A/N: I am on a Bamon roll. Muse don't fail me now. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, added to your faves, alerts all that groovy stuff. Keep on spoiling me, and I'll keep on writing. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith/CW Network. No copyright infringement is intended.
February 21st, 2014 8:40 pm
"I met a beautiful lass tonight."
"Is that supposed to be news?" Damon gave his friend a perfunctory stare as he shrugged his shoulders.
Enzo could hardly go forty-eight hours without meeting a new "lass" as he loved to call the women who crossed his path and immediately fell for his above average features and British accent. Couldn't forget about the accent.
The man in question leaned forward in the leather arm chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he balanced a bottle of beer between his fingers. "No, it's not supposed to be news but…and I've seen countless gorgeous women before, but there was something about this one that just…" he trailed off unable to find the words. His mouth fell into the shape of an O, a faraway almost dreamy look came into Lorenzo's eyes.
Damon arched a dark eyebrow and looked at Mason for confirmation who merely nodded his head in agreement. "All right. So what did she look like? If you can even find the words to describe how this woman is so different from the hundreds of other women you've met since you started nocturnal emissions?"
Enzo gifted Damon with the finger and took a swig of beer. Mason chuckled.
It wasn't exactly a rule, but it had been silently agreed that Enzo and Damon both thought of themselves as modern-day Casanovas and battled it out. Not on the number of women they could smash, but the quality of women they decided would decorate their arm for an evening or two. Or until someone better came prancing along.
Mason preferred women with edge. They didn't have to be polished socialites, hailing from rich families with connections out of the wahzoo, and were beautiful beyond imagination. If a woman could watch twenty minutes of a sports game and not complain about being bored, liked drinking beer or doing shots, and riding in his monster jeep and not make a fuss about getting dirty—then they had a chance to be romanced by him.
His two friends, Mason wouldn't call them snobs, at least not to their faces. Wait, what was he saying? Of course he had and did refer to his boys as Prince of Cats, girly men from time to time mostly just to ruffle their feathers and rag on them. Damon was the metrosexual one out of the bunch, and Enzo had his high tea moments as well, but they could be gritty and gutter when necessary.
He quietly sipped his beverage, eyes volleying between the conversation taking place, and the game playing lowly on the flat screen.
"Well, she was a petite, elfin little thing. Fine bones, lovely bone structure all hidden under supple caramel skin…"
"Dear Playboy…" Mason sniggered. Damon chortled.
"Shut it," Enzo sniffed and continued. "She had the most stunning pair of green eyes, dark wavy hair, a mouth oddly enough shaped like Cupid's bow…"
Dread crash landed in the bottom of Damon's stomach. Those features his friend was describing sounded like Bonnie Bennett to a T. Instead of jumping to conclusions because, Damon was sure, there may have been a hundred or so women in the city who shared a similar physical appearance to her, he refused to believe the world was that damn small.
"Did she give you a name?" Damon's voice had taken on a gravelly quality.
"She did. Sheila," Enzo grinned deviously. "That's all she told me and I was too enthralled I failed to get her number. I doubt she would have given it to me anyways. She looked…it was her birthday but she didn't exactly look as if she were in party mode."
This couldn't be happening, Damon thought. He knew that today was Bonnie's birthday. The odds of it not being her seemed to shrink.
Rising from his couch, Damon headed over to his floor-to-ceiling windows. New York was beautiful at night and he had an amazing view of it from his penthouse suite. All this space, no one to share it with. Life changed with the stroke of a scalpel, going through a turbulent divorce, and on the cusp of being reunited with a girl he met at a basketball game during his senior of college.
When the hell did he turn into a character from a Nicholas Sparks novel?
Mason and Enzo traded dubious expressions wondering what flipped Damon's switch. It was pretty much common knowledge the man was the living embodiment of a mood ring. One minute, affable, the next ready to take someone's head off without warning. They often teased him about having too much estrogen for his own good, but deep down they knew Damon suffered with some deep seated insecurities he was never forthcoming with, or had actually made the effort to conquer.
"You feeling all right, man?" Mason asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."
"This might be a sore subject," Enzo began tentatively, "but how's the divorce coming along? Any closer to having things finalized?"
Damon drained the rest of his cranberry juice. He abhorred the fact he had to basically eliminate alcohol from his diet. This new heart was simply cramping his style.
He faced his friends. "If you know Elena then you know she's pouting and stomping her feet on the ground and being a complete bitch about everything."
"Told you not to marry her, dude," Mason placed his empty beer bottle on the coaster on the glass coffee table. "She reminded me too much of my ex-girlfriend Kat. Beautiful and self-centered. Egotistical as all get out but a great fuck in bed. I tried to make things last but sex can't be the glue to hold something together."
"Trust me," Damon snorted. "I didn't marry Elena specifically for her skills in the bedroom which had been severely lacking until I took her under my tutelage."
"So why'd you marry her then? I'm sure you've told us your reasons before, but refresh our memories will ya?" Enzo bargained.
He didn't care for Elena one way or the other. He thought she made a nice showpiece but there had been very little substance to her. Enzo always figured Damon could have done much better for himself. Find someone equally as adventurous and cutthroat, but he settled for what they all assumed was the unassuming girl-next-door that was very green about everything. Elena had the consistency of vanilla. Bland looking but kind of a nice taste if you like straightforwardness.
Then it was like she had undergone a personality change the second her career as a top model took off, which to be fair had been expected. Damon began spending more time at the office to escape Elena who retired at the ripe age of twenty-six. He didn't have all the details in what corroded his mate's marriage, but if Enzo had to take a guess, he'd put his money on infidelity.
Who the unfaithful party was…he didn't know.
Damon retook his seat—thinking. What exactly was it that made him fall for Elena? She had beauty but so did every single woman he worked with or employed. She was smart but deeply clueless about real world matters. Perhaps he saw something in her he could mold, make great. Maybe she had been nothing more than a project for him because he had grown bored of his life and took a lot for granted. In some ways, Elena had humanized Damon, brought him back down to earth that not everyone was jaded, cynical, and only looking out for themselves.
He said as much to his friends, and when they asked where did things take a turn for the worst, he replied,
"Right after my heart attack."
Mason shook his head. "That's fucked up."
"The weeks beforehand we could hardly agree on the brand of toilet paper to buy. What really hammered the final nail in the coffin was her cheating on me with a stripper at one of her snotty friend's bachelorette parties."
Enzo and Mason's jaws collectively dropped.
"You're kidding?" Enzo was simply astonished.
"I wish I were."
"You don't seem all that upset about it," Mason drew a measured eye over his boy. "Did you dip your stick in one of those models you manage?"
Damon was outraged. "Sorry, I come from a long line of Italian men whose word is their bond. I've been tempted—you know I have. But I don't shit where I eat. Yes, I was livid. Wanted to kill her when I found out. But I looked at it as a crappy blessing in disguise. I had the ammo I needed to divorce her ass and send her packing, and…I could finally pursue the one who got away."
"The one who got away?" Enzo lifted a brow. "And who might this person be?"
Smiling cryptically all Damon would commit to saying was, "You'll see. Look, I can't lay all the blame on Elena on why our relationship became toxic. I did things I shouldn't have done. Behaved like a child to get her to leave me alone. Insulted her. But I never thought she'd drop her drawers and spread her legs for someone else. I did love her. Guess…I didn't do a good job of showing her I did."
"Still," Enzo added his two cents, "that's no excuse for her to make a cuckold out of you."
"Cuckold? What century are you living in, dude?" Mason could hardly keep the mirth off his face.
"Jealousy that I actually know the English language better than you do is not becoming, love."
Damon rolled his pretty blue eyes as his college buddies began bickering back and forth. If Stefan were here they'd all be holding their stomachs and rolling on the ground. He lived for doing his rendition of Enzo's accent.
"Am I going to have to put you two in a time out?" Damon threatened.
"No, mom," Enzo and Mason chirped in unison.
"Let's get things back on track."
Two hours later, Damon shuffled his obnoxious friends out of his condo, and plunged the place into darkness. He did some debriefing in his home office, stripped, took a shower, popped his meds, and stared up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.
Elena cheating on him did hurt—crushed his ego, but Damon wasn't exactly surprised by her actions. She thought she had been slick, the long looks she would give Stefan when she figured his mind was elsewhere. The way she flirted with the male models and even staff of his company. The elder Salvatore calculated it would only be a matter of time before his lovely wife stepped out, and maybe he even counted on it to hasten things. He stopped loving her a long time before she committed adultery and now he just wanted to be free.
He didn't know what the future held. If he would one day strike up the courage to actually approach Bonnie. Even if he did there was no guarantee he was actually her type. He needed to prepare himself for all scenarios, but Damon was a strategist and a winner. The odds would be in his favor.
Queens, NY
February 24th, 2014 6:13 p.m.
The good die young; evil lives forever. Bonnie didn't know who came up with those rules. Circumstances happened that were beyond anyone's control, and the things which could be controlled were still susceptible to falling apart. Where then did anyone stand in the grand scheme of things if things were scheduled to happen on a specific clock?
Closing the last and final box of Henrik's things, Bonnie attempted to swallow the lump festering in the back of her throat. Cleaning out his closet, going through his dresser drawers, folding his garments, and putting them into boxes hadn't been explicitly Bonnie's idea, but Rebekah's.
She had shown up at the brownstone three days after her birthday party with a bottle of chardonnay and packing tape.
"Rebekah," Bonnie closed her robe and tied the knot wondering what her former sister-in-law was doing in her borough knowing how much she hated Queens. "What are you doing here?"
"I come bearing gifts and…it's time to move Henrik's things."
Bonnie had been so tempted, extremely tempted to slam the door in Rebekah's face for her audacity. The two had been cordial through the years—asking each other the appropriate questions to feign interest but that's where things began and ended. Bonnie had never been the type to jump through hoops to impress anyone. So she kept her in-laws at arm's length. Maybe she stereotyped them because they had known wealth and success all their lives, and Bonnie came from humble beginnings, but she didn't lift too many fingers to find a commonality outside of Henrik with her extended family.
Now here stood her sister-in-law thinking it was perfectly fine to show up on her doorstep out of the blue telling her she needed to pack Henrik's things. Who the hell did she think she was?
"You have a lot of nerve," Bonnie practically hissed. She had seen a less rigid side of Rebekah at her party and it almost made Bonnie want to open up. The door had just been slammed shut on that.
Rebekah wasn't the type to take no for an answer. No one needed to tell her how impertinent it was to show up without an invitation and think Bonnie would be open to her suggestion of removing all traces of her brother from the home he shared with his wife. Her intentions weren't to be cruel, but to help Bonnie ease out of her mourning phase and reenter life.
Perhaps she miscalculated in thinking her birthday party meant Bonnie was ready to turn over a new leaf. Her smile dropped, and the bottle of wine looked seconds away from crashing to the hard ground below and shattering.
"I'm sorry," Rebekah said softly. "I don't know why I'm here actually. I guess…I was thinking of Henrik earlier and he used to wear this shirt, a horrid thing. It was bright yellow, tight as hell, and had some weird design on it but he loved it so much. He bought it from a boy who was selling his personal things in order to feed his family in San Marcos. The shirt was literally worth nothing, but Henrik must have paid a good two hundred dollars for it."
Bonnie nodded. She knew which shirt Rebekah had been referring to. Relenting, she stepped aside, and waved Rebekah inside her home. Bonnie confiscated the bottle of wine. Rebekah smiled shakily and entered the two story dwelling; eyes taking an inventory of everything.
The place wasn't opulently furnished like her Fifth Avenue apartment, but everything she saw, Rebekah knew had been selected with love in mind, which sounded horribly clichéd; however, the truth was right in front of her. This place was more of a home than her cold and modernly decorated penthouse. Immediately, Rebekah felt her brother's spirit, and that was the main reason why she came here. She wanted to be close to her brother.
The two women sat on the couch. An awkward silence passed between them.
"I know which shirt you're talking about," Bonnie opened up. "He didn't wear it that often, but he told me about its significance when I questioned him about it. Henrik had such a big heart."
"He did," the blonde replied and swiped a tear from the corner of her eye before it had the chance to fall. "Some days," Rebekah chuckled, "I believed he was switched at birth. When it came to community service he actually volunteered and didn't just cut a check like my parents; or stayed around long enough to do a photo-op wearing gloves and feeding the homeless. I still can't believe he's gone," her chin quivered.
Bonnie had to look away from Rebekah or she would have started crying, too. "I wake up every morning wishing it were a nightmare. This place isn't the same," she looked around her home. "We need a drink."
"Agreed."
Cracking open the bottle and killing it within minutes, Bonnie and Rebekah laughed as they told old stories about their time and relationship with Henrik. Bonnie thought she knew nearly everything about her deceased husband, but what Rebekah disclosed had her holding her sides and shaking her head at his willful stupidity.
"He really believed he could get a girl pregnant by going down on her?" Bonnie giggled.
"He had our grandmother to thank for scaring him straight when it came to sex at the tender age of thirteen. Klaus was the one who actually set Henrik up. He went to our grandmother saying he was concerned about Henrik and that she should talk to him to make sure he didn't make any illegitimate children."
Children, hearing that made a pang go off in Bonnie's chest and stomach. She would never have his children…but…
"I got a strange phone call the other day," she confessed suddenly.
"Yeah? From who?" Rebekah tossed back the last remaining drop of wine in her glass.
"A fertility clinic," Bonnie shook her head.
Rebekah's mouth plopped open. "Why would a fertility clinic call you?"
"Apparently Henrik had his sperm frozen," the widow explained dubiously. "The clinic must have received a notice or something about his death, and they called me since Henrik had requested I be contacted should anything happen to him. I think he had it frozen before we were married. Anyways, the clinic wanted to know what I wanted to do with it. Either use it on myself, have it destroyed, or donated," Bonnie rolled her eyes. She was beginning to hate that word donate.
"Wow," Rebekah fell back heavily against the cushioned back of the couch. "Do you know what you're going to do? Do you want to have a baby?"
That was the question which drove Bonnie up a wall. She didn't know what to do, how to handle this situation. Yes, she wanted to be a mother and raise her child or children with her husband, but her husband was dead, his organs spread across the nation. Bonnie could have a piece of Henrik to herself that was more tangible than memories and photos; however, she didn't want to be a single mother.
Bonnie finally replied after a hard sigh, "I haven't decided. I have time, but if Henrik's death taught me anything is that time is precious and nothing is promised to us. I don't want to squander the opportunity, but at the same token I'm not mentally prepared to be a single mom."
Rebekah commiserated, "Believe me, I understand." She had a few pregnancy scares back in college and made a firm vow with herself to take her birth control religiously, and find the most mature man she could to start a family with.
She and Marcel had been married for less than two years. Mrs. Gerard knew neither one of them was mentally ready for parenthood, but she did desire to have her own family.
"Whatever you decide, I'm here for you, Bonnie. You won't have to go through pregnancy and raising a child on your own. Your baby would be my little niece or nephew and would want for nothing. Mikaelson's take care of their own."
Bonnie smiled and nodded. "I have time I don't need to decide anything right now. I just want to get through this year. No other interruptions, please," she stressed that word emphatically.
Talk of babies, and some of Henrik's greatest hits and failures made Bonnie rise from the couch and head into her bedroom, and she didn't stop walking until she reached the closet. She flicked on the light.
His suits hung there waiting to be perused, waited to be selected, worn and accessorized. Knowing what a humanitarian her late husband was, Henrik would want Bonnie to donate his: suits, shoes, and other personal effects like watches and cufflinks to a men's shelter or Goodwill.
Bonnie strolled down the walk-in closet reverently touching his things. She picked up the sleeve of one his button downs, held it to her nose, and inhaled. His scent was there but faint.
Too much was happening at one time. Losing her best friend, burying him, having the chance to carry on Henrik's legacy by having his child. Bonnie could only take one step at a time.
The first step being doing something he would want her to do.
"I'm doing this for you," Bonnie said as she started pulling things off the rack. If this were up to her she'd keep all this stuff.
Rebekah entered the room and nearly a third of Henrik's things littered the king sized bed. She only observed Bonnie, seeing the tears fall silently down her cheeks, probably trying not to think about items she personally bought as birthday, Christmas, anniversary, or just because gifts.
The two women began to work in silence and two hours later, most of Henrik's things were arranged although haphazardly.
"How do you feel?" Rebekah questioned when they took a break.
Bonnie swallowed thickly. "Alone…but free."
"Then you're on the right track. His things may no longer be here, but he'll never leave you."
"I know that."
Impulsively, Rebekah kissed Bonnie on the cheek and disappeared to get another box.
Chelsea, NY
March 25th, 2014 1:15 p.m.
Damon would not constitute what he was doing as stalking. He was simply several blocks away from his office about to partake of some lunch. Nothing wrong with that and a man needed to eat. Sure, where he may have chosen to have lunch at a restaurant located in the neighborhood where Bonnie Bennett worked, but hey that was mere coincidence.
He thought the decision had been easy. Simple. He would simply…go to the gallery where she worked and pretend to be interested in buying a couple of oil paintings or portraits, and then "act" like he remembered who she was. They would strike up a conversation, exchange business cards, or plug each other's numbers into their smartphones, and promise to get together later for dinner or drinks.
It worked out all so beautifully in his mind. When he finally gathered the courage to put his plan into motion, had actually made it to Chelsea, he froze in mid-emerge from the taxi the second his lapis eyes spotted Bonnie.
She was coming out of the door almost in slow motion to him, a wide, carefree smile on her face making her more radiant than anyone had a right to be under the dreary sky above his head. Damon remained hunched over—arrested and merely watched Bonnie in her element. She had not been alone. A co-worker, an equally beautiful black woman with long obsidian hair, dimples, and large dark brown eyes fashioned in a tailored coat fell into step with Bonnie. The two of them were lost in their own world, and for a moment Damon caught himself smiling goofily for no reason.
That hadn't been the picture of Bonnie Bennett he expected to see. After Mason and Enzo took their drunk asses home, Damon had unearthed the dossier filled with information he didn't really have a legal right to possess about Bonnie, sat behind his desk, and started reading through the file like it was a national best seller.
Her husband had died in a car crash. Bonnie survived with minor injuries. Losing someone hurt no matter how soon or drawn out the death occurred, so Damon expected to see a downtrodden, sallow Bonnie Bennett.
But he wouldn't complain though because if she could display that level of happiness just a few months after her husband's sudden death, that could also mean she wouldn't be opposed to dating.
Just as Damon had made up his mind to "follow" them on foot, he had to cancel that plan when a man walking from the opposite end of the avenue stopped right in front of Bonnie. Damon couldn't see her expression, but he saw the man's, and well he didn't like it. Not. One. Bit. Bonnie and the man exchanged kisses on the cheek, and the guy didn't leave Bonnie's friend out in the cold. He placed a kiss to her cheek as well. The trio exchanged some words, their breath visible in the air because it was as cold as a ghost balls outside.
Then to Damon's horror, the guy wedged himself in between Bonnie and her friend and tossed his arm over the petite's woman shoulder. A clear sign of possession in Damon's eyes.
He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know if the guy was a friend—hopefully gay—or if he and Bonnie were dating, or…and Damon didn't even want to think of the final option.
The worst thing for him to do was to jump to any kind of conclusion without solid proof, and Galen Vaughn his private investigator would have told him if Bonnie were involved with anyone. He wouldn't have left something that important out.
Not knowing what to do, Damon conceded this round, and returned to his place of business, and finished the rest of the work day sullenly.
As soon as he got home, he called Galen up, ripped him a new one, and ordered him to find out who that guy was he saw with Bonnie earlier.
His PI came back a week later calming Damon's racing mind. The guy had been her former brother-in-law Elijah Mikaelson. The name sounded awfully familiar to Damon, and as he continued to read the latest report he found out why. Elijah ran one of his favorite restaurants. He wondered why their paths never crossed because they almost shared the same social circle. Almost.
With that squared away, Damon could breathe a little easier.
He didn't like to question what he would have done if Bonnie were still married, or if she were in a serious relationship. Things had a way of working themselves out. Doors opened when others slammed shut in your face. All anyone had to do was exercise a little faith and patience. Damon could admit he was still working on both.
Lacking confidence wasn't his thing, but he fell victim to it from time to time like anyone else. So instead of taking the ball and running with it, Damon opted to wait.
In present time, he fiddled with his phone, legs crossed, an untouched place of vegetarian lasagna cooling in front of him as he waited for Bonnie to arrive. He knew she liked coming to this organic foods restaurant on Thursdays. This was his first time actually coming inside since discovering that.
Not two seconds after shooing away his over attentive waiter, Damon sat up a bit straighter, but ducked his head when Bonnie and Lacey—he finally discovered her co-worker's name—entered the restaurant.
They were led to a table in his section but were seated behind him and one table over. He was close enough to hear their voices, and from what Damon could recall, her voice when she had been eighteen had been higher in pitch. Now when Bonnie spoke it was smoky and a little on the raspy side.
"Are you still coming to Klaus' studio opening?" Damon heard Bonnie ask.
"Oh, that is tonight. It completely slipped my mind. One of my friends from back home is coming up tonight, and I can tell you right now, art isn't his thing."
"Okay so you don't have to come to the opening but we're all going out to celebrate afterwards."
"Where?"
"The Smoke Jazz and Supper Club on Broadway. Klaus' pick naturally. He's obsessed with the twenties."
Damon heard Lacey giggle at what was obviously an inside joke. "I've never been so me and Danny might pop in just to give our congrats. Jazz isn't his thing either."
"I'm sure there'll be an afterparty after the party. I'll text you and let you know for sure."
"Or we could just go out. You don't have to go to the afterparty if you're going to the opening, do you?"
"I kind of have to. I helped planned the opening, and the afterparty. Maybe I can sneak out early, hail a cab, and then meet you and Danny."
Damon wished he could add his two cents and tell Bonnie to ditch both and have dinner with him. Now was the perfect opportunity for him to go over and reintroduce himself, get a conversation going and charm the pants off of both Bonnie and Lacey, yet something was holding him back.
Fear? The fear of being rejected? Fear she might not remember him and could easily write him off as some clingy pervert? His moment was right there but for some strange reason it still didn't feel right to Damon.
His phone began ringing, the noise drawing several pairs of nosy orbs in his direction. Digging in the breast pocket of his Armani suit, Damon screened his call, but then decided to answer. He grimaced. It was Elena's attorney.
"Ms. Forbes what the hell do you want?"
"A moment of your time."
"You deal with my lawyers, not me. Now I'm going to ask you again, what do you want? Has Elena signed the papers yet?"
"I've pointed Mrs. Salvatore in all the right directions, but for reasons she has yet to divulge to me, she's holding out. Truth of the matter is, your divorce may take even longer to finalize. I've dropped her as my client."
Damon laughed. "And?"
"If she's not able to obtain and afford counsel…unless you of course were to pay her legal fees as part of whatever settlement the both of you reach, I'm afraid that's the only way your marriage will be dissolved. I've already alerted Mrs. Salvatore of this and she directed me to contact you. I'm only doing so as a courtesy."
"Well thank you for your generosity," Damon retorted facetiously. "So not only is she trying to walk away with half of my money, she's now crying broke, and expects me to cover the cost of her legal fees?"
"You hit the nail on the head. My advice, and I'm giving this for free out of the goodness of my heart, you pay my retainer. I convince her to settle for the five million your lawyers graciously offered, the house on Long Island, Benz, all gifts given throughout the course of your relationship, and you're emancipated of the both of us. She relinquishes the Salvatore name. Goes back to being Elena Gilbert, and you're free to sow your oats on greener pastures. Doesn't that sound ideal?"
"Sounds like heaven," Damon muttered and motioned for his waiter to bring him the check. "How bout I call you before close of business today with my ruling."
"Oh, I'll be waiting. Have a good day, Mr. Salvatore."
Damon did not return the sentiment. Merely hung up, slapped his card on the table, went through the rest of the formalities, and permitted himself one longing gaze at Bonnie.
Lacey noticed him staring and her brow furrowed as if trying to place him. Damon quickly lowered his head, and scurried out of the restaurant before she could say anything to alert Bonnie.
B||D
Music, art, love what exactly was the food of life? Bonnie didn't know and she really didn't care at the moment. Her feet were aching in her strappy red bottoms, her back was sore, but the pains were part of the packaged deal when one went out to enjoy the nightlife in New York.
She and Henrik had never really been into the club scene. They'd go out every once in a blue moon, find a private and semi-quiet corner and would just nibble each other's lips all night or until they got a good enough buzz going to hit the dance floor.
Klaus' art studio questionably named Hybrid, had, according to social media, opened with rave reviews. He had even managed to sell a few of his original abstract oils and charcoal sketches. Bonnie had also been successful in wrangling up some extra business for the gallery where she worked as the procurement coordinator.
So tonight had been a little about business, but right now was all about pleasure.
Those in her retinue, Mikaelson clan and a few of their friends had piled into several taxis and town cars and driven to Broadway to partake of smooth jazz and sustenance to replenish depleting energy cells. The parentals went their separate way after their bellies were full of carbohydrates and thirty year old scotch. Anyone who still had wind left in their sails was more than welcome to head off to 230 Fifth Rooftop Bar.
Bonnie sent a text to Lacey to see if she and Danny were still interested in hanging out. It was nearing one o'clock in the morning, and may have decided to call it a night considering Danny had driven from Greengrove which was about four hours away from NYC, and he had done so at the height of rush hour, gridlock traffic turning his four hour trip into a six hour one.
She hadn't received a reply back saying or yea or nay, but Bonnie didn't let that stop her from going.
With her hair up and off her bare shoulders, rocking her hips in the mini Stella McCartney cocktail dress, Bonnie for the first time in months could honestly say she was having a good time.
Her birthday party didn't really count in her estimation because that night Bonnie had done nothing more than played a part. Tonight when she smiled she actually felt the happiness attached to the action. She was far from over Henrik's death, but being involved in life and not being passive, facing each new day was getting easier.
There hadn't been a lull in the music, the laughing, or the dancing, but Bonnie did dip back inside. The rooftop bar offered heaters and a breathtaking view of the Empire State Building, but she just needed a minor breather.
B||D
Needle in a haystack. The restaurant may have been the more logical time to approach her, but tonight—early morning—this somehow felt more appropriate to Damon Salvatore. He was at his best after hours since he considered himself to be nocturnal. Night offered protection, cover; shadows were more difficult to spot. He wanted to blend yet also stand out from the multitude. He couldn't even really be sure how he ended up in this bar, but he could thank his business partner Rose for giving him the suggestion.
Bonnie was here. He knew it. So he stood among the dancing crowd, giving off the impression of mellowness when really his brand, spanking new heart was seconds away from hurdling out of his chest.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted her.
B||D
She wormed her way through the gyrating crowd and came to a semi-abrupt stop the minute she spied a man with dark hair, Roman features and the most striking and smoldering pair of azure eyes she had ever seen. And those orbs were fixed on her in particular. Why could she hear the echo of her pounding heart in her ears?
He stood unmoving like a sentinel amidst the buoyant club goers too caught up in their ecstasy to take much notice of the fact a literal Adonis stood among their ranks. She was sure the artist in Klaus would have fallen in love at first sight.
Making eye contact with him made her nervous. Not the bad kind like she was in danger, but the kind that meant she might forget all the rules of engagement and skip to the end where clothes lost their importance and two bodies came together to fuck. Ravenously hard and all night. She flushed to her manicured toes because she never had that kind of overt response to any guy. Had never been hit so hard with attraction that it nearly knocked her off her feet. She had been attracted to her late husband instantaneously, but not…not like this!
Who was he?
Bonnie frowned a bit because she was positive although a bit unsure if she had seen him before, or that she should know who he was. But she was arrested nonetheless. The side of her which had a studied and appreciated eye for art picked him apart piece by piece, and the conclusion was the same no matter what. No matter how the jigsaw puzzle was arranged, Bonnie was staring at nothing less than male perfection.
He was hard lines and sharp curves, and yet he didn't look severe but preternaturally handsome. Beautiful. Unreal.
Damon knew how to make a stare feel like a caress, and he was touching her everywhere. Infinitesimally he roamed his eyes over Bonnie's person, drawing a mental map of her features. Nothing about her visage was symmetrical, but it did nothing to subtract from her stunning beauty. Because of the dimness of the club lighting her eyes from a distance appeared black, but he knew better. They were a haunting shade of emerald with flecks of hazel around the outer rim of the iris if he remembered correctly.
Her shoulders were bare and delicate, and those legs which didn't exactly go on for miles were shapely and athletic looking. Damon recalled her head had barely come to his chin—even with six inch heels on. Nothing about Bonnie Bennett reeked little girl, but grown woman in a small, well put together package.
He grinned a little until that crescent moon line appeared on the left side of his mouth.
The guy beckoned her forward by crooking a finger at her. Any other day that would have annoyed Bonnie but instead it made the heat rise under her skin.
The absence of alarms going off in her head quickened her steps towards him as if drawn by his call specifically.
What space had been between them was gone in no time flat. Bonnie stood before him and she wondered at the last minute if her jaw were hanging open with drool leaking from the sides of her mouth. No one who wasn't an android or real should look that delicious.
The man bent down to accommodate their notable height differences the second she stood before him.
Even with him hunched over, Bonnie still had to stand on her toes in order to speak directly in his ear to be heard over the roaring music.
His scent—something decidedly masculine and citrusy—distracted her. "I'm sorry, but do I know you? You look very familiar."
Damon grinned harder, loving the sound of her voice speaking intimately into his ear. "Well, I would hope so…clumsy girl."
At first Bonnie was lost, not understanding why this total stranger would call her clumsy girl when she hadn't tripped in her shoes once all night. However, that nickname, if she wanted to refer to it as such, did sound vaguely familiar and almost triggered a memory.
She gasped as the connection clicked in her head and she drew back to stare at the man with wide eyes.
"Oh," her gaze began with those electric methane eyes, "my," despite his chest being housed in a fitted blackberry button down, her imagination was quite capable of filling in the blanks, "gawd" her perusal ended with his jean covered legs.
Caramel cheeks reddened after she realized what she did. Bonnie quickly glanced at the man and looked away.
Being accustomed to receiving his fair share of leers, cat calls, and the like, Damon was often treated like a piece of meat, which at times he didn't mind, but this was one of the times he actually cared he met someone's aesthetic approval. The way Bonnie had shamelessly dragged her eyes over his body, she basically eye fucked him. He did his best not to let his thoughts mud slide into the gutter.
Bravely, Damon touched the bottom of Bonnie's chin and tilted her head up—eyes smoldering and demolishing any kind of wall or stronghold she wanted to hide behind.
They said nothing for several seconds. Just stared at one another. Making a connection. People milled around them. Drinks were consumed. The DJ segued one track into the next.
Damon tilted his head to the side and leaned down. Bonnie panicked because she thought he was about to kiss her, but then her panic morphed into embarrassment when he aimed for her ear, and she admonished herself. Of course he wasn't going to kiss you, you dolt! More importantly, why would you want him to? You barely know this man.
"Do you remember me?" Damon intoned. He wanted to bite her lobe.
Bonnie's head bobbed up and down. "I told you," and her top lip may have grazed the bottom of his ear. "I never forget a name…Damon Salvatore," was that her sounding like a phone sex operator?
What was this man doing to her?
Damon pulled away, his eye crinkled around the corner. "Would you like to dance, Bonnie Bennett?"
She nodded again not trusting her voice to be anything more than a husky whisper at this point.
Sliding his fingers down her arm, feeling her skin pebble into goose bumps, Damon took Bonnie by the hand and spun her around.
She gasped and looked at him over her shoulder in surprise, and they began to move. Damon's hands dropped to her hips and burned her through the fabric of her dress.
They were hardly five seconds into dancing when Bonnie's heart rate changed and began to speed. If physical attraction could be felt like a touch, then she was certainly feeling it where Damon Salvatore was concerned. She couldn't believe after all these years she remembered his name, but he wasn't easily forgettable. Not with a pair of eyes like his.
Bonnie sank into him. The ripples of hardened muscles brushed and ground into her supple curves causing her to bite down repeatedly into her lip. She tasted salty blood.
This was better than any fantasy Damon had wasted months conjuring in his mind. This moment was nothing more than pure surrealism. He did his best to keep his excitement to the bare minimum. He had to keep his blood pressure regulated at all costs. But Bonnie's plump ass grinding into his crotch was making things a little unbearably impossible for him.
He pressed Bonnie a little closer. She didn't object and he kept dancing. His penis was hardening against his thigh.
A rush went through Bonnie when a familiar poke poked her bottom.
Unbeknownst to them, their reunion had garnered an audience. Brown eyes narrowed.
Chapter end.
A/N: Yes, I know still not a whole lot of Bamon, but we're getting there steadily but shortly. So will Bonnie consider being inseminated with Henrik's sperm? Who has the evil eye trained on Bamon? Thank you guys for reading and please let me know what you think. Viva la Bamon!