She listens to his problems as par her job and he tells her about his messy divorce and his fucked up family and his little son, Aiden, who has his eyes but she's tight lipped about her life. All he knows is her name; Bonnie.
When he asks her more about herself she'd smile and turn around, the tattoo on the base of her neck winking at him, to grab a bottle of Jim Beam and refill his glass on the house.
"You're so mysterious," Damon says one night,his words are hard to get off of his heavy tongue and his blue eyes are tired and red. Bonnie glances at the clock; she normally calls him a cab before closing.
She shrugs and he frowns "How old are you?"
"Old enough," He's been asking that question for weeks now and she's ignored him or giving him a witty answer that confuses his alcohol addled brain and he's backed off but tonight he's not as drunk and a bit more persistent. She can admire that but tonight is not a good night.
Today isn't a good day.
It's been four years since her Grams passed away and it hurts just as much as it hurt the day she died; normally she'd drown her sorrows at home or find a warm body to keep her company. The latter sounds appealing to her and she watches Damon for a minute before deciding.
"Do you wanna get out of here?"