Chapter Two: Popping Muscles and Damn Selfies

Damon Salvatore

User ElenaGAuthor not found.

Whoa, this girl doesn't mess around!

At least he'd proven the Enemies to Lovers trope had no appeal in real life.

Damon placed his laptop on the couch, deciding to go to the kitchen to pour himself a bourbon. He felt bad about upsetting her. It was the "absent daddy" comment, he knew it – he'd gone too far. He was genuinely sorry about that, not that he had the chance to apologize again now that she'd blocked him.

Checking around the kitchen for an empty glass, he realized he'd forgotten to switch on the dishwasher. Damn, had he really spent all his free time focusing on Elena that he'd forgotten to do simple domestic tasks? What next? He'd be forgetting to eat? He took a tumbler from the dishwasher, rinsed it under the faucet, and poured the drink.

To hell with it – he could order takeout and hire a cleaner if that happened.

There was something about Elena that had him hooked, but one thing was for sure – it wasn't her novels. He had binge-read them all, and if the content was any reflection of her personality, she was a mildly kinky idealistic Disney princess. Only the kinky part interested him. But the way she held her own just now, there was nothing Damsel in Distress about her. Which was a shame as that was one of the tropes she used. How the hell was he going to pull that one off?

Elena's novels were not in the fireplace – in fact, Damon's new penthouse apartment did not possess the fireplace he'd claimed it had. Her latest book was sitting on the kitchen counter, not burnt to heat his home, and, yes, he'd earmarked the smutty pages and read them multiple times. So sue him. The only thing he loved about her books was that they were clearly an author self-insert. It helped him imagine her in the smutty scenes, writhing on the bedsheets and begging for more. He wondered what her voice sounded like. Was she a moaner or a squealer? He imagined both in different scenarios.

Elena herself was four floors down in her own apartment. He'd first spotted her when he'd moved in a month ago. That damn five-foot-six brunette goddess could have had him fooled into believing instalove was real. Spotting her had turned into seeking her, and seeking had turned into research, and research had turned into... shit, he wasn't a stalker already, was he? Stalkers never got the girl in real life. Of course, he was hoping to prove that to her, so maybe he should crank it up a notch. It was going to be a risky trope to pull off. He could end up in prison, getting high-fives from men who discovered he was only in there because of the lengths he took to win an argument against a woman.

Still, he had to prove to her that stalker romances were immoral and unrealistic. He was not that man – and if that was the type of man she wanted, he was screwed. Don't lust after guys who should be behind bars – it's that simple! It's not romantic – it's creepy and weird! He should know, considering he'd devoured all her novels and social media posts like he was trying to dive into her mind and soul, and he felt hella creepy and weird about it. But he was on a mission – a mission to save her from the kind of chest-thumping "Me Man, You Woman" cavemen she wrote about.

Hey, maybe she was a Damsel in Distress after all, he mused. Mental note to check that one off.

After he'd put her off ever writing – or reading – another stalker romance again, he could move on to other silly tropes.

The fact that they were neighbors took care of the Love Thy Neighbor trope. Or would it be the Grumpy Neighbor trope? He was pretty sure when she found out he was her neighbor, she'd be grumpy about it. Except, according to his brother, Stefan, he was the grumpy one.

Okay, Damon might have got a little grumpy finding out that Stefan knew Elena and never introduced her to him. Stefan owned a few of the properties in this apartment block and he rented one of them to Elena: his tenant, his colleague, his friend, and – he initially suspected – his crush. But luckily, Elena was not Stefan's crush – that honor went to her best friend, Caroline. It was hush-hush, very top secret information that Stefan only admitted to Damon after he had refused to leave Stefan's home and sang I Know a Song That Will Get on Your Nerves until 1am.

Good. He didn't need a love triangle, especially not against his own brother. A Bad Boy didn't have a hope in hell of stealing a girl from a Golden Retriever. Oh crap – he was even beginning to think of themselves in tropes. This was not good. This was what Elena's books were doing to him... this is what Elena was doing to him.

Wait a minute, wait a minute. Back the hell up!

Damon tossed the drink down his throat and plunked the glass down on the counter. Something had just occurred to him:

He'd had an effect on her too.

What was it she'd said? You wish you had that body! That body is delicious! That's the kind of body I could run my tongue up and down like a six-foot popsicle!

Okay, that wasn't exactly what she'd said, but it was pretty close.

Time to get out the big guns. Literally.

The last time he'd taken the photo of his abs, it was just a quick snap. Stefan had made some snide comment about him looking bloated after they'd had lunch at Taco Bell, so Damon hauled ass to the gym, worked out for an hour, and sent him a picture as evidence, saying, "Does that look bloated to you?" Stefan had replied, "We were splitting the bill, I just wanted you to stop ordering food." Jackass.

This time, he had to get his arms in the frame. He switched his phone camera to selfie mode and balanced it against the coffee machine. He took off his shirt and observed himself for a while, lining up his body so his head was cropped out of the picture. The lighting in the kitchen was flattering, casting shadows where he needed them, and making his muscles pop. Oh, yeah!

After mastering the flex he needed, he leaned across the counter and hit the camera timer, quickly dashing back into a pose worthy of a Michelangelo sculpture.

He must have poked the phone too hard while reaching for the button because it slipped down the counter and took a snap of the ceiling instead.

Two more times it did this. Two more times before he wedged it between two more kitchen appliances and ordered his phone not to move, or else he'd buy a new one. He jabbed a finger in its direction and scowled to show it he was serious. He couldn't believe people took selfies for fun.

Finally, he got the shot he wanted. So much better than the last one she saw. Hubba hubba!

Damon went back to the couch, sat down, and opened up the laptop again. He needed to create a new profile in order to contact her. Despite what Elena thought, his last profile was not a throwaway, and it did contain his name. The numbers represented the position of letters in the alphabet.

4 - D

1 - A

13 - M

15 - O

14 - N

This was a method he used for profiles so they could be both personalized and anonymous at the same time.

After registering for a new account, he went into the settings and added the photo and updated the username.

User192011211518.

19 - S

20 - T

1 - A

12 - L

11 - K

5 - E

18 - R

Game on.