena. Taken aback, Elena gave him an odd look.

"I already did," Stefan said.

Damon shrugged, looking amused by his brother's behavior. To Elena's complete and utter amazement, she heard him say – to her, "In that case, I can probably give you a ride. Where're you headed?"

A flash of surprise. Elena was speechless. Was this really happening? Did some unbelievably sexy man just appear out of nowhere on his motorcycle and offer to rescue her from the embarrassment of showing up to work in the sheriff's cruiser? Was she asleep? On drugs? She didn't think so.

Caroline interjected excitedly, "She works at the Mystic Grill." Care gave Elena a nudge with her elbow, and Elena glared sideways at her pushy friend.

Damon tapped two of his fingers on the top of his helmet. "Yeah, right, on the square. That's not far." He tossed his chin at the space behind him on the bike. "Hop on, if you want. There's an extra helmet."

"Her ride is already on the way," Stefan insisted.

"Actually," Caroline corrected him sweetly, "I haven't talked to my mom yet, so you're good."

Stefan glared at Caroline.

"I - " Elena began.

Before she could finish, Stefan snatched her elbow and pulled her in close, their foreheads almost touching. When he spoke, his voice was low and urgent, so that only Elena would be able to hear him. "My brother is bad news, Elena. Like convicted felon bad news. I really think you should wait for Caroline's mom to take you. Don't do this."

"It's just a short ride, Stefan," she rebutted in a whisper, "and I don't want to be late for work if I don't have to be."

She turned back to Damon, who was waiting with an aloof expression.

"Well?" he asked, raising one extremely black eyebrow. "What'll it be?"

She looked at him with his multiple piercings running the length of both ears. There were visible lines of bold black ink snaking out from under the cuffs of his jacket, over the exposed strips of pale white skin on his wrists, and disappearing beneath his gloves. He had a tattoo. More than one. She'd never known anyone with a tattoo. Mystic Falls was such a small, conservative town, and Damon Salvatore stood out like a darkly exciting, exotic sore thumb.

"I'd love a ride," she said.

"Hold on!" Caroline fished through her purse. "Wait, use this." Triumphantly, she passed over a tube of lip gloss - the same shade of pink she was already wearing herself.

"Care, I'm gonna be wearing a helmet."

Her friend didn't falter. Or withdraw the lip gloss.

Repressing an exasperated smile, she took it from her friend. A few quick swipes, and she handed it back. "There, happy now?"

Caroline clapped her hands together excitedly. "Call me when you get there, and tell me everything!"

Embarrassment burned Elena's cheeks. "Okay, leaving now."

Stefan was watching all of this with a murderous expression. Damon was watching Stefan with an entertained expression.

"Elena," Stefan muttered unhappily as she passed him in order to retrieve her purse out of her car. She neatly side stepped his attempt to grab hold of her again.

"Don't worry so much, Stefan, I'll be fine," she assured him, hitching her purse up on her shoulder.

Elena made her way over to Damon on his bike. This close, the stark beauty of his features was hard to believe. It was unnerving. Unnatural. No one had a right to be as good looking as he was. He sat straight and easy on his bad ass piece of machinery, looking every inch the dark and mysterious renegade Salvatore brother that his reputation claimed he was.

He spoke first, mostly because she was finding it hard to remember what words were. "We haven't been officially introduced. My brother was always lacking in manners." He offered a gloved hand. "Hi, I'm Damon, Stefan's older, more dashing, and far better looking brother."

She put her hand in his and felt the warmth of his skin even through the thin, lightweight leather. What was left of her ability to think rationally quickly departed. "Yeah, I know."

He waited a beat, and then his eyebrows rose expectantly. "And you are …?"

Duh, of course he didn't know who she was. She was embarrassed for not realizing that he hadn't recognized her. But why would he? She was seven years younger than him, and she hadn't really become close with Stefan until the aftermath of his father's death, right when Damon left town.

"Uh, sorry. Elena, I'm hi," she supplied quickly, then realized what she'd said. Earth, if you could just go ahead and open up and swallow me whole, that'd be great. "I mean, hi, I'm Elena."

"Elena," he said softly, eyebrows creasing, releasing her hand. She wasn't even sure if they'd actually shaken hands. She couldn't remember. "Of course, Elena Gilbert. Dr Gilbert's daughter." Her dad had been the town physician before his unexpected passing two years ago. "Last time I saw you, you were only yay high." Damon held up his hand at a humiliatingly low height off the ground. "And obsessed with this little green journal you carried around everywhere."

Just kill me now. Please. Of all the things for him to remember … her as a pathetic child. "Yeah, that was just a phase." She gave him a shy smile. One Damon didn't return. Her smile slipped away.

"You've changed," he said. "A lot."

"Uh, yeah. I guess I have." A moment of awkward silence. "Thank you. For the ride, I mean," she hastened to clarify.

"Anything to help out a friend of my brother's." The way he said it, she couldn't be sure if he was sincere or not. "Hop on."

She started and gingerly climbed up behind him. Next thing she knew, she was astride the two-wheeled piece of steel, perched awkwardly, not knowing what to do with herself.

Swiveling in his seat, he threw a look back at her. "You'll have to sit closer than that."

Cheeks burning pink, she scooted up closer, hyper aware of the way her inner thighs pressed along the hard length of his outer thighs. The intimacy stole her breath away, even with multiple layers of clothes between them. All of a sudden, the wicked Virginia summer heat felt ten degrees hotter.

It didn't help that he smelled so good. He smelled freaking amazing. Clean and masculine with a hint of spice and leather and smoke. And his black hair looked so shiny and soft. Like it was made for running your fingers through it.

He misinterpreted her breathless and flushed state. "Don't be frightened. I'm not going to try and fling you off. I promise." That was good. Last thing she needed was a painful, and possibly fatal, case of road rash. "Helmet," he said, placing one in her trembling fingers.

She pulled her hair up into a ponytail first using an elastic tie from her wrist. Then she put it on.

"I'm gonna need you to hold on tight." His voice was firm.

As soon as she wrapped her arms around him and her chest molded to his back, snug up against all that hard male strength and solidity that she felt even through their layers of clothing, the enormity of the risk she was taking with basically a complete stranger washed over her. She never took these kinds of risks. This was by far the most insane thing she'd ever done. It was stupid and reckless.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, what the hell am I doing?

Stefan's voice again, echoing in her ears: My brother is bad news, Elena. Like convicted felon bad news.

It was just a ride to work. That's all. Like Damon had said, not far. Ten minutes tops, if they ran into traffic, which was unlikely at this time of day. What was he going to do? Murder her on the way?

Oh god, what if he murdered her on the way?

Damon threw one last, lingering look back at her. "Ready?"

He didn't look like a murderer. He looked like a sexy, goth prince charming. And … her gut told her she was safe with him.

So … was she really doing this? He was still waiting for an answer, watching her with those startling eyes of his – she had to make a choice.

She adjusted her purse straps, making sure they were securely on her shoulder, and nodded.

He put his helmet on and turned the ignition. The engine started up between her legs on a smooth rumble. The butterflies in her stomach went into a nervous tizzy.

She glanced over at her friends one last time. Caroline was waving energetically, her pretty pink lips curved in a delighted smile. Stefan, on the other hand, looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, lips puckered and arms crossed.

Oh, well, he'd get over it.

Damon gunned the motorcycle, and suddenly, she was in motion, the wind rushing over her skin as though a fan somewhere had been kicked up to power level 1000, and her grip on him became real. She clung to him like white on rice, squeezing her eyes shut tight, conscious of his lithe, well-muscled body working with every shift and turn and adjustment as he steered.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

After a couple minutes, when nothing catastrophic happened, she got over her fear and actually opened her eyes. As they zoomed through streets Elena had grown up in and driven down almost every single day of her life, her body pressed firmly against his from thighs to chest, igniting a flash flood of desire like she'd never felt before.

What she wouldn't have given for this motorcycle ride to last forever, because at least, for the duration, she wasn't the sad little girl missing her parents who'd died two years ago almost exactly to the day today, or the only available guardian to watch over Jeremy until he turned eighteen, or the sole person responsible for all of the bills that were piling up relentlessly, because the modest inheritance left to her and Jeremy upon their parents' deaths was supposed to go towards their college educations.

She was none of those people with none of those problems.

Instead, she was just a young woman having a joyride on the back of a hot guy's motorcycle as the world and all its troubles flew past them, too slow to keep up. She was free.

When the Grill's neon sign became visible, she experienced a wave of sadness. This ride – their ride – was seconds from ending.

All too soon, it was over, and he was maneuvering to a smooth stop in front of the restaurant and cutting his engine. She let go of him with shaky arms and slid off the bike with shaky legs. As she took off her helmet, she felt her hair going crazy. Loosening her ponytail, she ran hand through it, hoping futilely that might help tame it. It didn't. "Great. Helmet hair."

Removing his own helmet, he smiled at her. Oh my god, did he smile. It was a bit crooked and a lot playful. It made him utterly irresistible. "Don't worry about a thing, angel. You still look stunning."

She blushed with the fierceness of a thousand suns. He probably thought she was fishing for a compliment. And did he just say stunning? As in he thought she was pretty? "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you so much for the ride. You totally saved me."

"You didn't."

"Huh?"

"Sound ungrateful." He sounded like he was teasing her, but she didn't quite get the joke. "Got some paper?"

Though her confusion only deepened with the unexpected request, she searched through her purse for anything to write on, but came up empty. "No, sorry."

"Pen?"

"Uh, yeah. Hang on, one sec." She dug through her purse again until she found the one she'd just seen. "Here."

He accepted the ballpoint from her, and to her surprise, before she could withdraw her hand, he captured it gently with his. Tingles shot up her arm and straight down to her core. All that even though he still wore his biker gloves. What would it be like if their bare skin touched? Her imagination went wild.

Eyes like scintillating blue ice, he stared at her intently for one heart-stopping moment, and she could've sworn it felt like he was seeing right into her soul. There was something in the air between them. A sort of quivering, crackling tension that made her hold her breath, lest she emit the smallest sound and interrupt whatever was happening.

Did he feel it, too?

Right as she wondered this, he looked away, shook his head as though dislodging an unwanted thought, flipped her palm up, and scrawled a series of numbers there.

The pen tip kind of tickled. When he was done, he folded her fingers back up, wrapping them around what he'd written, as though for safe keeping. He held onto her hand and didn't immediately release it back to her. The tips of his fingers pressed gently against hers. She shivered in spite of the heat.

"There," he said, "if you need a ride home, use that."

When he finally let go, her hand fell to her side and she stared at him without the faintest clue how to respond. It's not that she wasn't used to attention from boys – she never lacked for dates to any of the school dances, and she wasn't exactly a virgin – it's just that she wasn't used to attention from someone like him. He wasn't a boy in any sense of the word.

He handed the pen back to her. She slipped it into her purse.

She should probably go and get ready for work, but she found herself standing there, not wanting to leave. Not yet.

"Got it from here?" he asked.

As he asked, he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket and thumped the pack a few solid times on his palm before extracting one.

"Yeah, I'm good," she said brightly.

A silver Zippo lighter flashed in the sun as he casually flipped it open and struck it against his pants in an efficient downward motion, generating a spark. He stuck the cigarette between his insanely sexy lips, letting her admire his profile as he inhaled, making the tip glow red.

To her complete horror, she heard herself saying, "Smoking's bad for you." Cringe. What a colossally stupid thing to say. Could she sound more like a nagging mom?

He took another quick drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke in a direction away from her. The still burning butt he flicked into a nearby trashcan on the sidewalk. He winked charmingly. "I know, that's why I'm quitting. It was very nice to officially meet you, Elena Gilbert."

She was in serious danger of melting into a puddle of desire on the sidewalk right in front of him. "It was really nice to meet you, too, Damon. Welcome back to Mystic Falls. How long are you staying?"

"I'm thinking I might stick around for a while."

"Oh." Yay. "That's nice." Nice? Jeez, she sounded like a complete idiot.

"Home sweet home. That's what they say, isn't it?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "See you around, Elena."

"Yeah, you too."

After he put his helmet back on and started up his bike, she licked her lips, tasting Caroline's lip gloss, and quickly took a step toward him, driven by an unknowable impulse. "Hey." She caught his attention, and when he looked over, she saw herself reflected in his black visor. Her long brown hair looked windblown and tangled. She looked … wild. Not at all like her usual self. "I … uh … just thank you. Again."

He gave a single nod. And then he peeled off.

She followed him with her gaze until he was out of sight. Sigh. Time to go to work. As she headed inside, she squinted at her palm. At the barely legible numbers. Ten numbers. In a row. An area code and a phone number. He'd written his phone number on her hand. Caroline was never going to believe her. She clutched her hand to her chest. He wanted her to call him. For a ride home, of course, not anything else, that would be crazy, but still … on some level, he wanted to see her again.

Did she want to see him again? Damon Salvatore was a fire she had no business touching. She'd only get burned.

But she didn't care, because she did want to see him again. Burns or not, Damon Salvatore was dangerous in all kinds of ways she was desperate to explore.