If I'm free it's because I'm always running

-Jimi Hendrix

#

It wasn't Christmas season yet but the place was draped with Christmas lights. It was a dingy pit somewhere in Capitol Hill and Bonnie called his bluff before they sat down at the rickety oak bar with broken down seats.

He was used to girls in pink cardigans and fresh pearls who shocked easily. The place probably got him in their white cotton panties faster than you could say three Hail Mary's. The strange allure of the rugged bad boy did strange things to good girls.

Not this Disney Princess.

"Make that tequila shot and a boilermaker, "she told the hefty barman after Damon ordered her a pink cosmopolitan.

"What, no fancy pants cocktails?" he teased waggling his pronounced eyebrows.

"And give my friend here a Shirley Temple" Bonnie motioned with her head to Damon winking at the bartender.

"Bottoms up," she tipped her shot glass against his beer bottle before throwing her head back and downing the tequila. She probably shouldn't be drinking, she thought but her boss had been giving her such grief about her assignments that if she didn't pull an ace up her sleeve soon, she could kiss the job at the magazine goodbye. This interview with Salvatore was her last shot at salvaging the failure that Seattle was slowly becoming.

"How about it?' Damon jerked his head to the king sized pool table sitting by the mangy toilet with a big flashing neon sign above it.

"What's the wager?" she asked taking his cue and following him up the small stairs to the pool table. The watering hole was scattered with old comfortable regulars with their warm beer in Styrofoam cups watching televised brawls on outdated monitors.

"How about scotch at my place. Tonight?"

"How about no?"

"Have you been to any of my gigs?" Damon grinned, his eyes doing that lazy crawl thing again, roaming her body like she was a damn lamb at the slaughter. He waited handing her a pool stick.

"No, but I do my research, "she glanced up at him as she set the drink down beside her on the pool table.

"At seventeen you made your debut opening for Oasis," she licked her lips studying the balls first for that sweet shot." And eight years later here you are"

"You sold over a million albums before you left your band to try for a lead act. You don't do pretty notes with pretty lyrics. Your sound is authentic, crusty and gritty, "Bonnie leaned over the green felt table skilfully, and she could feel his eyes burning holes into her ass as she set up her first shot.

"Enjoying the view?" she glanced back, mouth curling in one corner.

"I've seen worse" he smiled clearing his throat before taking a long gulp of beer.

Bonnie sent the balls spinning in different directions, three of them going into pockets. She went in for another shot again, slamming the cue hard against the white ball, missing the pocket as her targeted red ball rolled back to the centre of the table.

"I guess you don't like being in the background" she said watching him take his careful turn at the table and relishing the sight of his sweet tight ass in rugged denim.

"How does a small town boy from Alabama get into Rock music?" she leaned against the broken juke box sizing him up "isn't country your thang?"

"No interview questions" he winked quickly glancing up at her from his angled shot.

"Then why am I here Salvatore?" Bonnie chewed the inside of her cheek digging her heels into the stained red carpet.

"You're here to look pretty and drink beer" he shrugged brushing past her chasing the perfect shot.

That perfect storm.

Bonnie felt something knot in the pit of her belly, a creeping rage as she gripped the pool cue tighter.

Play nice Bonnie.

"I'm guessing that your agent was your personality 'cause right now you're just an ass and a hole and neither one look too pretty from where I'm sitting" she finally responded watching him.

Damon took a moment before straightening up and glaring at her through long dark eyelashes. The nerves on his hard jaw balked and then his lips twitched into an unaffected simper as his blue eyes sent electric riffs through her system.

"Here, "she spat taking out a muddy dollar from her purse" next one's on me"

She could still feel those eyes of his follow her all the way down to the creaking double doors of the dive as she walked out

#

He hated seeing her go but he loved watching her leave and if she had not looked prettier than an Arizona sunset, he would have chased her. Chased her and bedded her. Then they would have both regretted it in the morning. He would have been sorry about it because he would've woken up sober and she would have regretted it because with morning comes light and with the light comes the truth and that truth was that he was a miserable bastard with too many voices in his head. Voices that told him to do crazy things like fuck her and leave her. Damon beckoned for another beer and caught a flash of his reflection in one of the bar mirrors. He quickly looked away. His demons hid in those smoggy mirrors and he didn't feel like facing them tonight.

He was scoffing at the miserable idea of going home alone, of not having gone to the after party that miserable club promoter had invited him to when she walked in. She was tall, brunette with legs like a stairway to heaven and the right amount of crazy in her grey eyes. The right amount of crazy he needed to stunt the growing shadows on his bedroom walls that promised to swallow him up any day now.

She was all kinds of right ingredients and Damon smiled beckoning her over with his beer.

"Are you experienced or have you been experienced?" he said stealing one of Hendrix's best lines as he cupped her chin in his warm hand.