Disclaimer: Ain't my characters, but the plot is all mines. Bad English, I know.
A/N: Hello World! This is the first of many VD fanfiction I've written. I hope you enjoy and if you want more, please let me know!
Stilettos in varying stages of height clacked noisily against the wet asphalt. Two large search lights held a laser show in the clouds drawing the smartly dressed crowd to the front doors of the museum that had been converted into an art gallery specifically for the event.
Feeling several degrees of nervousness, Bonnie Bennett held her black clutch purse tightly in her hands. Tonight would be her premiere of sorts. Not much in the way of exciting entertainment ever happened in her sleepy town, Mystic Falls. If one wanted to see a concert you had to drive fifty miles north to Richmond. There was only one mall, one movieplex, one half-way decent restaurant in town. The only thing Mystic Falls really offered to break up the monotony of life was football and Civil War era inspired pageants.
She found herself strutting between her two best friends Elena Gilbert and Caroline Forbes. All were dressed in dark colors: Elena in indigo, Caroline in charcoal gray, Bonnie in black. Their dresses stopped at about mid-thigh leaving plenty of leg exposed. They had mercilessly smashed their feet into toe crunching, yet super sexy high heels that with each step had them cursing inwardly. Their makeup was dark and dramatic each highlighting, in their estimation, their best feature. Elena's pouty lips were swathed in dark red lipstick. Caroline's thick lashes accentuated the smokiness of her bright blue eyes. Bonnie brought her full cheekbones to life with plenty of rouge.
Their male companions followed demurely behind them outfitted in casual suits all in the same color, aside from Jeremy who chose to wear a dark chocolate suit with a navy blue shirt leaving the top three buttons undone.
The Salvatore gents wore identical black Italian cut suits. Stefan's button down was gunmetal gray; Damon's was of course black.
Caroline wrapped her arm around Bonnie's and squeezed. "Aren't you super excited Bonnie? You have officially become the hottest ticket in town."
Bonnie could barely swallow down the nervous lump that had been lodged in her throat all day. She threw a conciliatory smile in Caroline's direction whose blue eyes reflected the bright lights shining outside the museum.
"I rather be home in my jammies right about now," she muttered. Elena took hold of her other arm. Bonnie got the distinct impression they were trying to prevent her from running away.
"Remember what I told you," Elena said, "you make it through the first hour and you're home free."
Bonnie could only nod her head. She and Caroline were used to being the center of attention. They had the grace and patience for it. Bonnie was a behind-the-scenes type of chick. She didn't mind getting her credit when it was due, but tonight quite literally was all about her.
The artist whose work was being featured had left his small apartment in lower Manhattan wanting to find new inspiration. So he drove south and found himself in small-town Mystic Falls, Virginia were he took leisurely strolls around town and the local parks. On one particular stroll he came across a group of high school kids who were planting flowers on a cleared out part of the park. The myriad of faces he saw inspired him so he asked the teacher chaperoning the event if he could take a few shots. And that was when he saw a hauntingly beautiful pair of green eyes that he felt the power of a muse slam into him.
His name, John-Marc had moved heaven and earth to convince Bonnie Bennett to be his feature model for his collection he aptly titled: She.
So for the following four weeks, promptly after school, Bonnie headed over to his rented apartment, sat for hours while she was primped and pampered, dressed and positioned, and photographed until she was sure she'd turn epileptic from constantly staring into bright lights.
A small retinue of press photographers, journalists, and reporters jostled one another outside the double doors of the museum harassing the guests for juicy, gossipy details. As soon as Bonnie saw them she felt her stomach bottom out and her legs go numb. She couldn't walk another step.
Heart rate doubling, Bonnie looked around frantic for a second wondering if there might be another way inside the museum without having to walk through the proverbial lion's den.
Caroline and Elena felt her hesitation.
"It's okay," Elena whispered in her ear. "We're right here with you. Just smile."
A plastic smile flew to her lips, and Bonnie thought she might be imitating the Joker.
"So this is what it takes to scare the living daylights out of you, Judgey? I'll keep that in mind."
Bonnie ignored Damon. If anything she wished she was fighting a group of vampires—at least in that situation she knew what to do.
They were now less than ten feet away when one reporter turned, saw Bonnie, and shot over to her to pound her with questions. This action immediately caught the attention of the others and soon Bonnie was swamped.
One minute she was clutching Elena and Caroline and the next she was separated.
"Miss Bennett how do you feel being the inspiration and new face of a John-Marc original?" An auburn-haired lady reporter asked Bonnie.
"I feel fortunate," she spoke clearly and crisply into the microphone. "It's a great honor to be chosen out of so many other people to be John-Marc's muse."
Bonnie was proud of herself. She didn't stutter or sound inarticulate.
"Are any of the rumors true that you're engaged to John-Marc?" a slightly balding, glasses wearing male reporter asked her.
Bonnie's eyes widened and Caroline who seemingly appeared out of nowhere and acting as her publicist, grabbed the guy's mike and spoke loudly:
"Are you a sick pervert or something? She's in high school and he's like fifty years old. Get real!"
Then like distracted dogs the reporters and photographers turned their attention to Caroline who greedily ate it up.
Bonnie sidestepped them, took Elena's outstretched hand blindly and walked up the stairs to the museum.
"No comment," Bonnie heard Caroline say just a moment before she barreled her way back to her friends, taking Bonnie's other hand.
The doors to the museum were thrown open and Bonnie was announced to the crowd.
The place was packed and Bonnie could see nothing aside from smiling faces, assessing glances, and hand-clapping.
The crowd parted and John-Marc was walking towards her with his arms spread open to receive her in a hug. The two embraced like life-long friends. He whispered compliments into her ear that made her blush. Bonnie wanted to smack herself. She wasn't helping to not fan the fires of rumors that she and John-Marc were passionately in love and engaged.
John-Marc was a seasoned man, but not ancient. He was an attractive forty-seven, spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent, had salt and pepper hair, wore a neatly trimmed goatee, and had smooth but not wrinkle free sienna brown skin. He had dark brown eyes that were hidden behind rectangular shaped glasses, had a runner's build but he drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney.
"You look marvelous, my dear," he said his eyes doing an artistic sweep of her body—at least that's what Bonnie told herself.
In all their time spent together she never exactly felt funny being around John-Marc. He had been respectful and professional. Not lecherous or devious.
But there was something in his gaze now that told her he was looking at her the way a man would to an attractive woman.
Bonnie cleared her throat to ease the tension she felt and introduced John-Marc to her entourage.
"And this is Damon Salvatore," Bonnie purposely saved him for last. It went without saying that she introduced her friends in order of importance to her.
When the two men shook hands, Bonnie's gaze was intent on Damon. His smirk was sarcastic; his eyes were laughing, his grip no doubt was tight and uncomfortable.
The only indication John-Marc gave that Damon's grip was more than firm, was the narrowing of his eyes and the slight tightness to his lips.
"Bonnie has said nothing but great things about you. How much of a father figure you've become to her. And how you never took advantage of her."
Stefan rolled his eyes. He stood beside Elena with his hand poised on the small of her back. The two shared a look.
Caroline tried to cover up her laugh with a fake cough.
Jeremy decided to stare at his shoes.
John-Marc looked guilty for all of a second before recovering. It didn't escape Damon.
"She was an absolute joy to work with. She took direction very well."
"You have to teach me your methods because any time I ask her for just a little favor she acts like it's the end of the world. Drinking coffee with a fork is much easier to deal with than…"
"All right, Damon how bout we go look at some art?" Elena interrupted.
Stefan came to further diffuse the situation. He stepped in front of John-Marc. "Excuse my brother. When his blood sugar runs low he tends to be…a prick."
John-Marc graced him with an "ah-ha" expression. "I'm an artist used to dealing with arrogant men. Your brother is nothing I can't handle."
The two men inclined their heads like old world gentleman before Stefan wondered off to get lost.
Bonnie had remained silent during the entire exchange. She smiled when John-Marc looked at her and stretched out his arm.
"It's time we go make our rounds and tell the world about this hidden jewel I found."
What was this music they were playing? Electronic Jazz? Damon grimaced as he threw back another flute of champagne. It was the only drink being offered tonight and though he was a fan of the hard stuff, the stuff that supposedly put hair on your chest, it would have to suffice.
So far he had seen only bits and pieces of the photographs taken of Bonnie. A hand, a foot, a chin. Honestly he didn't get it. Caroline had tried to explain the layout of the exhibit to him—he didn't pay much attention. Yet the parts he did hear, the separate pieces of Bonnie were to lead to the whole Bonnie as you ventured from the front of the gallery to the back. Art had never been his thing so instead of checking out the pics he began to check out the crowd.
Mystic Falls had been severely lacking in the babe department as of late. The last decent meal he had was Andie Starr but unfortunately he dumped her in a heat of the moment situation. Elena had proven to be just as bad as Katherine when it came to stirring up irrational emotions in him. Andie had suffered for it. Ah, well he couldn't go back and fix it.
Since then his meals came in plastic baggies. No longer did he drink from long-legged blondes or petite redheads. When had his life become such a drag?
Damon felt a pair of eyes burning a hole in him. He perfunctorily turned to his left and sure enough a beautiful blonde with a striking pair of lapis lazuli eyes gazed at him as if she had already fallen in love. Damon put on his best smoldering face and watched with satisfaction as blood rushed up her neck to settle in her cheeks. From the short distance separating them she smelled like ambrosia. It instantly made his gums throb with need.
Yet he wanted to take his time. She'd be an easy conquest. Perhaps too easy and it had been a while since he had a real challenge. He'd make the blonde work for his attention. So he returned his gaze back to the photo in front of him.
It was now that he noticed he was staring into a close up of Bonnie's hazel-green eyes. Embellished eyelashes framed her cat shaped eyes superbly. Gray eyeshadow covered the circumference of her green eyes, and her eyebrows were perfectly arched. Damon was sure the intent of the picture was meant to be alluring but to him it was judgmental. He could hear her now in his ear, "If you so much as think about draining her, I'll happily dance over your ashes."
Damon scoffed and moved to another piece of artwork. It was a figurine of some sort by a local artist.
The blonde had moved so that she could remain in his peripheral vision. He had almost forgotten about her.
He continued to circle the room, eyeing the art, ignoring the blonde.
Finally he felt a tap on his shoulder. He swiftly turned around, startling the woman, but he eased her discomfort with a lazy grin.
"Yes?" he said with a slightly southern drawl.
"I don't mean to intrude but I saw you speaking with the artist, John-Marc. Are you acquainted with him?"
Damon shrugged a shoulder. "Not really. We were merely introduced. I know the model. She's a high school student," Damon said it like it was an offense to something.
"Oh, well, is she as beautiful in real life as she is in these photos?"
Damon could answer honestly, but he didn't want to make it seem like he had a thing for self-righteous high school girls.
"I suppose, but it isn't until now that I've seen real beauty tonight."
The woman swooned. Damon grinned.
The woman stretched out a hand. Damon bent over it and kissed it.
"I'm Tamara Brighton."
"Damon Salvatore. Pleased to meet you. Did you come with a date?"
"Then I guess it's our lucky night."
Damon couldn't agree more.
An hour into the festivities and Damon wanted to poke his eyes out. Apparently Tamara hadn't been properly boinked since the turn of the century and was more than willing to disappear with him to the nearest broom closet to show him the color of her underwear. Damon thought he'd be up for a little public naughtiness, but as it turned out, he actually wanted to see some more of Bonnie's photos.
Surprise freaking surprise.
So they strolled arm in arm, heading deeper into the exhibit were the individual pieces of Bonnie were starting to connect to make a whole person.
Damon allowed Tamara to talk a hole in his head about her dead-end job, her aspirations for becoming a romance novelist, to her subtlety throwing out how she hoped he'd give her the inspiration to create paint melting love scenes.
They were in the back of the exhibit now. Damon stopped abruptly causing Tamara to bump into his shoulder.
His jaw plopped open yet he quickly recovered.
Poised against the plain white wall was a six foot long, three foot wide shot of Bonnie stretched out on black carpet against a black back drop.
She had been photographed from the back; her upper torso was turned off to the side allowing the viewing audience to see a front shot of her face. Snippets of Bonnie's radiant golden-honey skin were visible through the cut out back of the black mini-dress that cupped the globes of her backside leaving her sculpted thighs and legs bare. Perched on her feet was a scandalous pair of black leather pumps.
His eyes reluctantly trailed up from the curves of her body to her face. The right side was covered by her hair in "S" shaped waves leaving only her left eye, a nostril, and her slightly parted lips exposed.
Her lips were a deep shade of crimson and Damon found it hard to break his gaze away. Bonnie had very kissable lips, he knew this but he had never felt particularly inclined to sample them. But the way she had them parted just so, showing off just enough teeth as if she were on the verge of saying something raunchy, Damon felt a little dribble of saliva roll down his chin.
One look at her and he felt he had been ensnared.
"Damon? Damon, are you all right?"
He frowned. The voice he heard didn't sound exactly like the one he pictured in his head.
His "date for the night" completely forgotten Damon did a quick optical sweep of the room looking for the culprit to his new, unfounded predicament.
Damon finally spotted her. She was glued to John-Marc's side yet the two were engrossed in different conversations. He watched through squinty eyes as Bonnie laughed, flirted with the crowd, and occasionally touched John-Marc's arm.
Suddenly he was overcome with a feeling of paranoia that he might not be the only person to discover the power of this photo, and that's when Damon realized he was surrounded by twenty and thirtysomething year old men all of them elbowing each other, pointing, and drooling.
"Your fangs are showing," Stefan harped in his ear.
Damon broke his gaze away to glare at his brother. Standing in Tamara's spot (where had she gone off too, not that it mattered) was a smug looking Stefan.
"I wouldn't worry so much about my fangs right about now, Stefan. I'd make sure some pretentious painter isn't trying to make off with my girlfriend."
"Elena can handle herself." Stefan looked up to admire the titillating shot of Bonnie. Damon was overcome with a particular urge to gouge his eyes out.
"She's beautiful and this photo only shows how mysterious she can be."
Damon's smirk was dangerous as he folded his arms over his chest. "Don't tell me you have a thing for the witch? Not the honorable Stefan Salvatore."
"I give credit where credit is due and not even you are that blind not to see how ridiculously hot Bonnie is in this photo. I might be in a relationship but I'm still a man."
"Good to know. Now stop ogling the witch. It's freaking me out."
"No, Damon I think your reaction to Bonnie is freaking you out," Stefan pointedly looked down at the partial tent in his brother's pants.
Damon quickly glanced down at himself and dropped his arms to tug down his jacket. Stefan walked away shaking his head and chuckling.
Damon knew he had to move away and look at other works but he couldn't get his feet to move. He gave up the fight and found himself being pulled back into the promising gaze of the Bennett witch.
Before he knew it, a full-fledged fantasy erupted in his head.
He was sprawled out on his bed, dressed in all black, his shirt left unbuttoned, chest exposed while he guzzled straight from a bottle of whiskey. Bonnie stood before his bed, strutting towards him in that sinful dress and those heels. She'd do a little dance all the while eyeing him.
He'd crook a finger silently telling her to come here so he could touch her. And Bonnie would follow his direction without a hint of argument. He saw her crawling towards him like a panther. He'd snatch her up and they'd stare deeply into one another's eyes before he cupped the back of her neck, bringing her forward to crush his lips against hers…
He'd snatch her up and they'd stare deeply into one another's eyes before he cupped the back of her neck, bringing her forward to crush his lips against hers…
Damon snapped out of his x-rated thoughts. His skin felt like it was burning.
Inconspicuously he looked around only to make sure no one saw him space out.
Damon couldn't escape feeling ridiculous. Sure, he and Bonnie might have schemed together all to keep Elena alive, but that was as far as their connection went. At the end of the night he went his way and she weren't hers. Still…
As he stared at her all dark and mysterious he couldn't but think of the possibilities of the two of them together. He'd been with a witch before. It was hot and something of a death wish. He figured it be no different with Bonnie.
But what if it was? His mind asked him. What if they loved each other recklessly, wrecked his room, caused an earthquake? What if he had her literally climbing walls? How many languages would he be able to squeeze out of her?
Damon shook his head to clear it. He was seriously giving this too much thought.
A woman holding a catalogue book passed Damon. He immediately reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Is that the purchasing catalogue?" he asked.
The woman's suspicious eyes instantly lit up at the prospect of a possible buyer. She held out a copy to him.
"It most certainly is. All of tonight's pieces are for sale."
Damon flipped through the pages until he came across the one he had been lusting over. "Has anyone put a bid on number 52?"
"No, not yet. Are you interested?"
"Yeah, how much?"
"The desired retail price is five-thousand."
"I'll give you ten for it," Damon replied in a no-nonsense voice. The woman blinked at him. "You accept credit?"
She smiled like the cat that ate the canary. "From all major companies. Let me ring you up."
Minutes later, once the transaction was complete, the sales rep who had sold the photograph to Damon sauntered her way to John-Marc to whisper the good news in his ear. Smiling grandly, John-Marc asked for the crowd's attention.
"I just received word that one of my pieces has just sold for ten thousand from an anonymous buyer."
Bonnie's eyes widened dramatically after she heard the figure. The crowd had gone wild with clapping, cheering, and whistling.
"Which one?" she found herself asking.
" 'The Lush'", John-Marc told her. "I'm glad yet sad at the same time because it was one of my personal favorites."
"Have I seen that one?"
"I'm not sure. Come with me; I'll show you."
Bonnie took John-Marc by the arm and he led the way to the photo. She wasn't surprised that a large crowd began to trail after them.
When they stood in front of the picture that had sold, Bonnie immediately felt heat creep up to her cheeks. It was one of the more risqué photos she had taken that afternoon in John-Marc's apartment. It wasn't obscene just deeply personal and of course it pushed the button against her own conservatism.
Bonnie was glad for John-Marc's success yet she felt a little bothered by the fact that such a photo of her had been purchased by an anonymous stranger. She just hoped that whoever bought the photo wasn't some seedy individual who planned to jack off while staring at her.
She looked around trying to locate anyone who might fit that description. The only person who came remotely close was Damon, but she doubted very seriously he'd spend that kind of cash on an inflated picture of her. Elena—yes. Her—no.
But then Bonnie found Damon leering at her through the crowd and for a second she saw the intent on his face plainly. It quickly made her look away.
Without warning a large, overly warm yet deliciously muscular arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her flush against a massive chest. Whiskers ticked the side of her neck, while a pair of warm lips grazed her ear.
"I should have got here sooner if I knew this photo of you would be up for sale."
Bonnie grinned, turned in her heels and came eye-to-eye with a pair of ocean blue orbs.
"Mason Lockwood, I thought art wasn't your thing."
The man in question shrugged one of his massive shoulders. From across the room Bonnie could have sworn she heard a growl.
"It's not but I had a special incentive for coming. The crowd being nice? I don't have to beat anyone up do I?"
"Maybe later," she teased.
Mason winked at her, leaned in and briefly kissed her cheek. He purposely let the kiss linger when he caught the elder Salvatore glowering at him.
At that moment one of the museum's docent's announced that the roof bar was open. Damon hightailed it.
He was beginning to feel considerably better after throwing back several shots of Wild Turkey following it up with a whiskey sour chaser. The tension that had been coiling in his neck, belly, and in his dick began to loosen as the DJ spun tunes from the sixties.
Twisting his lean hips to and fro Damon got down and dirty in the only way a hundred and forty-seven year old vampire could. With his eyes closed, he sang along to "Best of My Love". He was sure he was making an absolute fool of himself but he was too high to care.
When he heard someone chuckling, Damon peeled one eye open and then the other. Naturally it would be the bane of his predicament staring at him as if he forgot to take his anti-psychotic meds.
"See something you like, witch?" he drew out the last word as he continued to dance only this time he wasn't dancing so flamboyantly.
"Not really. I'm surprised you're still here though."
"You know I'm an advocate of the arts, Bonnie. Besides all the hottest women in town are under this roof. Where else would I be tonight?"
"Well, I guess you got me there." Bonnie looked down to examine the polish on her nails. They fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence until Damon extended a hand in a silent invitation to ask her to dance.
Bonnie raised an eyebrow in the air, stared at his open palm, then up into his dazzling aquamarine eyes, back to his palm again.
Wordlessly she took it and found herself spinning until her back was pressed against his chest. Together they moved doing all the dances from the sixties down to the nineties.
Six songs later Bonnie and Damon were still entwined. Several people stood observing them from the sidelines wondering when they could get a turn. Damon sneered at the men who openly gawked at Bonnie and her crowning assets. For Bonnie's part she ignored the indignant glares of the desperate housewives who wanted their opportunity to lose themselves in Damon's muscles.
The tempo of the music changed to an Afro-Cuban rhythm. Bonnie once again had her back pressed against Damon's chest as their hips swayed like they were on a rocky ocean. Damon gripped her tightly around the waist while Bonnie interlocked their fingers. Round and round in circles they moved and Damon was finding it difficult to keep his thoughts clean.
Bonnie grinned mischievously to herself knowing full well the impact she was having on Damon. Six months ago she would have been disgusted but now she felt herself melting into him. Yet when had the change happened? Maybe because in their own way they were friends, or as close to being friends as they'll ever get. Maybe she was growing as a person and that meant she was letting go of old and misplaced stereotypes and was becoming more open-minded. Whatever the catalyst was, Bonnie was enjoying herself and she didn't want to stop.
However the band took a short intermission which caused the dancing pair to reluctantly break apart.
"I could use a drink," Bonnie fanned herself. Damon, placing his hand on the small of her back, led her to the bar.
For the next half hour they talked, really talked to one another, made off color jokes about each other and some of the outfit choices of the patrons.
"You know, Bennett you aren't half as snooty as I thought you were. Must be a product of turning eighteen."
"Must be. Believe me, Damon I lived for having fun, but around you…I just had to watch you, keep you in my sight."
He smirked. "I always knew you were into me."
Bonnie rolled her eyes. When she leaned back she realized how close she and Damon had been to each other. They had been hunched over the bar, noses practically toughing.
"Really is that your first and last thought whenever you encounter a female?"
Damon shrugged a shoulder. "Mostly. Yet have you seen me? Can you blame me?"
Bonnie shook her head and snorted.
"Mind if I cut in?" a deep masculine voice asked. Bonnie peered over Damon's bent head to look at Mason. She instantly brightened.
"Hell-," Damon was poised to say "no" but Bonnie's outstretched hand towards the mutt cut him off.
Mason gripped Bonnie's hand and with a small tug pulled her off the stool. The two got lost in the crowd of swaying bodies.
"Be careful, Bonnie because I think Salvatore has placed you on his menu."
Bonnie looked back to the bar and was only slightly startled by the fact Damon's eyes were in fact gawking at her like she was something to eat, although part of her deep down figured it wasn't the type of eating you'd associate with vampires.
It made her shiver.
Bonnie held on to Mason just a little tighter. He got her subtle message and brought her impossibly closer. The heat of his body caused goose flesh to break over her skin. Damon had absorbed too much of her own body heat.
"You have my back," Bonnie looked up at Mason. He silently nodded his head and the two continued to dance.
"Good night, guys and thank you so much for being there to support me tonight," Bonnie thanked her friends as she climbed out of Elena's Explorer.
She was regaled with a chorus of "You're welcome, Bonnie" "Call me later".
On impulse Damon jumped out of the truck. "Let me walk you to your door. It is late after all. Never know what could be lurking in the bushes."
Bonnie stared at him strangely for a second and then shrugged.
Damon said over his shoulder to the waiting vehicle. "Go ahead home. I'll be fine."
"Are you hard of hearing, Stefan? I'm a grown man. I don't need you to hold my hand while I cross the street."
"Fine. Just make sure Bonnie makes it in okay. Don't do anything to piss her off."
Damon waved off his brother's suggestion and followed the witch the short distance from the walkway to the front door.
Soon he was overcome with a feeling of nervousness and Damon wanted to kick himself. He had no reason to be afraid like a prepubescent boy out on a date with the prettiest girl in school who prayed his breath didn't stink because he really wanted to kiss her.
Bonnie for her part pretended she wasn't all alone with Damon, and was proud of herself for getting her key in the lock on the first try. Once she opened the door and flicked on the hall light, she turned to face him.
They stared curiously at one another.
"Thank you for coming tonight, Damon. It wasn't so bad having you around."
He winked at her feeling at a loss for words. Then blurted, "Go out with me."
Bonnie went corpse still. She blinked.
"What?" she asked tentatively. "Why?" she added later.
Damon had no clue other than it sounded like an awesome idea. "Just…it would…go out with me."
Bonnie giggled unbelieving what she was hearing and seeing. Was Damon actually fidgeting?
"How bout we say we did and don't," she countered.
Something—maybe pain or disappointment or anger flashed in his eyes before they returned to their usual arrogance.
"What do you have to lose, Judgey?"
"Several things but lets start with the basics: my blood, my life, and God forbid my panties."
He grinned hugely at the last prospect. Bonnie immediately stammered to correct herself.
"I didn't mean…that didn't come out…that's not even close to being a possibility so get that stupid grin off your face."
"Riigghttt," Damon drawled and began to walk backwards down the steps and walkway. "Be ready tomorrow night at seven. I'll pick you up. Wear something tight and skimpy."
"Damon I didn't agree-,"
"And I like your hair when it's wild and curly." He winked. "Sweet dreams, Bonnie Bennett."
"Damon!" Bonnie growled as she stomped to the edge of the porch. She watched as he took one final step backwards and then disappeared from sight.
Standing alone with only the chirp of the crickets to keep her company Bonnie wondered what in the world just happened. She shook her head, chuckled, smiled despite herself and went inside her house.
She decided, as she locked the door, that the giddy feeling blooming in her chest was only a byproduct of the night and that it had nothing to do with going out on a date with Damon Salvatore.
On her way up to her room, her heart and head called her the liar she was.
Tomorrow night would be interesting indeed.