A/N: Sunflowers are yellow, bluebonnets are blue, HOLY SHIT HAVE YOU SEEN ALL THESE REVIEWS? You guys are just out of control incredible and excuse me while I go freak out. Thanks.

Thank you dearly to Trogdor19 for beta'ing while in paradise, and for having the balls to wield a machete. Even though I want to rip it from your perfect little fingers more often than not. Tell you what, trade you 20k words for a crooked cake... You know you wanna...

Enjoy!

Chapter 6: Inviting Trouble

Seven fifty-seven.

Seven fifty-eight.

Seven fifty-nine.

And…

Fuck.

"Claims reporting, this is Damon."

"Yeah, I need to report an accident…"

There's a hell of a lot of noise in the background and dude is definitely on the highway. I can barely make him out over the sounds of cars passing by and people honking. "Okay, I can help you, no problem. You're at the scene of the accident?"

"Yeah…Jesus, man. This is bad, it's so bad…"

"Are you hurt?" I ask and he makes a strangled noise.

"Not me, man…the girl I hit…"

"I'm glad you're alright," I tell him, and Ric fist bumps me on his way out for the night. I mute my phone real quick and tell him, "I'll be there later," and he waves his hand over his head, not even stopping or looking back at me, and I unmute. "Okay," I tell the guy on my phone, "I need to get some information from you so we can get the claim reported, but first I need your phone number in case we're cut off."

"Okay…" he tells me, then sirens blare into the phone speaker. "The cops are here, and the ambulance just got here too," he says and I hear a police officer identifying himself, telling him to try to calm down. "Look man, can I just call back? I need to-"

"Go ahead, we're here 24/7 and someone will help you get it reported once you're safe."

"Thanks," he breathes and then the line drops.

Best of luck to you, buddy.

I log out of my phone and close the empty New Claim screen, then shut everything else down. I take off my headset and toss it onto my desk, leaning back in my chair and scrubbing a hand over my face.

"Mondays," Elena says from her desk, and I chuckle.

"You're not kidding," I tell her and stretch my arms above my head with a yawn.

"What are you—" she says, then covers her mouth when she starts to yawn, pointing at me with her other hand. "Don't do that. Unfair," she says, then shakes her head quickly like she's trying to wake up.

I laugh quietly. "What were you saying?"

"Oh, what are you up to tonight?"

Well let's see, I could answer, but I'd need a minute first to find my fucking brain.

What the hell? Is she asking me out?

Nope. No way. Not possible.

I shrug. "Thought I'd try out a new brand of lipstick and wash my hair. Maybe do some lingerie window shopping, the normal."

She laughs and I mentally punch myself in the shoulder. "Well, have fun with that."

"And you are going to be dissecting the engine of a Chevelle Super Sport after getting your tattoo touched up, am I right?"

"How did you know?" she says and bats her eyelashes at me, and something weird happens in my stomach. I'm not even sure if it's a good thing. But it's definitely there.

"Gonna head to the gym," I tell her.

"Runner?"

I make a disgusted face. "No. Boxing."

"Oh," she says, intrigued. "That's cool. I used to do a lot of kickboxing before…"

"Before?"

She waves me off. "College. It's a good workout."

"Yeah, well," I say and lean back, proudly indicating my body and she blushes a little, but tries to hide it with another laugh.

No dice, she's still busted.

She shakes her head and resumes packing up her stuff, and ten bucks says she's headed to that travesty of a hookah lounge since it's Monday.

I shouldn't do it.

I need to just let it go.

It's been a long day and I'm barely in her good graces as it is and if she wants to listen to crap poetry and suck smoke, that's her right.

"You're welcome to come with," I tell her, and when her head whips towards me, pure shock on her face, I want to die. "I owe you a few swings at me anyways," I hear my mouth say, and what the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I just bring that shit up?

God, I need a lobotomy or something.

"Oh," she says uncomfortably and yep, definitely going to die. "That's okay, Damon. I don't want to bother you."

I scoff casually. "No bother, but no worries." I grab my phone and keys from my drawer, and when I stand, she's still sitting at her desk.

But the thing that locks me in place is she's biting her lip, watching me too closely.

"I, um, I don't have any…stuff," she says like she's embarrassed while tugging at the hem of her sleeve, and I smile.

"Tell you what; you know the 24 Hour Fitness at 12th and Anderson?"

"Yeah…"

"Okay, well that's where I'll be for about the next hour. So if you want to go home and change and meet me there, that's cool. If not, that's fine too."

"You sure you don't mind?" she asks again and I roll my eyes.

"We're just working out, Elena. And I'll be there either way."

I rap my knuckles twice on her desk as I pass by, sauntering calmly towards the parking lot and spinning my car keys around my finger.

As if the only thing in my brain isn't the constant repetition of the words: holy shit.

I blow out a tired breath and wipe a layer of sweat off my forehead with my forearm before retightening my stomach, going back to wailing on the punching bag.

I strike and jab with every single bit of strength I can wrench out of my shoulders and back and arms, and it feels fantastic and it's such a rush and I definitely needed this after all the crap of last week.

But in my mind I'm only thinking that I've been here for thirty minutes, and she's a no show.

I punch hard enough that the bag flies farther away on the chain than it's supposed to, and when it comes back I grunt under my next swing, knocking it the other direction.

Guess that settles that.

I hug the bag and steady it, catching my breath.

Fuck it. I grab my water bottle, squirting a long, cold stream into my mouth and I should probably just go ahead and leave. I'm tired and ready to drink a beer and relax, and I don't know why I thought—

"Damon?"

Speak of the devil.

I turn towards the door that just shut behind her and Jesus Christ, this was a bad idea. Because I'm pretty sure my mouth is on the floor at the sight of her in a high ponytail and a sleeveless little workout top, my cardio requirement for the week firmly completed from God's gift to men in the yoga pants that are melted onto her legs.

I crack a grin and take another drink of water, and she finally spots me. And turns completely red.

Yeah, I should probably put a shirt on. And I didn't do that on purpose, I just never wear one when I'm boxing because I feel too restrained and the staff has never said dick about me breaking their rules, but I almost wish this was intentional.

She straightens her posture before making her way towards me, fidgeting with the car keys in her hand.

"Hey," she says shyly, her gaze conspicuously trained on my face, and I chuckle.

"Hey yourself. Let me grab a shirt," I tell her and she glances away.

"Um, yeah…okay."

I pull a t-shirt out of my gym bag and tug it on, and I hear her blow out a long, quiet breath.

Good idea, bad idea, who the fuck cares? This is gonna be fun.

"Hand 'em over," I tell her and her eyes widen, then she startles herself into a functioning logic pattern and hands me her car keys. I toss them into the open side pocket of my bag so they don't get lost, and I don't know why, but she bites her lip. "How long has it been since you made something sorry it met you?"

"Huh?"

"How long since you kickboxed?" I clarify and she smiles.

"Oh, a few years, I guess. I mostly do yoga now," she says and I cock an eyebrow, my mouth watering.

I know all about those twisty chicks, and I am a fan.

"Well, let's see if you still got it."

I go to snag some oversized coaching mitts from nearby and when I come back and put them on, taking my place in front of her, she looks nervous. I shake them at her goofily and she huffs a soft laugh, loosening up.

"Come on, cupcake. Gimme your best shot."

"Don't call me that," she says immediately, stretching out her arms and shoulders.

"All part of my coaching plan, princess."

"Damon," she growls and I smile at her. Especially when she widens her stance and bends over at the waist, hugging one of her long legs, and then does the same to the other side.

All grins here, baby.

"Come on, slowpoke," I taunt and clap my mitts together. "This isn't geriatric yoga class, this is the real shit."

She straightens and there is an armory of irritated in those brown irises, which is exactly what I wanted to happen.

"You know, I didn't come here so you could be a crude jerk to me."

"Ooh," I tease. "All the same. Because I bet you hit like a ballerina too."

"Is that right?" she snaps and I flare my eyes.

"Yeah."

She narrows her eyes at me and then she swings, punching the holy hell out of my right palm and yeah, the mitts were a good idea.

"Whoo," I say and shake my hand out, and she smiles proudly.

"Who's the ballerina now?"

"Alright, alright," I nod. "You've got some fire. Let's keep it going."

She sets her stance, hands protectively high, and she tests the distance between us by touching each of her fists to the inside of my mitts. I scoot a little closer.

"Better?"

"Yeah," she says, and she's all focus now. She takes a breath and I can see it settle over her when she locks down, and then she lets loose.

I give her a few words of encouragement here and there, but mostly I stay silent and let her live in the zone for a good fifteen minutes as her adrenaline surges and her hits get harder, her body obviously remembering something it used to do often. She's got a nice rhythm, a decent three-punch set that she's honed and her breathing is good, movements are clean. I don't know who taught her to do this, but they did a fine job.

"Come on, three more," I tell her and she sucks in a breath before she gives me all she's got. "Two… Last one…" I tell her and she knocks the ever loving shit out of my hand.

I hiss with a grimace, and she gasps and covers her mouth with her hands.

"Oh my gosh, Damon! I'm so sorry, are you okay?" she squeaks, and I can't help but laugh as I pull off the mitts. Even though it's really embarrassing that she actually hurt me.

"I'm fine," I assure her and she seems to relax for a moment, then realize she's completely exhausted.

"Okay," she says breathily, leaning over to rest her hands on her knees.

"Uh-uh, stretch," I tell her and she smiles, but still rolls her eyes at me as she straightens. "How do you feel?" I ask as she pulls an arm across her body, then switches to the other side.

"Awesome," she says happily and I nod once. "But awesomely pooped. I forgot how tiring that is," she says and wrinkles her nose, and I don't know what's cuter: the face she's making, or the fact that she just used the word "pooped" to describe her state of being.

When she's done keeping her muscles from tightening up, I hand her the extra towel I grabbed from the locker room. You know, just in case.

"Um, thanks," she says and bites her lip, and I don't know why she's getting all flustered.

She's sweating, so what? That's the whole point.

I snort and turn away under the pretense of grabbing the water bottle so she can dab her "glow" off with my back turned, and when I turn around she is hilariously free of anything resembling moisture. Prissy chicks are ridiculous.

I toss her the water bottle and she catches it, squirting a fair amount in her mouth and if I'm not mistaken, she's still wearing lipstick.

Wow. Talk about uptight.

"What?" she asks and yep, I just got nailed.

Screw it. Might as well be honest. "You're wearing makeup," I explain and she rolls her eyes.

"You think I'm one of those girls, don't you?"

"What girls?" I grin.

"You know, the ones that get all dolled up to go 'work out' which really entails them strutting around the gym so they can meet a hot guy."

"I didn't say that," I tell her and hold up my hands in surrender.

"Jeez," she sighs. "I was running late and didn't take off my makeup from earlier today. That's all," she says emphatically and I widen my eyes. "I'm not trying to…"

"Trying to what?" I tilt my head at her innocently, and I barely keep from laughing.

She throws her hands up in exasperation and this time, I do laugh.

"I'm just messing with you," I tell her and she crosses her arms. "I'll be good," I promise and her eyes narrow.

"I find that really hard to believe."

I clear my throat because I'm pretty sure the last time she said that, I followed it up by making a comment about BDSM. I'm also fairly certain she remembers that too, because those cheeks suddenly turn just as pink as her lips.

I decide to give her a break before she bails on me, and I nod towards the hanging Everlast bag. "Want to keep going?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I say casually, then slide my mouth into a patented smirk. "No point in wearing pants like that if you don't put the elasticity to use," I say and duck away from her shoving my shoulder.

"Jerk."

"Hey, I meant for you to go after the bag, not me," I tell her, and she shakes her head, re-crossing her arms.

"How does Ric put up with you all the time?"

"Because he adores me," I say and bat my eyelashes.

"How long have you guys been friends?"

"High school," I tell her and she smiles warmly. "Sir Burps A Lot was a few years ahead, but we played some of the same sports."

"Is that code for 'working your way through the varsity cheerleading roster'?" she grins, and I steal the water bottle back from her.

"Not only," I tell her and take a drink, and she nods once.

"Right."

"Hey Damon," a sugar sweet voice says, and both Elena and I glance at the source. And I don't remember hearing anyone else come in the empty gym, but I guess it's beside the point now. Because there's a blond haired, solid C cup that I'm well acquainted with, strutting past us and swinging her hips in an obvious ploy to flaunt every curve on her body. None of which is left to the imagination thanks to the outfit that's barely covering her.

"Hey Rebekah," I smile politely and she winks at me, heading over to a treadmill. Right, as if that girl has ever ran voluntarily, except to be the one first at Saks when they're having a sale.

I turn to look back at Elena, and no doubt about it, I'm in trouble.

Talk about total bullshit.

I arch an eyebrow at her pursed lips, and she shakes her head disappointedly.

Fucking hell, it's not like I just stuck my tongue down Rebekah's throat or started humping her, I acknowledged her. I barely even checked out her ass, and it's not like I could help doing it. It's a nice ass, and it's being prominently displayed for my viewing pleasure. Why should I let that opportunity go to waste when it's so freely offered and I'm as single as can be? That's just…ungrateful.

Besides, it's not like Elena and I are doing anything, or are anything, that would require me to rudely ignore a friend, and that's all Rebekah is. A friend. Who I sleep with. Occasionally. And I'm nice to my friends, which Elena would know if she would get off her high horse for more than three seconds at a time.

Actually, it doesn't matter, because even if Elena hadn't pretty much flashed a chastity belt in my face, I really don't want to go there when all I see is a big dose of complicated. Even if it is packaged in a hot little body with a soothing voice and killer smile.

The point is, if she's looking for me to act like she's the only person in existence when she's around, she's glaring at the wrong guy.

"Really?" I say, frustrated, and she huffs, glancing down.

"No," is all she says and then she's snatching up her car keys from the pocket of my gym bag.

Jesus, talk about overreaction.

"Thought we were gonna work out?" I test as she straightens, and she narrows her eyes at me.

"We did, and now we're done. Thank you for inviting me, Damon."

She turns to leave and I snag her hand, and she yanks it away from me.

"I'll see you at work. Goodnight," she says quickly, and then she's striding towards the door.

I blow out a breath and scrub a hand through my hair.

Fucking great. Tomorrow is gonna be super.

"Hope your friend didn't leave because of me," Rebekah says from where she's walking on the treadmill, and I glance at her.

You know what? Fuck it. This is exactly what I need. I'm done letting Miss America screw with my head, and it's past time to get it straightened out.

I saunter my way over to Rebekah and the corner of her lips turns up when I lean against the front of the machine.

"You are trouble," I growl playfully, and she tilts her head.

"Never said I wasn't."

I let her watch as my eyes slowly rake her over, and she super subtly arches her back more to highlight her breasts. Not that it matters, because she's only wearing a sports bra and some teeny tiny black spandex shorts.

"Never gonna get anywhere at that pace," I say and nod to the ultra-low speed setting, and she laughs.

"What, you think I want to be like you? I mean, really, Damon? You are completely covered in sweat." She wrinkles her nose and I wrinkle mine back.

"Happens."

"Sure does," she smiles.

"Hmm," I smirk. "Well, I'm gonna hit the showers. Careful, there are bad people that hang around this gym."

"I'll keep my eye out, thanks," she breathes, and I nod once.

I step away, slapping her ass on my way past her and she squeaks. "Hurry it up," I tell her and she giggles.

I grab my gym bag and head towards the locker room, stripping down and getting into the shower.

Not two minutes later I hear the door open, and I chuckle, shaking my head. I finish lathering down and rinse off, listening to the soft sounds of someone undressing.

"Trouble," I tease quietly when soft breasts press into my back, delicate hands winding around my side and sliding down my stomach.

"Like you aren't," Rebekah whispers as her fingers wrap around my cock, and I close my eyes with a peaceful sigh when she begins to stroke me.

A/N: *ducks* Okay! I know I know, that was screwed up, but I swear things are gonna get better. Quickly. Ish. Feel free to rant away tho, I know you want to ;) All my love and can't wait to hear your thoughts and comments, and don't forget to hit those buttons because coming up we get some war of words and some supernatural creatures making a surprise appearance and a teensy bit of background on our beloved (probably current detested) Damon Salvatore. Let's see if I can't get you back on his side ;)

-Goldnox