Chapter Five
Seven Years Ago
A co-worker ended up giving Elena a ride after her shift at the Grill ended. Because she didn't have the guts to call Damon Salvatore back. But that didn't stop her from saving his number in her phone, just so she could look at it and dream about actually working up the nerve to call him some day.
They dropped her off at Stefan's. She planned to stay the night in one of his many spare rooms, since he did live in a mansion after all, and in the morning, she'd call her buddy Matt with the heavy-duty pickup truck to tow her car to the local mechanic and give her a lift to work.
Stefan's front door was unlocked. She went inside without bothering to knock. She never knocked – it would've been weird if she did. She was at Stefan's as much as or not more than she was at her own house.
Stefan was seated on an old-fashioned red couch in the front parlor room reading a book. He glanced up when she came in. "Hey," he said.
"Hey." She briefly wondered if he was still upset at her for not listening after he'd warned her not to accept a ride from Damon. Then she shrugged it off. Nothing bad had happened – one could even argue that something wonderful had happened – so she wasn't sorry. Not in the least.
"How was work?" he asked blandly. No one could do stone face miffed like Stefan.
"Busy. Didn't mean to be so late." Her watch read quarter after eleven.
His face relaxed into a smile. "I don't mind. Just glad you made it."
"Where's, uh, my car?" She gave him a puzzled look. "I didn't see it out front."
"I pushed it around back. I want to take a closer look at it in the morning, in case I missed something"
"Ah, thanks. You're the best."
"You staying?" He asked it like he hoped she would.
She nodded. "I'm just gonna go grab some things out of the back seat."
"Sure. It's locked. The keys are on the table by the front door."
She rushed out, grabbing her keys right where Stefan said they were, and made for the separate building out back that was a three car garage. Inside to the far right was an old red coupe that Stefan loved to tinker with, though he had yet to get it running. Parked next to the coupe, in the middle of the garage, was Damon's drool worthy black motorcycle. No sign of its smoking hot owner, though.
On the far left side was her car, looking as old and run down as the motorcycle looked new and sleek. The hood was propped up, and the smooth rumble of an actively idling engine emanated from within.
She paused right in the open doorway of the garage. Was her car actually working? But … how? And who? What the heck was going on? The driver's side door was wide open, but she didn't see anyone.
Really weird.
She whirled around so she could go back and demand answers from Stefan – Why had he implied that he wouldn't be looking at her car until the morning when he'd clearly already fixed it? And why had he just left it running? Why did he hot wire it in the first place if he had the keys? – when she collided with a solid wall of pure muscle.
Oof.
"Boo."
That voice. Her eyes slowly rose, taking all of him in. It was the first time she'd seen him without all the bike leather on. Long raven hair, tattoos winding up and down his arms, which were very nice, muscular arms, by the way, and a black Jane's Addiction t-shirt that hugged his upper body in just the right way. A playful smile teased the edges of his beautifully shaped mouth.
The Wow Factor was real.
While she was at work, she'd wondered if maybe he wasn't as stunningly attractive as she remembered; maybe she'd exaggerated him a bit in her mind. But no. He was even more stunningly attractive than she'd ever thought possible. She'd never had a thing for tattoos and piercings before, but well … she might just have a new fetish.
Meanwhile, she was still embarrassingly in her work jeans and a navy blue work shirt that said Mystic Grill in vibrant yellow letters. She probably smelled like booze and chicken wings. Freaking wonderful.
"You - you scared me."
He cocked his head. "Sorry. Thought you heard me."
She gulped, every cell sparking from his nearness. "Did you … do this?" She stepped back and gestured towards her running car. "Did you fix my car?"
She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, then swept one hand over her hair to make sure everything was in place, telling herself to be cool and not the complete goober she'd acted like last time she was around him. Elena, I'm hi? Really? Just the memory made her cringe, and her cheeks flare with color.
He walked over and slammed the hood down. He gave it an affectionate pat, pale fingers stroking over the curves of her old car. She couldn't help but imagine if he was touching her curves that way.
Yes, please.
"Just tightened a few loose nuts and bolts and uncrossed a few wires." He wiped his hands on a greasy rag. "Should be all good to go now. Let me know if you have any more trouble with it."
"Thank you so much." And she truly meant it. He was acting like it was no big deal, but if he'd really just fixed her car, he'd saved her possibly hundreds of dollars. "And thank you again for the ride earlier. I've never been on a motorcycle before, and I thought it would be scary, but it was fun."
"Yeah, no problem." He picked up a beer bottle and took a drink of the cool liquid. She watched the movement of his throat with fascination.
Her eyes jumped up to his, and she realized he was watching her watch him. "I-I have to get going," she stammered.
He set the beer down and stepped away from the car right as she stepped towards it. Which brought them up pretty much right in each other's space.
Her breath caught. Heat from his body radiated through her. Her heart started pounding. Surely he could hear it. He could probably see it, beating against her chest like a demented bird trying to free itself.
"Elena," he murmured in a voice that was pure sin.
She cleared her dry throat. "Yes?"
"How'd you get home?"
"My friend gave me a ride. A-a co-worker."
"Ah," he said, sparks of laughter dancing in his eyes, "I was worried you'd lost my number."
"Oh no, I didn't lose it. I still have it, I put it in my phone," stop sounding like a psycho!, "but it's just it was late …." He quirked an eyebrow. What? Like she was going to admit she'd been too chickenhearted to give him a call? "Well, I just, I didn't know what you were doing, and I didn't want to bother you, not that I didn't want you to give me a ride, because I did enjoy our ride very much, but not too much, not in a creepy way, and again I just really didn't want to bother you, and I'm going to stop talking now."
She physically bit into her bottom lip to cut off the stream of babbling nonsense tripping in haste off the tip of her tongue.
"I make you nervous," he observed, blue eyes still glinting with laughter.
"No," she tried to deny, before trailing off lamely, "that's not - no."
"Good. Then, maybe there's a chance you'll consider going out with me for another ride sometime."
"I …." Her brain momentarily tripped over itself. She actually heard the sound of a record skipping in her mind. Was this divinely gorgeous sex god of a man asking if she'd go out with him again? Like, go out on just a ride? Or, go out go out on a ride? No, this couldn't be happening. He was way older and hotter, and she was boring and younger, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Stefan says you're bad news."
Damon shrugged. "He's right."
Elena found it odd he just admitted it like that. "Why is he right? Are you a bad person?"
"As the degenerate son of a fucked-up family, let's just say I have my own morally gray compass." He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and started to shake one free, when he paused and glanced up at her. Because she'd made a stupid comment about him smoking when he dropped her off at the Grill.
Determined not to relive another embarrassing moment, she didn't acknowledge the cigarettes in his hand and asked, "Are you really a convicted felon?"
He looked away, into the darkness beyond the edge of the garage door, and slid the cigarette back. He put the pack away. "You really have been talking to Stefan."
"Are you?" she pressed. It was definitely rude to ask him such a sensitive topic so bluntly, but she was insanely curious.
He grinned.
She wondered what was so funny. "He also said I should stay away from you."
He gave her a serious look. "You should. What else does Stefan say about me?"
She thought for a moment. "Actually … nothing. He doesn't really talk about you - ever. Except to warn me you're a convicted felon."
When he didn't respond right away, she said, "Never mind, I'm sorry. It's none of my business, and I didn't mean to pry. Thank you again for fixing my car. You really didn't have to do that. I'm just going to grab my things and go."
"Vandalism and criminal trespassing. That's what they got me for."
"Oh." She absorbed this information. "I guess that explains all the tattoos."
He immediately looked offended. "These are not, I repeat, not prison tattoos. They're way too expensive. Besides, I never went to prison. Just a fine and probation."
"Oh," she said again, because she wasn't sure what else to say. Stefan had made it sound so sinister. But vandalism and trespassing? Not really that bad, in the grand scheme of things, right? Not when he could've said he was a gang-banger or a drug dealer or a murderer. And lucky him, he was rich enough to afford lawyers to avoid any jail time.
"I don't think what I did was so bad," he said, "but according to the rest of the world, I'm wrong." There was a strand of raven hair drifting across his cheek, drawing her eye to a black spot just there, near the corner of his eye. A smudge of grease. "But that's nothing new," he finished cynically.
Touched that he was confiding the truth in her – he didn't seem like the type who was usually much of a sharer - and impelled to an unusual level of boldness, she came up on her tiptoes and grazed her thumb along the grease on his cheek, smearing it more so than wiping it away, as had been her intent. She was shocked that she'd been daring enough to touch him so familiarly. She was also shocked by how warm and soft his skin was beneath the grease, how high and sharp the angle of his cheekbone. It was a movie star's cheekbone, or a model's.
Taken aback, Damon reacted by snatching her wrist in a vise-like grip. There was no leather glove in the way this time, and the sensation of his long, pale fingers wrapped around her tanned skin stole her breath from her lungs. For less than a nanosecond, she considered trying to pull away, but quickly and correctly surmised that she was no match for his superior strength. She met his icy blue gaze with her warm brown one, and they stood there like that, frozen, only the slightest flickering of his pupils as they expanded.
He looked on edge. Slightly frustrated, even. But why?
"S-sorry," she stammered with embarrassment, "there was some grease on your face …."
She trailed off uncertainly, and he didn't release or modify his hold in any way. He was eerily intense and motionless, a predator waiting to strike. Something dark and lustful slithered through his blue gaze.
Swallowing hard, she went to change the subject. "I'm really sorry about your uncle. He was a good man." Sorry. Such a stupid thing to say. She'd always hated it when people mouthed those unhelpful platitudes to her in the wake of her parents' deaths, but she'd just smiled and said thank you.
His nostrils flared. His grip on her arm tightened, made a small gasp pass her lips. "You should leave."
"Why?" she replied breathlessly. That was a dumb question to ask, wasn't it? He'd already confirmed that, unlike his dead uncle, he wasn't a good person.
He leaned in even closer, slow, so slow. Yep, definitely a dumb question. He completely overwhelmed her senses, and when she parted her lips and licked them with a small pink tongue, his gaze dropped to watch.
His head dropped lower, his mouth now a hairs breadth from hers. A sudden shiver ran down her spine. She was fairly simmering with anticipation. Was he going to kiss her? No, he wouldn't – would he? But if he did … oh, if he did, she would let him.
"What the hell is going on? Get your hands off Elena!"
So startled that she actually jumped a foot off the ground, she spun around, whipping her wrist out of Damon's grasp as she did so.
Damon, meanwhile, crossed his arms, two very nice, muscular arms, she noted again, even despite her flustered panic. He smirked, a sure sign of amusement. "Ah, Stefan, impeccable timing, as usual."
"Fuck you, Damon."
"Stefan!" Elena was taken aback by her friend's aggressive behavior, and once she got over her initial bewilderment, she became angry. "Stop it! We were just talking. Look, he fixed my car."
Stefan, kind and gentle Stefan who wouldn't hurt a fly, marched right up to Damon and growled, "You need to leave."
"But I just got here, little brother. And I haven't had time to enjoy all of the … scenery just yet." He gave Elena a charming, conspiratorial smile that she couldn't help but return.
Stefan caught the look shared between them and bristled, fury blazing brightly in his green eyes. "You're here, because our uncle just died. Have some respect."
"I respect that he's dead." Damon exuded a smug nonchalance that Elena found a little shocking. "How's that?"
"Why did you even bother coming back?" Beneath Stefan's right eye, a muscle twitched. He grabbed the front of Damon's shirt with a balled up fist. "I swear to god, you sonuva - "
"Careful, brother, before you do something you'll regret." Damon's voice was low and menacing, his smile chillingly cold.
"That's enough." The brothers looked over at her, astonished, as though her presence had slipped both their minds. "I don't know what either one of your problems is, but I won't let you fight like this right in front of me, so just stop it!"
Stefan released Damon and stepped back, though he didn't take his eyes off Damon. "I'm sorry, Elena, but it's just – can't you see? He hasn't even been here twenty-four hours and already he's causing problems."
She gave Stefan a total WTF look. "He gave me a ride to work, and he fixed my car. The only one I see causing problems here is you."
Stefan sucked in a sharp breath. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you." With those final words, he stalked off.
Elena watched her best friend go, mind still reeling. She knew he was upset by his uncle's passing, but what just happened? "I apologize on Stefan's behalf," she said to Damon. "I don't know what came over him - "
"I do," Damon interrupted, straightening his shirt and smoothing a hand over the wrinkles Stefan had created.
"You - do?"
"Easy. He's in love with you."
"What?" A preposterous theory. "That's … ridiculous."
Damon knocked back the rest of his beer. "Is it?" Tossing the empty bottle in the trash, he narrowed his eyes. "Why wouldn't my little brother be in love with you?"
"Because … we're just friends. That's all."
"Huh. Well. You should tell him that."
She didn't know what to say to that.
He began moving towards her. "As much as I hate to interrupt this scintillating conversation, I need another beer. Can I bring you one?"
"Wait, I'm confused," she said, only somewhat joking, "does that mean you do want me to stay? Because you just said I should leave. So, which is it?"
He tilted his head, black hair falling to the side. "Depends. Are you staying?"
If only she didn't have work again first thing tomorrow. She sighed regretfully. "Can't. I have to get going. Work in the morning."
"Ah. Have fun with that." As he walked past her, he slowed and inquired, "Will you be there tomorrow?"
At his uncle's funeral. Yes, she'd be there after work. The whole town would. She nodded.
He raised his eyebrows curiously. "Maybe I'll see you there."
"Yeah," she said hopefully, breathlessly, sounding like a complete goober, "maybe."
He gifted her with a wickedly seductive smile. "Have a nice night, Elena."
A smile of her own spread in return. "Thanks. You, too, Damon."
He walked off, on his way back to the Salvatore mansion, the darkness swallowing him whole, before she could remember to thank him again for fixing her car.
Which she now slid into the front seat of, taking several slow, deep breaths to regather her wits. She didn't feel like going back in and seeing Stefan and dealing with anything that had just happened. She'd call him later. Still feeling off-balance from a combination of Stefan's aberrant anger and Damon's charming intensity, she shifted her car into reverse and drove the hell home.
