A/N: I'VE LOST MY BEJEESUS BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE TOO COOL! I'm so overly thrilled that you guys all loved his mom! Cannot tell you how happy that makes me! And I promise, she will be back!

All my love to my beta, Trogdor19, who puts up with me being dumb. While scratching fuzzy chins for me. And letting me impersonate a pirate. Like you do. *blows kisses*

Enjoy!

Chapter 5: Games I Lose

I shouldn't be nervous. That's just stupid.

Still…

I blow out a breath as I pull open the door and go inside. I'm a little early for work, but at least I'm not late.

I went home yesterday like Elena told me to, and I pretty much crashed. And I needed it. But I also woke up at four this morning because I couldn't sleep anymore. So I got an extra four hours to think about that whole hand-holding aneurysm thing that happened yesterday.

I still have no idea what the fuck that was about.

I've known Elena for three years now, and I don't get why suddenly things seem to be so different. Why I'm noticing what she's wearing and how good she smells and how soft her skin is. I mean, I see her all the time. I normally don't get that close to her because why would I? And it's not like I haven't touched her before. But I can't remember ever being so affected by it.

It's just Elena.

Elena who gets irritated when Ric and I make sex jokes, who grimaces when I curse and who is determined to convince me that Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan are just as cool as Rage Against the Machine. Three years of her passing her headphones over to me on her break and going, "Ooh! Listen to this one, you'll love it!" and no, I am not convinced.

She wrinkles her nose when I eat red meat or chug a Monster, and she told me in all seriousness that more adults should watch Disney movies because they're just as entertaining and thankfully without being focused on violence and cursing and sex. So I suggested she rent Watership Down because it was right up her alley, animated and all about bunnies, and she got all excited and promised she would. And I know she watched it because she came into work the next day and refused to talk to me for the rest of the week.

Honestly? We're barely friends. We're coworkers. Acquaintances. She doesn't approve of my life and I don't understand how she lives hers without dying of boredom. But she's still cute, and she's a little funny, and I live a good chunk of my existence four feet from her voice and her laugh and her easy grace.

When I leave work, I can still hear the way she says "Aww" and "I'm so sorry" and "I hear an angel in the background…" and even the occasional "We're gonna take a few deep breaths and we're going to get through this, together."

I can't forget how dumbstruck I was the first time I heard her tell someone, "When bad things happen to me, I always think 'Why me?' But you know what I tell myself next? 'Better me than someone else.' Because even though I'm hurting and I'm scared, I'm alive. And if that car hadn't hit me, maybe it would have struck someone who wouldn't have walked away, who wouldn't have reacted like I would, like you did, and kept everyone safe. It could have been a woman who was nine months pregnant, or someone with kids in the car. And I know this is hard and you didn't need this to happen, believe me, I do, but you're here, and I'm thankful for that. That I got to talk to you."

Does any of that mean that I suddenly want to start holding her purse? Fuck no. But it doesn't mean that I can't appreciate her, or try to be nice, especially after she forgave me for being a total dick to her and completely saved my ass. Ergo, the overly-girly, half of her daily calories and Weight Watcher points, single indulgence she allows herself a week that is currently numbing my hand as I walk down the cubicle aisle towards my desk: A Venti, Cinnamon Dolce Frappuccino with an extra shot of coffee, as if she needs more perking up, and of course it has to be soy milk to combat the two extra squirts of artery-clogging syrup on top of the white froth the menu claimed is whipped cream, but is really more like meringue considering it's pure sugar, all sprinkled with more cinnamon topping so it's basically a gold and white adrenaline rush in a clear plastic cup that Elena is going to recycle.

With my name written in big block letters on the label stuck to the side because I bought it.

An act that was immediately followed by the overwhelming urge to hop on the counter and kick the stack of Kelly Clarkson holiday CD's, rip off my shirt and roar at the blend of yuppies and hippies because I am a man, dammit, and having the snooty college dropout loudly relay my order was fucking embarrassing.

Though possibly not as embarrassing as this is going to be.

Ric and Elena are already here, and one day I'm going to come in at seven just to see if they're actually spending the night at their desks because seriously? It's ridiculous that they get here so early every single day.

I take a sip of my own coffee, wonderfully free of anything except for cream like a normal, sane person drinks, and I don't even look at Elena when I place hers on her desk and then sit in my chair, swiveling so my back is to both of them.

Neither of the gawkers is saying anything but I can feel their stares burning a hole into the back of my head, and I am going to ignore them. Yep.

It's not that big of a damn deal. It's just coffee, or something supposed to resemble it.

I fire up my computer and glance at my phone, and I've got eight minutes to kill before the circus starts. If they don't stop acting like I just dropped to my knees and proposed to her, I'm going to lose it.

"Laryngitis going around?" I mutter and Ric clears his throat.

"Good morning," Elena says quietly, a sweet smile in her voice, and I feel the tug of a grin at the corner of my lips with my back safely to her.

But Ric still isn't talking and I need to dislodge the mushroom cloud of awkward before it takes root over us for the next ten hours. I take out my cell phone and YouTube Pink and Glitter by Tori Amos, turning up the speaker volume so it reaches all the long way across the aisle.

The slow piano starts, and I get up and move to stand in front of Ric.

I bow and hold my hand out with a slick grin. "May I have this dance?"

Elena giggles quietly when he slaps his hand over his heart, batting his eyelashes at me when he says in a high pitched voice, "Oh my, I thought you'd never ask!"

He takes my outstretched hand and I pull him up, and he steps into my waltz position like a champ, his hand on my shoulder as I begin to lead us in a slow revolve.

"Dawn Roses that is what you call
All the girls in the world, even the thorns.
You're surrounded by an army of two who adore you…"

Elena is fully beaming as she watches us dance, her iced coffee concoction nestled in her hands and held closely to her chest like it's something precious.

"Our joy isn't about a present or a grown up motor toy
Little boys don't get an honorable mention from me
But this year I'm thinking
Shower the world, shower the world
Shower the world with pink if you please…"

"Is that Brut aftershave I'm falling for?" I ask smoothly and Ric pretends to giggle.

"Old Spice…"

"Mmm, smells nice," I croon and dip him backwards, and my best friend flips his head back dramatically before I pull him back vertical and yank him closer.

"Ooh la la," Elena teases, and I risk a smirk.

I lead Ric in a tango strut down the length of the aisle, most of the other people we work with all now standing and watching us amusedly, and it only spurs me on more. And apparently it does the same for my buddy because he twists and turns, kicking up a foot behind him and putting on one hell of a show.

I jerk our arms back towards Elena, and while I tango us back to where she's sitting, I say under my breath, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Getting a quiet, "Oh yeah," from Ric before Elena can hear us.

We stop back in front of her and make one more slow turn to the piano music still removing my balls, then without a word between us, Ric and I separate and bust out our mad air-guitar skills that would make Bill and Ted jealous, while head-banging hard enough to earn us whiplash like we're at a Killswitch Engage concert and not listening to Tori Amos sing about champagne.

Elena bursts out laughing as she scoots her chair farther away from us, since we're now moshing inside her cubicle and basically have her trapped so she's forced to endure us, while the rest of the claims department cheers us on.

I can only wonder what the people calling in think we're doing, because there's no way they can't hear our insanity over the phones.

"You looked like shit Wednesday," Ric says when I duck by Jenna at the front door, heading to where he's holed up in the recliner in his living room, the volume of Friday Night Sports Center turned way down.

I pucker a kiss at him and collapse into my spot on the couch. "Thanks, gorgeous. You always lookin' so fine," I drawl and he snorts.

He reaches onto the side table and produces two glasses, both already half full of whiskey. I take mine and raise it an inch in thanks, tossing it back in one wincing gulp.

Today took forever. It was a normal ten hour shift, but starting at eleven A.M. instead of nine and logging out at ten instead of eight really fucked my internal schedule. It was busy as all hell too; I don't know why Elena set up her week to work on Fridays. The place was a war zone and the people calling in were more rude than normal and everyone just wanted it to be the weekend already.

But I'd rather work one of her Friday shifts instead of not having a job, and Wednesdays aren't bad at all. I almost feel better that even though she had to work four days straight instead of having her normal day off in between, she didn't have to put up with the chaos and simultaneously got a three day weekend out of the deal. Who knows, maybe she'll actually take advantage of it and go on a date or at least try to have some fun tonight.

"You ready to spill your guts, princess?" Ric taunts as he takes a sip.

I lean back into the cushions and consider, finally settling on the truth. "Got arrested Tuesday night."

"No shit?"

"Yep. Fucker pulled me over because they ID'd my car after a 'domestic disturbance,'" I say sarcastically, air quotes included, and he snorts. "The bitch of it was, I'd stopped at a bar before raising hell so the cop tried to pop me on a DWI."

"Were you drunk?"

"No," I tell him, and I already know he believes me.

Because his only response is to shake his head before he says, "You refused to blow, didn't you?"

"Damn right I did," I say and he nods once, taking another drink. "Earned me a fancy night of staring at a cement wall with a couple of guys that couldn't count their collective teeth, a ruined rear bumper on my car from the dipshit that towed it, and a court hearing in two months about whether I get to keep my license. Score."

"Aw, that sucks," he chuckles and I glare at him. "Come on, man," he says and leans forward to pour more whiskey in my glass. "Let's get fucking wasted," he laughs.

Ladies and gentlemen, my best friend.

I knock my glass against his and take a drink, letting the liquid burn its way down my throat and into my stomach.

"So," he says, a devious grin on his face that I've known since I joined the track team in high school and even though he was two years ahead, we started hanging out. "Wanna play?"

I groan. "Fuck no. We're too old for this shit. You're too old for this shit," I say and he kicks at me.

"Stop being a bitch. You either play, or you go mow the lawn," he says and takes a deep pull.

I snort. Yeah, mow his lawn at ten-thirty at night. That's brilliant.

"Jenna?" I call out, looking over the back of the couch and she pokes her head into the living room from where she's doing God knows what in the kitchen. "How much did he have to drink before I got here?"

"Spurs lost," she says and I grimace.

He's been a diehard fan forever, and I'm fairly surprised he hasn't moved to San Antonio at this point so he could be courtside at every single one of their basketball games. And since they lost, he's probably halfway through the bottle and twenty minutes from passing out and drooling all over himself. Suddenly I'm very thankful I had to work tonight just so I got to miss the whiny, pouty shouting that accompanies every game.

"Don't say the name of that team in this house!" he yells, and Jenna's eyes widen with a grin before she ducks back into the kitchen. Probably not a bad idea.

"Fine, who's dealing?" I sigh and take another drink, and he immediately refills my glass.

"You're dealing, 'cause we're playing Fuck the Dealer and fuck…you."

"You're a moron," I mutter and take the deck of cards he hands me.

I shuffle and peek at the top card, and it's a Jack. Dipshit gets two guesses, one hint in between from me, and if he guesses the correct card, I'm chugging. But if he stays true to form and never figures out what card I'm not showing him, his glass is gonna be emptier a lot sooner than mine is. Technically there are a whole bunch of bullshit rules about the number of shots you're supposed to take versus how soon someone guesses the card and blah blah blah, but we never pay attention to that, and I don't know why it's called Fuck the Dealer when Ric is always the one that gets bombed when we play. But alas, here we are.

"What's it gonna be, Einstein?"

"Eight," he says and I roll my eyes.

"Higher."

"King," he immediately says and I arch an eyebrow at him, turning over the card so he sees the Jack. "Fuck!"

"This is pathetic. Like taking candy from a drunk, overweight, scruffy nerfherder baby."

"I am not overweight, asshole," he scowls at me. "I'm hotter than you are."

"The fuck you are," I laugh.

"Jenna!" he yells and she pokes her head out again. "Baby, who's hotter? Me or Dewey Gigolo over here?"

"You are honey, and his name was Deuce Bigalow," she says and when I scowl at her, she flips me off.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically.

"Anytime…Dewey."

"Go be useful and mop the floor," I tell her and Ric kicks me again while she heads back into the kitchen.

"Don't talk to her like that or I'll beat your sorry ass like whoever put a whuppin' on you the other night," he growls and I raise my hands in surrender.

Ric has a tendency to get a little momma bear when he's had too much to drink, even though he damn well knows Jenna's practically my sister at this point because I do consider him to be my brother. And she is a sister that is really, really fun to piss off because she can't get rid of me and I've been reminding her of that for five years now.

I actually introduced them because she is the older sister of a girl I was lightly dating a long, long time ago, and Jenna was always kinda around and was a lot more fun to talk to than she was supposed to be. And she's not a bad looking gal, by any means, but she was clearly wearing a sign that read "Not your type" and she totally fit Ric's, so I hooked them up.

Fucker owes me too, because they moved in together something like four months later and have been making googly-eyes at each other every single day since.

I don't remember what happened with me and her sister, and now that I think about it, I can't even decide whether her name was Isobel or Katherine because Jenna has two sisters and one of them is a lot older with a daughter that I apparently mistook for fair game. But the one I dated is never around and that's fine with me because what I do remember is that she was bossy and stuck up, and Jenna is a good cook and feeds me regularly without poisoning my food.

She totally adores me, and completely hates it, and it's fucking hilarious.

"So," I grin, "you're gonna put a whuppin' on me? I hear that right?"

"Would do you good," he mutters and goes to take a drink, frowning when he finds that his glass is empty. I check the next card in the deck and it's a five.

"Go," I say blandly and he stops mid pour.

"This is my house, asshole," he slurs and I roll my eyes. "Oh, game, yeah…"

"Guess a number, dumbass," I tell him when it's clear he has no idea what we're doing. He probably couldn't tell me the day of the week if I asked him. "You know what? Take a drink, just because you suck," I tell him and he snorts, but does it all the same.

"Two! No, three," he says proudly.

"Higher."

"Five," he yells and I turn the card over, showing that, shock of the century, he actually fucking got one. He flips me off and almost falls out of his chair he does it so emphatically, and I chuckle and look down into my glass. And for some reason I can't explain, suddenly that number in my head only seems to translate into the letter count of a certain name. I almost want to ask Ric what the fuck is wrong with me, but there's no damn way I'm bringing up Elena right now. It's already a sore subject and I don't need his sloshy sermon over my lack of manners.

I take a drink and swallow two E's, an L, an N and an A, and I feel every single one of them as they go down.

I really need to find a girl to fuck and get my head straightened out. This fixating shit is getting…itchy.

I check the next card. "Go," I tell him and he squints at me.

"Your turn, douchebag," he taunts. "Or did you forget?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mumble. "Jenna!" I yell and I hear her sigh.

"Baby, it's your turn, guess a card," she supplies, because she always plays referee for us. Not a bad thing to have around when we get further down the deck.

"See?" I smirk at him.

"Fine. Queen."

I take a drink just because I need it, and he studies me for a minute, his eyebrow creeping higher and higher towards his hairline.

"What?"

"Let me see the card," he says and snaps his fingers impatiently.

"You couldn't read the words off a billboard right now," I tell him as he snatches the card out of my hands. He looks at it and I narrow my eyes at his grin.

"Three, Damon. Not a queen."

I huff and take a drink.

"Something on your mind, buddy?" he teases and flings the card at me. "Little distracted lately? Hmm?"

"You know what, yeah. I was distracted by thinking about how much fun it's going to be when I flood your garage and ruin all eight hundred boxes of your baseball cards," I tell him and he scoffs.

"Liar," he says smugly and leans back in his chair, pulling the handle on the side to raise his feet and stretch all the way out. "It was Elena."

Seriously? I don't get him at all. Not even a few days ago he was telling me to stay away from her.

"Who's Elena?" Jenna asks, prancing into the living room and sitting on Ric's lap because restraining their public displays of affection isn't exactly one of their strong suits.

"Romeo's got a crush on a woman we work with," he grins at me.

"What the fuck?" I burst out, and Jenna's face lights up.

"Ooh, intrigue," she says, crossing her arms expectantly. "She pretty?"

"She's breasts and legs," I tell her and she reaches over to smack me upside the head.

"You're right," she says and glances over her shoulder at Ric. "He's in love."

"He brought her coffee the other morning too," Ric tells her and I chunk a throw pillow at him.

"Damon," Jenna smiles at me, head tilted like I just gave her a dozen fucking roses. "Did you really?"

I roll my eyes and look away, downing the rest of my whiskey.

"Oh my God!" Jenna squeals and I twitch.

"You know what?" I snap. "That 'domestic dispute' I got pulled over for? That was me calling her a bitch on her doorstep."

I grin proudly and both of their jaws drop.

Until Ric lurches forward and Jenna almost falls off his lap, but he catches her at the last minute.

"Tell me you're joking," he growls at me and I put my feet up on his coffee table, holding my glass out hopefully for a refill.

"Nope."

"Get your jerk feet off my table," Jenna admonishes and I cross my ankles instead. "Wait a minute," she says confused and shakes her head. "You said you went over there?"

"Yep."

"How do you know where she lives?" she asks suspiciously, and I don't answer.

"He's sleeping with her roommate," Ric supplies quietly and I shake my glass at him.

"What's a slut got to do to get a drink around here?"

A look flashes over Jenna's face that I don't recognize, but she still takes my glass and hands it to Ric, who sets it down on the side table instead of refilling it.

I pout. "I thought we were getting wasted."

"I thought I told you to stay away from Elena."

"Ric…" Jenna soothes and he waves her off.

"Yeah, well, I didn't," I tell him. "But we made up all nice and friendly, and it's no longer an issue, so you can go right back to pouring my drink."

"The hell I will," he snaps at me. "Dammit, Damon, for once in your life you're going to listen to me-"

"Babe," Jenna cuts in, "there's a dish on the top shelf in the pantry that I need so I can make dessert. You mind getting it for me?" She smiles at Ric and I nearly gag.

Because his whole face kinda melts into lovesick sucker when he tells her, "Sure." She wiggles down and he gets up, patting her ass before stumbling his way into the kitchen. We both watch his retreating back as he rebounds off the doorframe, calling out, "I'm alright!" before disappearing into the kitchen.

Then she attacks.

She's a blur of slaps and smacks to my arm and shoulder and I chuckle and cover myself protectively, because it's not the first time she's gone psycho on me for being a dick, and I'm sure it won't be the last.

"Ass," she hisses and pinches my arm before she sits down in the recliner again.

"Next time you pull that shit, I'm filing a restraining order," I tease, but she does not look amused.

"Jenna, there's no dish in the pantry. It's all food…" Ric mumbles and I snort.

"Top shelf! Real high," she lies to him and something crashes on the kitchen tile. "You listen to me," she whispers threateningly and my eyes widen mockingly. "I'm not sure who this girl is, but if you actually like her and Ric doesn't want you near her, then she must be a halfway decent person and thank Halle Berry for that because God knows you've been with worse. And you better not tell Ric I said this, but sometimes that man is too overprotective and yes, he's tough on you, but only because he cares and despite what he's said in the past, you're not the antichrist, Damon."

"Aww," I croon at her.

"However," she says all lecture-y, "you cannot treat a girl like that if you want a chance with her."

I open my mouth and she holds up a finger in a warning.

"I don't care what she did or said or what happened. Stop screwing around, especially with her roommate," she says disgustedly, "and maybe, if you keep apologizing, you'll get somewhere with her. Being in a real relationship is not the end of the world, you know. Oh, and coffee is good, but so are flowers. Save the jewelry for the big screw ups."

"Jenna, it's gone," Ric whines.

"I'm not dating her," I whisper harshly.

"Not if you keep that crap up," she says and leans forward, resting her hand on my arm. "Damon, you are a jerk, but you are a sweet jerk and I love you and I, we, want you to be happy. But you cannot call girls you like 'bitches!'"

"I don't like her!"

"Lie to someone who believes you," she says and I lock my jaw shut.

"See? Knew it," Jenna says haughtily as I glare at her.

"Jenna!" Ric yells as something else crashes on the floor in the kitchen.

She sighs and cocks her head at me. "What do you say, slut? You gonna help me wrangle him?" She smiles and gets up, and it takes me second before I remember to follow her.

"Found it!" Ric grins sloppily when he sees us, proudly holding up a box of popcorn.

I lean against the doorframe as Jenna wrestles it out of his hands while he tries to grope her, right in front of me, and I shake my head.

Yeah.

I may be in big fucking trouble.

A/N: Oh bromance, how I love thee! Oh Jenna, how I love thee more! And DAMON! I LOVE THEE MOSTEST! Anyone wanna take a guess about how Damon's gonna handle said trouble? Can't wait to hear your answers and thanks so much for the continual enthusiasm, see you guys next chapter when things get a little feisty. ;)

-Goldnox