She turns her head, the soft waves of her hair brushing her cheek as she smiles at me. “I don’t know, maybe because I actually listen when you talk.”
I want to hug her, but as her eyes linger on mine, there’s a strange tension between us and I feel like if I reach for her, I might be stepping over a line I can’t uncross. Then she glances down with an odd little twist to her mouth and the moment is gone.
She sorts the clean clothes, layering a man’s dark jeans together with a new stack of slender, plum-colored Henleys, dropping the lacy boyshorts on top. My eyes drift away before I have to see her collect my lonely pile of pants and boring shirts.
“So how am I doing on the going after what I want part?” I ask her, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“I think you’ll do fine as soon as you figure out what that is,” Caroline says, stacking clothes a little too quickly. “Maybe you’re just waiting for the next girl with googly eyes to be the right one.” She clears her throat and lifts her chin firmly. “But you’re doing the right thing in letting the past go. Because when she gets here, you want to be free to be with her, not still stuck in the cycle of who you’ve been.”
A slight smile touches my lips. “So I should learn from Tyler’s mistakes?”
I watch her move, the way she somehow manages to be efficient and yet feminine in even the smallest movement of her hands. She absolutely deserves someone who is free to appreciate her, to build a future with her.
She scoffs, blushing a little though I’m not sure why. “Yeah, well it doesn’t hurt to answer a girl’s calls, too.”
As if in demonstration, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out, waggling it playfully at Caroline to try and combat the wisp of inexplicable sadness that has crept into her eyes.
“Here, I’ll practice,” I tease her, and try not to let my smile falter when I see that it’s Elena. Talk about irony. “Hi,” I answer, pinching the phone against my shoulder so I can go back to the pile of socks, which doesn’t seem to be shrinking at all. Why can’t everyone just wear the same damn kind? It’s not like there’s that much variety in feet. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got a problem,” Elena says flatly.
Caroline glances at me and starts hurriedly pulling piles of clothes together, dumping the rest of the socks into a bag to take back to the hotel.
I frown and move quickly around the row of washers, scanning the street outside the front window of the laundromat for anything out of the ordinary.
“What kind of problem?”
“Katherine’s gone; Matt said she made another pass at him. He turned her down, of course, and he left for a few minutes to kind of give her some privacy to shower and get ready for bed. When he came back all her stuff was missing and so was she. She took her phone, but she’s not answering it.”
Cars are passing on the street outside, but no one is paying any attention to us. I rub my eyes, sighing.
“I should have seen this coming. If there’s one thing Katherine hates, it’s being rejected and no one wanted to share a room with her, and Matt blowing her off and I…” I trail off, wishing I would have left that part out.
“Wait, she was hitting on you, too?” Elena says, sounding more angry than she has a right to be.
And even though I can’t stand Katherine, irritation pings through me at Elena’s reaction. “She’s all alone, Elena. She’s human now and she’s looking at a really short life to live and how so far, she’s spending it all by herself. No wonder she’s freaking out. But she’s Katherine, so she’s coping the only way she knows how: by seducing people.”
“Yeah, well, she’s hanging out with the wrong crowd if she’s looking for a lover,” Elena says. “She’s screwed all of us over too many times. I should have known that just because she helped us once that didn’t mean anything would change. But I just don’t understand why she would take off now, when we’re just trying to protect her from the Augustines?”
I smile bitterly. “This is Katherine Pierce we’re talking about. Every penny I have says she’s about to give our location to the Augustines in exchange for immunity. Get your stuff together and call Damon. Caroline and I will be back in five minutes and we need to get out of that hotel and back on the road. Now.”
* * *
DAMON
Being on the run is a bitch.
Impromptu corpse and concrete combos in the back alley of a closed BDSM club are a son of a bitch.
And my ex-girlfriend selling us out to genocidal psychopaths is the queen of all things that have ever been bitches.
I put the gas cap back onto the Camaro and hang up the pump, my eyes raking over the other travelers washing windows and checking their oil, watching for anybody who seems a little too interested in our group.
I’ve barely slept in going on forty hours, my socks are full of itchy-as-fuck concrete dust and I only own three shirts, one of which is now a deep rose color instead of a manly grey, thanks to my little brother not being able to tell laundry sorting from a hole in his head.
The good news is that one of my compelled little spies reported back an overheard conversation with the interesting tidbit that the leader of the Augustines is actually a vampire. The bad news is, I still have no idea where to find the guy or how his freaking minions keep finding us, despite me pulling out every evasion tactic short of lighting the Camaro on fire to fake our own deaths.
Honestly, if Elena wouldn’t kill me, I might be considering that as an option at this point, that’s how fucking desperate I am.
“Hey.”
I turn my head at my girlfriend’s gentle greeting and give her a quick, tight smile in return. I need to buy some oil at this stop: Matt’s truck may be new but it burns the stuff like tequila on a campfire.
I turn and head toward the Mini Mart so I don’t have to look at Elena’s soft brown eyes because every single time I see them, they’re full of trust that I will get us out of this mess.
And so far, I’m failing spectacularly.
I hear her footsteps as she matches my steps. “Do you know what day it is?”
Shit. As soon as Elena speaks I realize I forgot to give Donovan my credit card, and I’m the only one who has one in a false identity and there’s no way he’s carrying enough cash to fill that massive truck of his, and we really shouldn’t have stopped at this Mini Mart because it’s at a highway crossroads and crossroads are the most dangerous. High traffic, which makes them the first place to start looking for your quarry, always. They're like the vowels in Wheel of Fortune: Manhunt edition.
I blink, realizing Elena just asked me something and I answer without thinking, my frustration bleeding acerbically into my voice. “October eleventh. Traditionally, the time of year when I start getting massively drunk in preparation for the inevitable Founder’s Halloween party because Carol Lockwood dressed in not-enough-of-a-French-Maid costume isn’t the kind of thing you want in the same zip code as your appetite this close to Thanksgiving.” I stretch my neck stiffly to one side. “This year, thanks to Klaus being a dick and Professor Frankenstein being an even bigger dick, I don’t have to worry about that.”
Elena's smile falters for a moment, but then it comes back and her eyes gleam determinately as she takes my hand. “Never mind all that,” she says, and leads me around the corner of the building. And when I see it, I stop dead.
I am such an asshole.
On the hood of Matt’s truck is a tiny brown cupcake with smooth, hard frosting and a single birthday candle glowing on top, half melted down because I had to spend so long spouting off when Elena was trying to surprise me.
“It’s the anniversary of our kiss in Denver,” she says quietly, and every word I’ve ever known sticks hard in my throat, filling up my chest and my suddenly weak arms and my big, clumsy feet.
She bites her lip, peeking up at me.
When I don’t say anything, she squeezes my hand and blurts, “I wanted to get you a really fancy cake with a basebal
l bat on the front." She's bouncing slightly on her toes as she continues, as if she can't quite contain all of her excitement in stillness. "Because you stabbed Kol with a bat and because having a picture of a motel on a cake would just be weird but then all this happened and I didn't really want to have our anniversary while we were on the run and I know you don’t like Hostess cupcakes and we’re stuck in these cars that are like a convention of everybody’s exes but I just wanted you to know that it was the best kiss of my life and—”
I kiss her. The shape of the mouth that just said all those things is the best shape I can imagine and I know that by definition, this is not the best kiss of her life, but I don’t care because it’s absolutely mine. She makes a tiny sound in her throat and throws her arms around my neck and I tighten my grip around her waist and pick her up off the ground so I can feel her pulled right up against me.
My girl.
The only anniversary we should have ever had is the one of her throwing me out on my ass for trying to compel her to kiss me, for sneaking into her room and touching her beautiful cheek when she was asleep, for feeding her my blood and trying to make her take the cure and for every one of the thousands of times I’ve been a complete jerk to her, but instead we’re having the anniversary of our third kiss.
Elena Gilbert and I have fucking anniversaries.
When I finally lower her back onto her feet, her hands slide softly over my shoulders and linger on my neck, her brown eyes wide and beautiful with the slightest gleam of moisture in them when she looks up at me.
I lift the cupcake off the napkin she set it on, and I blow out the candle, because I already got my wish. I carefully break the little cake into four pieces and pick up the smallest one, taking a step back and touching her trembling mouth with one finger.
When she parts her lips, I lay the confection on her tongue and wish I’d made it myself, that it was whipped from pure honey and cream and some kind of crazy silky flour that is only ground in the Himalayas from wheat blessed by nuns. But we’re in an alley and it was $1.69 off a gas station shelf and I couldn’t give the slightest hint of a fuck.
As soon as she swallows, I kiss her, tasting the hint of frosting on her flawless lips and teasing my way into her mouth because her tongue is the only anniversary gift I want.
She whispers my name into my mouth and I groan when I have to pull away. I gather up what’s left of the cupcake into the napkin, grab her hand and pull, tugging her along behind me so fast she has to half-jog to keep up. I steer her to the front of the Mini Mart, scanning the signs organizing the aisles with single-minded ferocity.
“Damon, where are we going?” she giggles, skipping a little as she clings to my hand.
When I spot what I want, I turn abruptly, only letting go of her to choose a box of Ziploc bags.
Name brand, gallon-sized and freezer safe, for the best durability.
I yank it off the shelf and rip it open, taking out a bag and flicking the violated box heedlessly onto the ground. I open the plastic sack and carefully slide the remnants of the cupcake inside, leaving a little bit of air so it won’t get crushed when I seal it and place it gingerly inside my jacket pocket.
“Okay,” Elena says, eyeing me like I might be unstable. “Seriously, Damon? What on earth are you doing?”
“Tradition,” I tell her, turning back and looking at her, really looking the way I almost never let myself because I can’t do it without everyone knowing I’m a complete freaking sap.
My eyes trace the high sweep of her cheekbones, her full lips that are an absolutely unrealistic combination of innocence and sensuality, the pink-kissed curl of her addictively soft hair. And I find my words.
“We’re going to save that for our first wedding anniversary because I am going to marry you,” I say emphatically, “and there are going to be flowers and doves and all that crap and I’m probably going to lose my shit when I see you in your dress because every day,” I tell her, my voice starting to shake, “that I spend with you is the best day of my life.”
Tears fill her eyes and she throws her arms around me and kisses me so hard that she bruises my lips and I cup her perfect ass in both hands and boost her up onto me so she can do it some more. She tugs on the back of my neck, pulling me a little off balance and I stagger, catching us against the grocery shelves and knocking down a box of aluminum foil that bounces off my head before it hits the tile.
The shelves are sharp, they’ll scrape her skin but before I can shift away from them she lets out a tiny moan and I can’t remember a single thing except the way she likes me to rub my tongue over hers. I have one hand under her bottom and one cradling her cheek, my thumb stroking the curve of her cheekbone and this girl, this woman is going to be my wife.
My wife.
We’re interrupted by a haughty sigh that in any other situation would be a guaranteed mood killer, but today, I’m bulletproof.
“Seriously?” Caroline says. “In a Mini Mart? You two are unbelievable. Whatever, I’ll be in the car.”
Elena pulls back, laughing, and I lower her back to her feet, stealing kisses around her giggles.
She threads her fingers between mine and I pull them up and press them both hard against the very center of my chest so she can feel my heartbeat crashing against her knuckles.
Elena kisses the point of my chin and I curse the fact that there’s stubble because I couldn’t get enough bathroom time to shave this morning and I can’t freaking believe I just proposed to her with five o’clock shadow and no ring.
“Aren’t we supposed to freeze the cake or something?” she asks, her free hand sneaking under my jacket and stroking the tense plane of my stomach as if it’s the first time I’ve ever let her touch me.
“Those things have got a truckload of preservatives in them,” I tell her, drunk on the sparkle in her eyes. “It’ll keep.”
She laughs, happiness glowing out of her every movement as she nuzzles close to my chest again. “Just like us,” she teases, and lays a kiss at the base of my throat in that place she seems to love and no other woman has ever paid attention to.
“Just like us,” I agree hoarsely, and tip my forehead against hers like a promise I would only ever make to her.
* * *
She lies on my chest, the sweat cooling on our bare skin at exactly the same rate, the small movements of our breathing rocking us against each other like the waves in a gentle tide.
I have to tell her.
I shift my face downward, nuzzling my lips against her hair as if the soft strands could hide all the things I need to say. It’s been a long ass day and I just want to lose myself in the silence of this hotel room, in the perfect memory of a cheap cupcake on the hood of a truck. But she deserves better than that.
"Elena?"
"Mmrph.” She lets out a long sigh that tickles my skin. “I have never understood how you can talk after sex. If you had as many orgasms as I just did, you wouldn't even consider language an option."
"If I had as many orgasms as you just did, I'd be so dehydrated I'd have to drink down half of Manchester United to recover," I say wryly.
I can feel the crinkle of her frown against my chest and she pokes me. "Don't be dirty."
"That's not what you said a minute ago," I singsong.
She just snuggles closer and says nothing, as if I can't feel her frown perking up into a smile. I let my palm explore the textures of chocolate-colored hair over cream-colored skin, and listen to my chest echo hollowly with the reminder of my cowardice.
"What?" she whispers, and I swallow. She tips her head back, alarmed. "Damon, what's wrong?"
"There's something I need to tell you."
She rolls off me, her movements quick and frustrated as she pulls herself up to a cross-legged position beside me. "No."
Even with the cold weight in my stomach, I have to smile at that. "Oh come on, isn't that every girl's day dream? A guy who wants to talk?"
"Not like this," she informs me. "I k
now that face. That's the high-and-annoying-road face and I'm done with it." She sighs, her eyes softening. "Damon, we've been through this. I know who I'm marrying."
Her words hit me like a jolt of pure, sweet adrenaline. My skin flashes cold, then hot and viciously sensitive as every thread in the sheets imprints itself into my back and my memory.
Humiliatingly, I have to clear my throat once, then twice before I can speak. Elena's fingers cuddle around my wrist, her knuckles brushing my bare hipbone.
"Yeah, you kinda don't," I finally manage to say, the tenderness of her touch giving me my guts back because I'm doing this for her. I'm way too selfish to do it just on my own account. "You couldn't even match up a list of continents with decades if I gave you the worksheet a la Damon Salvatore."
The Vampire Diaries: Trust In Betrayal (Kindle Worlds) (In Time We Trust Trilogy Book 3) Page 12