I think a lot of you will like this chapter ;)
The red head with the long, pale legs.
No, the busty blonde who's uniform showed a little more skin than her squadmates.
Maybe the petite little flyer who looked as if she weighed eighty pounds.
It wasn't exactly like Damon was preferential to a certain type of girl, so surely anyone hot and willing would work for him, though she did find it easier to imagine him hooking up with a cheerleader from the opposing team.
Girls she already viewed as rivals.
But...why did it even matter?
Elena chided herself, once again, for letting her mind wander into topics that she had specifically forbidden her brain from thinking about.
Like how Damon was probably running skilled fingers up another girl's skirt right now, and letting her touch him in return; if they weren't already getting down to business.
"I work fast, as I'm sure you recall."
Damn him and that gravely tone that never failed to linger in her brain.
And she wouldn't soon be forgetting the way he looked at her either, all tense and heated from more than anger.
It shamed her that, in the brief moment his hand had touched the bare skin of her stomach, fire had coiled in her belly and she had wanted to-
No!
Elena shook her head and forced her thoughts away from dangerous territory.
God, what had gotten into her?!
She had already made her choice...to be here, with Stefan, and not thinking about what, or who, Damon was doing.
It was none of her business and honestly, she didn't care.
She really didn't.
At all.
In fact, it was a good thing that he was getting his needs met tonight, because then the tension between the two of them might ease, which would be best for future lessons, when they-
Wait...no...what was she thinking? There would be no future lessons.
She was with Stefan and he desired her.
Mission accomplished.
It was what she had wanted.
Her gaze flickered over from the tall table she was occupying, to the next pool game being set up.
Stefan was there, leaning over the green velvet, joking with Tyler Lockwood about being a sore loser.
He had been perfectly polite all night, even if the only thing they'd talked about was whose butt he was currently kicking.
They were having fun.
She smiled in encouragement and sipped on her drink as he played "just one more game" for the third time.
But it was fine...they were good...this was good.
Her smile faltered as Stefan's attention refocused on the cue ball and the tips of her fingers itched as she fought the urge to pick up her phone.
God, she needed to let this go already!
The person she wanted to text was the last person she should be talking to, or thinking about right now.
She had Stefan...she was happy...everything was right again.
Everything except for Damon's voice, still echoing in her head.
"Trying to impress the town council or your parents isn't worth living a lie. Stefan doesn't make you happy and he hasn't for some time. You just don't want to admit it to yourself."
Oh, what did he know?
She and Stefan had things to work through, but they could be happy…
They are happy.
Very, very hap-
Tears pricked her eyes and the pit in Elena's stomach dropped as she realized the lie she was reiterating was the same one her parents fronted for the town.
Smiles. Laughs. Perfection.
It was all an act; an illusion.
She looked around the crowded restaurant before resettling back on the billiards.
On her boyfriend.
Stefan's blonde hair shimmered under the pool table's overhanging light and his victorious smile showed off those pointed teeth that had been so endearing back in middle school.
And she felt nothing.
The same nothing she had felt when he had kissed her earlier, despite what she wanted to tell herself...how much she had begged her brain to react, to give her something, anything, to work with.
And more nothing.
The complete opposite of what she felt when she was with-
With a thick swallow, Elena stood up and adjusted her uniform.
Sitting there, pining over ridiculous impossibilities wasn't going to make her feel any better.
She needed to go home, do homework, or find some other way to occupy herself.
When all was in place, she cut across the small space between herself and the games being played, and grabbed Stefan's attention.
"I think I'm gonna head out," she told him with a forced half smile.
Stefan frowned, looked back at the guys, then at her again, "This isn't much fun for you, is it?"
She shrugged in a noncommittal way, "It's just getting kinda late."
He hesitated, glanced back at the game one more time, then asked, "Well, what if we got out of here? You and me?"
Elena was genuinely surprised by the offer.
"Uh...sure. What did you have in mind?"
He flashed a quick smile, then yelled over to the guys that he was taking off and would message them later.
Then his hand was in hers, leading her across the restaurant, which was actually away from the front door.
"You know, the exit is that way," she teased, pointing a thumb over her shoulder.
She barely caught his reply over the buzz of conversation from the other patrons, but it sounded like "Out back".
Sure enough, there was an exit door by the kitchens that opened into the alleyway behind the Grill.
It was dark and cool outside, which felt nice against her skin.
"It was getting kind of crowded in there," Stefan reasoned, helping her down the few short stairs to the walkway.
"A little," she admitted, and exhaled, "So, where were you wanting to-"
Her sentence was interrupted as Stefan leaned down and kissed her, surprising her for a second time.
He used her stunned hesitance to lead her backwards, until she made contact with the brick wall of the building.
Her brain finally got on board, just in time for Stefan's tongue to slip past her lips and she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He made a noise of satisfaction and pressed harder into her body, trapping her between him and the wall.
His hands gripped her waist, his fingers caressing the bare skin of her stomach that had peeked from beneath her cheer top, but...something wasn't right.
There was just no heat. No aching desire.
And the kiss felt all wrong. Rushed, not teasing. Demanding, not tempting.
She squeezed her eyes shut and surged forward, kissing Stefan with everything she had.
He responded eagerly, and hell, she could feel that he wanted her.
But it didn't matter how hard she tried to force her body to respond...it just wouldn't.
"You're so fucking hot, babe," he muttered, breaking the kiss to take a breath.
Look at how beautiful you are, another voice echoed in her head.
His mouth dropped to her neck and he lifted her into his arms.
Elena wrapped her legs around his waist, felt his erection against her, and could only focus on the rough rub of the brick wall on the back of her arm.
Why was it that she felt so cold now, when earlier a simple graze from Damon's fingertips-
Oh god.
She thought of Damon's hands on her, of the way she had thrusted back on his fingers until she'd orgasmed, of his teeth grazing her bottom lip, those sinful blue eyes on her in the mirror as he told her to watch as he touched her…
Her panties soaked through as a wave of heat blasted from her core so unexpectedly, she convulsed.
"No," she bit out, pulling as far away from Stefan as she could, "No, stop! Put me down."
He leaned back, confused, but she didn't want to answer him, and she didn't want him touching her for another second, "Put me down!"
To his credit, he immediately let her go, and like a cornered dog, she jumped away from the wall and put some open air between them.
"Elena? What's wrong? Did I do something?"
Taking a few settling breaths, she shook her head, "It's..it's not you."
It's not you.
Ha. How right that was.
It wasn't him.
She didn't want him.
"I can't," she tried to verbalize her chaotic thoughts, "We can't. It's just too much, too fast."
Stefan shook his head, apparently trying to get some blood back into it, "I, uh...yeah, okay. That's okay."
He let out a huff of air, "Well, um, did you want to go somewhere else, or...we could go back inside and get something to eat, and-"
"No, that's okay," she brushed off the offer, "I think I really am just going to go home. Mom will probably be waiting up for me, and I'm really tired."
She had a list of excuses.
He bought them, "Oh. Okay. I'll just, uh, go back inside then. Probably play a few more games with the guys."
Elena nodded, "Sounds good."
"Text me when you get home?"
She agreed, and that was their goodbye.
Somehow, walking away felt different this time.
It didn't take long to get to her car, and sitting in the parking lot for a moment, Elena formulated a short term plan.
Go home, run a hot bubble bath, and seriously consider her life choices.
It was good, in theory.
However, when she got to her place and walked through the front door, the house was hauntingly quiet.
After stepping into the foyer and setting her keys on the vanity, she took a look around.
The familiar silence should have been comforting, as it meant that her father was probably at work.
Miranda wasn't due to return back until Monday, but Grayson of course, had wasted no time in getting back to routine.
Which wasn't a surprise, because he spent almost every day at the hospital anyway, whether he was needed there or not.
Elena knew that work was a form of distraction for her father, and most of the time, she didn't even blame him.
You didn't have to keep up the illusion of a perfect life if you focused on bettering everyone else's.
And at least she wouldn't have to worry about hearing more arguing tonight.
"Mom?" she called out, making her way through the foyer and into the living room.
Miranda wasn't there, but a half empty glass of wine was on the side table, next to a completely emptied bottle.
Elena, who knew just how much of a clean neatfreak her mother was, saw this indiscretion for exactly what it was meant to be.
A tool to get a rise out of Grayson whenever he finally managed to get home, giving them yet another topic to fight about.
With a sigh, she walked over and grabbed both objects, then headed for the kitchen.
She threw the bottle away, and poured the rest of the glass out into the sink, before rinsing it and putting it in the dishwasher.
Proof gone. Fight averted.
She leaned back against the spotless counter.
The single dish in the washer was the only flaw in the entirety of the kitchen and with nothing left to occupy her hands, Elena started down the hall and up the stairs.
Her parent's bedroom door was cracked, a good sign that her mother had turned in for the night, but just to be sure, Elena peeked inside.
Sure enough, Miranda was passed out, under silk sheets that barely seemed to crease.
The rest of the room was in perfect order as well, nothing on the floor and tomorrow's clothes hanging on the outside of the walk in closet.
Even when drinking, her mother managed to stay organized; curlers in her hair, and her face completely washed clean of makeup.
Elena closed the door and continued down the hallway to her room.
Ignoring her bed, and the recent memories made there, Elena stepped into her bathroom and caught sight of her reflection.
Bright brown eyes stared back at her, identical to her mother's, and her ponytail had let a few loose strands of hair fall around her face.
She pulled the mess down and tried to focus on what she had planned.
Bubble bath. Relaxing...
Or you can just do what you actually want, her brain shouted, And text him.
With a huff, she returned to her room to grab some pajamas.
Reaching out to Damon would be a bad idea right now, considering the bad fantasies she had been entertaining about him, and the fact that he was probably doing equally bad things with flexible cheerleaders, and she didn't want to be reminded of that.
Plus, it would be rude, interrupting...it absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that the thought of him with someone else made her skin crawl.
That those long fingers could be curling inside another warm body that wasn't hers, and those blue eyes of his could be heavy with desire for someone else.
It had nothing to do with the fact that she had been thinking about him for most of the night, and trying to convince herself that it was the unsettled events of the evening that were urging her to his company, and not jealousy or her own desire.
Because damn it, she wanted to see him.
She wanted to talk to him and feel like everything was going to be okay, because through some cosmic twist of fate, that was the way Damon made her feel.
Like none of the bad stuff mattered as much when they were in a room together.
Damon saw through it all and she didn't have to be the good girl with him.
The nice one.
The quiet one.
The smart one.
The doctor's perfect daughter.
With him, she didn't feel as if she were waiting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole, just to escape from the pressure of her last name.
God, she was tired; so tired of it all.
The charade had become the norm years ago, to the point that all she ever did in this damn town was pretend.
Pretend like she was perfect. Pretend like all that mattered to her was her grades, committees, and family name.
She was Elena Gilbert.
She straightened her hair, wore minimal makeup, crossed her legs, and dotted all her i's to absolute perfection.
Outside of this house, she was the image of everything her family was supposed to represent.
She laughed a little at the absurdity.
If only the town could see the truth of their family behind the door; see that they were shattered, angry, and ripping at the seams.
It wouldn't be such a pretty picture then, but at least it would be honest.
Tears pricked at her eyes, and Elena wiped them away, willing herself to calm down and get back to task.
Right.
Pajamas. Bubble bath.
She reached down and pulled out a tank top and shorts...and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror on the dresser as she straightened.
She didn't look perfect anymore.
Her hair was still a wild mess, her makeup was smudged at the corners of her eyes, and her cheer uniform was all wrinkled and probably smelled like sweat.
She tore it off of her body and decided to forego the bath in favor of her shower.
Washing off the grime of the night with some decent pressure suddenly sounded much more appealing.
Damon stepped out of his shower and towel dried his hair before pulling on a pair of sweatpants and heading downstairs for his father's liquor cart.
His footfalls echoed against the antique wood of the steps, bouncing off the tall ceiling of the mansion he lived in, and nothing answered it.
There was no one else around.
Stefan was still out with the rest of his jock friends and Elena, though Damon was pointedly ignoring the latter.
And his father was...oh hell, who even knew?
He could be working late at the office he occupied in Whitmore, or he could be entertaining investors with a late night poker game and fine scotch.
Or maybe he was in a nearby hotel, plowing whatever secretary, waitress, or coat check attendant had gotten his attention for the night.
All that mattered was that he wasn't home, and Damon could revel in the silence until his return.
No doubt Stefan would be notified of the expected hour, if their father bothered to reach out at all.
It was no secret that between the two Salvatore sons, Damon was the least favored.
Possibly because, unlike his brother, he had their mother's dark hair and blue eyes, which made him a walking reminder of everything Giuseppe Salvatore had thrown away in favor of some younger piece of ass that had lasted all of two weeks.
Or maybe it was embarrassment that the man resented?
Having your wife leave you, and her sons one might add, all alone after a public scandal was quite humiliating indeed.
It had taken more than a few charity donations for the Salvatore name to win back its merit in the eyes of the town, but nothing had ever really been the same.
Instead of falling into traps of pity and judgments, however, Damon embraced the scornful eyes and prerequisite conclusions that he might have inherited the worst traits of his parents, and had decided to prove them all right.
For all he cared, Stefan could be the golden boy.
Damon did what he wanted and took what he liked, and he never apologized for any of it…
Until tonight.
The apology he had given Elena for acting like a complete ass had been outside of his usual report.
A fluke of his newly besotted brain, no doubt, though she hadn't deserved his behavior.
Which was why he had let her go, wasn't it?
So they could both get what they wanted tonight.
With that thought, he grabbed a glass and selected his favorite bourbon from the cart.
With both in hand, he went back upstairs for his phone and texted a reliable distraction for the night's entertainment, determined to scrub the memory of everything else from his brain for the next few hours.
More than half an hour had passed before Elena got out of the shower.
The hot water helped, as did the soap and shampoo, but when she had finished and had dressed in her pajamas, she ended up right back where she started.
Feeling like complete hell in front of her mirror.
Only now the reflection staring back at her was similar to the one she usually saw in the mornings.
Clean and flawless. Something worthy of a Gilbert.
Not the mess she had been earlier, and not the flushed wanton she had been that day Damon had made her watch him touch her, when the charade had slipped and there had been no need to hide behind her usual mask.
There never was, with him.
How many times had he made that perfectly clear, not just this week when they had taken things to a whole new level, but over the course of years?
Damon was a constant in the background of her life.
A friend, who was flirty and annoying and sexy and disgusting at times, yes, but he was always there when she needed him.
Elena sighed heavily and went to grab her phone.
"Damon, come on," Rose's annoyed huff sounded through the room, "I'm feeling a little lonely over here."
Damon wasn't hurried in the least by her prompting, and finished the drink he had been nursing, the second of the night.
His occasional hook up, and somewhat friend, Rose Porter, had seemed like a good person to call for a distraction, but much to his dismay, his body wasn't wanting to get with the program.
The drink wasn't helping much either in that regard, but at least it gave him an excuse to occupy his tongue.
"Damo-"
"I heard you the first time," he assured her, and placed the now empty tumbler on his dresser before looking back at the bed, where she was sprawled out.
Rose had a nice body, and the black lace she was wearing certainly complimented her curves.
He sauntered over and grabbed her ankle, yanking her to the edge of the mattress.
She smirked as he gripped her chin between his fingers and got close to her mouth.
"Turn over," he breathed against her lips, not quite touching them, and Rose's brows lifted.
But she complied.
When the arch of her back and that round ass was presented, Damon ran a hand over them, half in appreciation, half in annoyance.
He and Rose always had a good time when they hooked up, so why wasn't this doing anything for him now?
His hand dove into her brunette hair, and all he could think about was how it was too short, too light a shade…
He placed a kiss against her shoulder blade, and her skin smelled like mixed berries and cigarette smoke.
He bit down and she groaned, wiggling her ass against his crotch in encouragement.
But his body gave no response.
"What are you waiting for?" she teased, arching further back into him.
He was saved from answering, however, when a sudden buzzing started on his night stand, and his phone lit up with a notification.
"Ignore it," Rose whined, as he reached over to check the message.
Elena's name shone from the screen and Damon straightened, pulling away from the bed.
E: I need you. Can we talk?
No other context was given, and he frowned.
Had something happened at the Grill?
Was she okay?
D: Come over?
Her agreement came quickly and he tried to ignore the easing tension in his chest as he instructed her on where to park her car, just in case his father arrived home unexpectedly.
Stefan had called earlier to say that he was crashing with Lockwood for the night, so no concern on that front...though his brother hadn't mentioned Elena at all.
Had they left already?
Was she at Tyler's with Stefan? Or had she gone home?
"Something wrong?" Rose asked, bringing his mind back to the room.
She had turned back around and there was an unhappy expression on her face.
"Uh, yeah," he shook his phone, "There's something I need to do. You mind taking off?"
Her eyes narrowed, "You're the one who invited me over, you know. Not the other way around."
Damon ran a hand down his face, "I know. I'll make it up to you later, okay?"
It was the closest to an apology that she was going to get, and she knew it.
Rose jumped up from the bed and grabbed her jeans off the floor, "You don't have to lie to me Damon. I'm your friend, not one of your one night stands."
He couldn't help but smirk and reached for her shirt to hand to her, "You're right. And I do so value our friendship."
Rose rolled her eyes, "You value the fact that I'm willing to take care of you when you don't feel like hunting down new pussy."
"Like you don't beg for it each time," he fired back, and she winked, "You're an easy scratch for a bad itch."
"Or a good scratch for an easy itch," he taunted the insult.
"We truly have something special," she drawled as she finished getting dressed and grabbed the rest of her things.
She was out the door with a wave behind her and neither of them promised to call.
They had done this too many times to believe that lie.
Damon waited until he heard the front door shut down the stairs, then let out a sigh of relief and went to his bathroom.
Assuming Elena was leaving from her place, he had about ten minutes to make himself presentable.
Fifteen, if she was at the Lockwood's.
The Salvatore house was as impressive as ever, when Elena pulled into the circle drive, then around the large wall of the west side, to the concrete rest point and overhanging awning in the back.
Damon had suggested parking her car there, so his father didn't see it when he arrived home.
She had wanted to ask where he was at, with it being so late, but wasn't sure if it was her place, or her business.
Not to mention that Giuseppe Salvatore happened to intimidate the hell out of her, so if he was absent from the premises, she considered that a bonus.
She killed her car and stepped out as the west wing's back door opened, and suddenly, Damon was there.
The sight of him was enough to make her forget all other distracted thoughts and she drank him in.
Tousled hair, a bare and ribbed stomach, dark sweatpants that clung to his thighs like they were made for him...she couldn't help but let her eyes roam in appreciation.
He didn't say a word under her scrutiny, though his lips did turn up at the corners, as though he were pleased with her obvious attraction.
Oh god, was she really doing this?
Her chest heaved with each breath, as her stomach clenched with nerves, and Damon's head tilted, inclining toward the house.
He was inviting her in.
She hesitated for just a moment, with a million thoughts shooting through her head.
Did she really want to do this?
She knew it was probably a mistake, even as her feet urged her forward, but she also knew there was no one better to make it with.
Damon understood her dilemma; he had called her out on the bullshit of it all and was her surest route of escape.
So she followed him into the house, palming her keys and phone.
If the outside of the Salvatore's home was impressive, it dimmed in comparison to the museum like perfection of the internal architecture.
It never failed to steal her breath away, no matter how many times she had come over, and tonight was no different.
Her wide eyes took in every painting, woodwork, and vintage erad furnishings as they made their way to the staircase.
A moment later, they were at Damon's bedroom door, crossing the threshold to his room.
"You can put those there," he spoke finally, motioning to a vanity by the entrance for her belongings.
She complied, setting her phone and keys down, and dallied a bit before glancing over at him.
Those blue eyes were locked on her, as he leaned back against the footboard of his enormous bed, and she was sure he was waiting for an explanation to her text.
Or maybe he already knew what was on her mind...there was something in the way he was looking at her that made her think he might, but it was hard to be sure.
She swallowed back her nerves and glanced around.
"It's cleaner than I expected," she praised, "Last time I was over, it resembled something closer to a frat house."
Damon's lips flickered a smirk, but he wasn't letting her off the hook with some "how's the weather" distractions.
"You wanted to talk?" He prodded, and Elena dropped her gaze.
She should just cut to the chase before he got annoyed.
He might have been busy or...
"Where's your quick fix?" she asked without meaning to, and immediately regretted the snappiness of her tone.
Damon inclined his head in her direction, "I got a better offer."
Elena blushed, but felt strangely pleased by the answer, "I'm sorry you had to choose."
Except she wasn't, because he had chosen her.
"No you're not," he smirked as he called her bluff, "But that's okay. Turns out I wasn't that into it, anyway."
Her lip found its way between her teeth and Elena bit down, "Turns out...I wasn't either."
Damon stared at her blankly for a moment, then his brows pulled together, "What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath and whispered the confession like it was some dirty secret, "That you were right, earlier. I'm not happy."
There.
She had said it out loud.
The ugly truth that ruined the perfect lie.
There really was no turning back now.
Next chapter will pick up where this leaves off! Let me know what you think!