Shea Butter Baby// D.S

10

Chapter 10: Pussy-whipped

A permanent smile was carved onto the pleasant planes of Damon's face, something that absolutely no one seemed to enjoy. Stefan's permanent cloud of despair was cloudier than usual, spreading its poison pessimistic rain like a disease."What is with you today, brother?"

"Maybe I'm just having a good day, Stefan."

"You don't have good days." His hip popped out, brows furrowing as he examined the raven haired man who was reaching into the fridge. "What are you planning?"

An offended hand reached up to Damon's chest, brows furrowed as he fumbled to pop open a bloodbag that he later drained into a cup. "Don't be so self-centered Stefan, not every second of my day revolves around you."

The younger Salvatore pursed his lips for a few beats of time, trying to decipher if Damon was being truthful or not. "Then what did you do?"

"You mean who?"

A smug smirk was hidden behind the rim of a glass, someone else's essence becoming Damon's. "I don't believe you."

"What do you mean you don't believe me, brother?"

"Not even a month ago you were all about Elena, what happened to that?"

"Are you missing the competition?" Stefan reminded silent. "I'm just not interested in your toys anymore, you should be happy that my attention is indefinitely occupied."

That caught his attention, lush green globes of sight peering over at the body language his sibling exuded. The uncharacteristic smile pressed on his face without even so much as a glass of alcohol in his hand, not to mention the undeniable pep in his step. "You got laid."

"I got laid," Damon repeats, flashback briefly flying across his closed eyelids.

         Disappearing out the front door before his little brother could ask anymore questions. The perfect blue drop top sped off like a dream, whisking him off to the Grill to meet Ric. He'd been so disconnected from the hectic life of Mystic Falls for the past few days—he felt like a whole new person. Not stressed about being good or spending all day figuring out plans to save anyone from impending doom.

          Soft onyx tresses blew in the wind, giving it that sexy bed head took when he finally put the vehicle in park. Slamming the door shut, Damon sauntered over to the soothing interior of the Grill. The smell of booze and low expectations ruminated through the enclosed space—he didn't mind it though.

          "I should punch you."

          "Good morning to you too, Ric." Waving two fingers towards a bartender, Damon's usual was placed on the coaster before him and a tab begun. "Miss me?"

          Playing with the ridges on the glass in his clutches, Ric turned his attention to his twisted fuckhead of a best friend (come on Damon killed him and that justifies "fuckhead") sitting beside him. "Did you stop giving a crap that an original hybrid dick has been threatening my family because Elena doesn't love you?"

Damon's eyes rolled, his entire body language changing at the second reminder of the day that his previous adoration for the doppelgänger had been all too public. "You sure know how to kill a high." Taking a large gulp of his drink, the bartender refilled it without even needing to be told. He nodded gratefully. "Not everything is about Elena, Ric. I was spending my time enjoying my eternal life and not worrying about said original hybrid dick."

"You made a promise to help."

           "I didn't promise, I was volunteered and I declined my services."

           Ric's face twitched, a side affect of his disbelief and anger: sure the history teacher was used to Damon's flakiness but for a while he'd finally thought he'd changed. Essentially, Alaric Saltzman was disappointed in the vampire that he somehow called his friend. He finally sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat at as he succumbed to the unrelenting need to figure out exactly why Damon had gone MIA for nearly three days. "So, what were you doing?"

          "I was on a date."

          "On a date?" Alaric chucked.

          Damon rolled his crystal clear blue eyes, back bowing slightly as he slouched in his leather jacket, mood significantly deflated. "Im not sure why you're laughing, every woman you've ever dated has disappeared or died."

           "Dick." Alaric took another swig of the amber liquid sloshing around in his cup—it definitely wasn't worth eleven whole dollars but he wasn't going to complain because it was doing its job in calming his nerves. "Who is she?"

           "I think I'd prefer to keep my private life, private. I'd hate to be the center of attention for your dinner time conversations with the gossiping Gilbert gallery."

           Finishing the remaining bourbon in the glass and threw a few dollars on the table. Giving a half-hearted slanted smirk Damon backed away only saying goodbye through a quick pat on Alaric's shoulder.

            By time he was out of the Grills parameters and nearly a foot away from his car, one eager hand reached into his pocket to grab his phone. Scrolling through the contacts before he settled on the name that sent a genuine lang of happiness through his body.

             Damon's finger hovered over the call button, hot sun beaming on his darkly covered shoulders but he didn't care—he had much more important matters on his mind. Ever since early that morning when Nala slid out of his bed, gently covering his shoulders with the duvet when she suspected he was still sleeping (he most definitely wasn't) he just didn't want to seem too desperate. It had been less that seven hours since they'd last seen one another but it felt like decades.

             "Fuck it."

             He clicked the call button as he simultaneously slid into the drivers seat of his car, left hand holding the phone as it rang and right hand turning his keys into the ignition. It purred to life when the nonchalant tone of the woman who'd fully assaulted his thoughts flowed through the receiving line. "Money on the line, don't waste my time."

             "How much for a surprise home visit?"

            Damon could hear the smile in her response. "Depends on the currency you plan to pay in."

            "Do you work? How much do you make in a day and I'll pay you for it—since I'll be taking up your time of course."

            Nala looked down at her phone, eyes then darting up to meet gazes with an equally as impressed Caroline and Bonnie who'd she'd brought along this time. She remained silent for a few for beats of time, Nala knew damn well she wasn't working, she didn't need to. The inheritance she'd received from her parents passing was enough to make sure she had this house, everything in it and more. She didn't need his money but the creole in her couldn't just ignore the offer of free money. "Slide a band in my mail slot and I'll put you on my schedule for the day."

            "I'll be there in ten."

            Easiest thousand dollars he ever spent.