Okay, I know I'm going a little overboard with the updates, but they'll be trickling in much slower after this one. Haha, so please, savor this. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you have a good time reading!

All credit where credit is due.

I don't drink, but boy, do I love bars.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't see the appeal of alcohol, but It's just something I've never been particularly interested in. You could file that away under traits I got from my dad, I suppose. Growing up as an athlete, it wasn't really an option- for either of us. Losing control, if even for a moment, would never be appropriate if you intended on staying on top of you game. Sitting at the bar, though, was the best of both worlds.

Unlike back at the office, bar crawlers were content with the tiny miracle of being alone in a crowded room. And for the lucky ones, you'd make a connection with someone else fated to share an evening drowning their sorrows in a bottle or celebrating an accomplishment of sort. For me, it was a chance to people-watch- observation, one of my strongest traits.

"I'll have another Coke please, Haymitch," the bartender huffed and poured me another drink. Much like Sae's, the lighting in this place was always relatively dim and sported a sort of vintage motif. And by vintage, I mean dilapidated with a perpetual layer of dust covering just about everything. Haymitch Abernathy owned my favorite bar in the village, The Hob, although from as far as I could tell, he never abandoned his post from behind the counter. He slid the glass in my direction, with surprising accuracy for a man who never appeared completely sober, I might add. "Thanks."

Another thing I loved about The Hob was the fact that nobody cared who you were, as long as you were interested in the same thing as they were; drinking, fading away or hooking up. I couldn't quite figure out which category I fell under, but they seemed to accept me none-the-less.

As I sipped my drink slowly, I couldn't help but stare at a couple in a booth by the corner. I noticed them when they came in together, both already teetering a bit. Chances are, the pre-gaming was preparation in case conversation was stale or one of them got a little handsy. The man wore an untucked button-up and a pair of slacks, obviously having kept on his outfit from the office. The girl was in a bandage dress. It was nothing new or impressive, but you could see that she had tried to make this (probably blind) date a bit more promising by at least increasing the chance of not going home alone.

"How much do you want to bet he won't get her home tonight?" A voice piped up from behind me. Haymitch rarely conversed, and I hadn't noticed anyone else seated near me. All of the bar seats were generally vacant by this time of night.

I turned to face the voice and was met with a relatively familiar face. I couldn't place it, but I knew that we'd seen each other somewhere before. "Bet." I surprised myself by replying and extending my hand for the deal. "She's practically begging for it. Look at that dress."

He laughed lightly and shook my hand. "Oh come on. Maybe she just wanted to fix herself up a little tonight!"

I probably held on for a moment too long, while looking into his eyes for the first time. They were the richest shade of blue I'd ever encountered. And against my better judgement, I was kind of attracted to him. "Trust me on this…. Um, guy at the bar, I know people." I finally dropped his grip, realizing that my fleeting thoughts were directed at someone I didn't even know. And quite frankly, didn't need to know.

"My name's Peeta. We probably should have had a formal introduction before we traded bets." He smiled, a painfully adorable dimple forming. "So, woman-slightly-overdressed-for-The Hob-and-sitting-here-for-over-an-hour, how long do you think this budding relationship will last?" I looked down at myself. Of course I was still wearing my outfit from today; a slim-fitting Versace pantsuit, crisp white button-up and nude Yves St. Laurent peep toe flats. I hadn't bothered to change after running into Gale on my way out of the office and hadn't felt like going home quite yet.

And of course I hadn't introduced myself.

"I'm Katniss Ever-… Just Katniss." It would be nice if even for one night, I could be something other than a CEO or spokeswoman or pillar of strength.

"Nice to meet you, Just Katniss." Peeta smiled warmly and nodded back in the direction of the couple. "But you didn't answer my question."

I turned my barstool around, blatantly facing the couple. By now they were so completely enamored with one another that they wouldn't notice if I had sat in the booth next to them. I was slightly amused, playing this game with him. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, regardless of how pedestrian it may have been. It was a different feeling, responding to him. Everybody who took an interest in my opinion did so because they had to, not because they wanted to. And everyone who had ever wanted to was now long gone. "Oh, I definitely give them tonight, obviously. And he's definitely going to push for a second date. But she's going to find every excuse in the book not to make it, because guessing by the amount she's had to drink tonight, her judgement isn't the best. And in the morning, she's going to wish she hadn't done this."

He offered me a slow clap and I bowed dramatically at the waist, giggling before I thought better of myself. "Well done! You're quite the reader, Just Katniss."

I shrugged, "Knowing people is part of my job." It was true. Being able to gauge the pulse of the masses was a big component of running a business. What the people wanted, what they didn't even know they needed yet- was how we stayed ahead of the curve.

"Judging from the way you just called it, you must be quite talented." The couple finally stumbled out of the booth and out the door, hailing a cab before they even reached the sidewalk. I knew a one night stand when I saw one. "What about me?"

I craned my neck back in his direction. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't really know me, right? So how would you read me?" I took a second to mull over his question. My assessment wasn't going to be completely unbiased. Since making eye contact with him, I had imposed my judgement on him, from his appearance to his personality to whether or not I could go out with him without the paparazzi interfering to whether he was from New York or not and when he had his last haircut.

"I um, hadn't really thought about it." I lied and downed the rest of my drink in one gulp. He gently shook out his blonde locks, swiping them out of his eyes. "Except that you need a haircut- I noticed that. And you uh, have a stain on your right shoulder- looks like pasta sauce- which means that in your line of work, you must not spend much time in a formal office setting. I'd venture a guess into a career that involves art, I mean, because that looks like your fedora on that stool there. And those aren't really accepted in many other fields. Also, I've never seen you in here before, which means you're not from around here- because I know all of the regulars. You could possibly pass for a Brooklynite, judging by the 'timeless' pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers draped from your left shirt pocket there."

Peeta looked on in what seemed to be dismay, without responding. I knew answering was going to be a bad idea, but when I got started, I couldn't stop myself. Words had never really been my strong suit; or at least, delivering them tactfully. "Wow. You should really consider a career in clairvoyance."

I backpedaled quickly. "Sorry, it's just, I uh… I didn't mean to be judgmental or anything. I'm sorry if I crossed the line with the spaghetti sauce remark, but you asked, and I have this thing about lying to people…" He laughed again, waving his hands in surrender.

"No, no, Just Katniss. I enjoyed it. And this little meeting." Peeta stood leisurely, pulling his DUCT TAPE wallet out of his back pocket and tossing a couple bills on the counter. Duct Tape, really? This guy was endearing to say the least. "But I have to get going. And judging by the way that big guy looks back there, you do too." He tossed a glance over my shoulder at Thresh, who I had completely forgotten about. Gale would have never stayed this quiet for so long, especially if I was being approached by a man. "I'll be seeing you."

With one last precious smile, Peeta breezed out the door.

And when I woke up the next morning, that same smile was the first thing I thought about.

"So you mean to tell me that this shaggy haired, artistic, borough-rat is the type of guy it takes to get you off? Sheet, I would have snapped Cato up the minute you dropped him if I knew that was the case." Johanna was keeping perfect pace on the treadmill next to me, while I was struggling to respond in between puffs of breath. Although she'd stopped Olympic-level competition, she still ran marathons regularly, and she was a pillar of brute physical endurance. I admired her… But I could barely keep up.

"I'm not doing him justice, Jo, seriously. I don't know. It was just something about him. Something in his eyes- something I could trust." I had attempted to explain the run-in the night before to her during our 5AM workout at the office gym, but by her response, it sounded like I was failing pretty miserably.

She scoffed. "You're just having trust issues, brainless; on the rebound from Cato and that asshole, Gale. Get it together." The timer on our machines beeped loudly, signaling the end of our distance run. We'd gone 10 miles in an hour and thirty minutes- a cool down for Jo, a real victory for me. I hopped off of the treadmill, grabbed my water bottle, and wiped my face with one of the plush towels we'd released as a part of our "Luxury Fit" line last season. They'd been a big hit.

"You just can't seem to give me a break, can you? You act like the Gale thing was my fault." Playing the villain role was getting a little old. Not only had she been giving me hell about Gale for the past two weeks, but the spin on the cheating scandal hadn't been much better. Somehow I'd been turned into the neglectful girlfriend, so caught up in her job that I practically forced Jason into Charity's arms. Not that reality was much different, I supposed. I was dealing with a lot throughout our relatively short courtship, and romance was the furthest thing from my mind. Actually, I couldn't remember the last date I'd actually been on. But still, the bad guy role was getting a little old.

As we entered the locker room, Johanna wrapped a towel around her body haphazardly, heading to the women's showers. "You really are dense, you know that?" She whipped her head around, the sweat from her short pixie cut clinging her hair to her face. "I don't blame you for the Jason thing, he's a professional douchebag. But Gale? Gale is totally your fault. Why do you think he hasn't left your side in ten years? Why do you think he has barely dated in the time you've known him? Get a CLUE, Everdeen- he's in love with you!" With that, she strutted into her stall, gracefully dropping her towel in her wake.

I was back in my office in thirty minutes, showered, dressed, and ready to begin the day. And although I wouldn't admit it, I was glad Jo wasn't on tap for another publicity event this morning, because there was no way I could take her knowing looks anymore. Everything she said had made perfect sense. Gale had sacrificed the lion share of his adulthood protecting me, and I had spit on him for it. He really had been with me through everything, even though he very well could have left some time ago.

I struggled with my urge to pick up the phone and dial him until Delly buzzed through my line. "Katniss, you have your 10 o'clock in the lobby. Would you like me to send them back?" I collected myself quickly, grabbing the file I would need for this appointment (having completely forgotten about it).

"I er- uh, sure. Thanks, Delly." I looked down at myself, insuring that I looked much more put together than I felt. Luckily Madge had gotten my Derek Lam paint-effect woven and cotton-gabardine dress sent over from the dry cleaner this morning, because it gave me an air of true collectedness. I had opted for a pair of Nicholas Kirkwood shoes that hurt like hell, but my stylist suggested I get used to as well. My hair was side swept into a tight braided bun, giving the illusion of a fashion-conscious –but competent- CEO. Maintaining this image was exhausting.

Madge held her clipboard tightly to her chest, blocking the view of my guest from the front. "Ms. Everdeen, the Assistant Art Director from SELF Magazine is here to discuss the details of your August cover." I stood up, preparing to hash out the details of my cover shoot. It was something to be excited about, of course, but this was only the first of many meetings I was scheduled to have about this cover. And to my chagrin Marty Abreu, the real Art Director, wasn't even doing his own bidding by sending his second in command to meet me.

Add that to the list of displeasing things that were happening to Katniss Everdeen today. I extended my hand as Madge stepped aside. "Nice to meet you, I'm Katniss Ever-"

"Just Katniss, yes, I do believe we've met before..." He smiled, flashing that signature dimple.

"I'm Peeta Mellark, Assistant Art Director at Self Magazine."

Hope you all enjoyed that little chapter! Please let me know what you think, what you hope happens next (what is Katniss gonna say now, what she does to Peeta)- I'd love to hear some predictions.. (: