The burger place was exactly the kind of hole in the wall I would have expected from Damon. He didn't seem like the white tablecloth and silverware type of guy.

True to form, when we got to the counter, he ordered the biggest burger on the menu, along with extra large fries.

"Is this how you normally eat?" I asked. "How are you still so—" I stopped, not wanting to spout off about Damon's many positive physical attributes.

"You mean, how am I still so built and hot?" he finished. "I don't eat like this all the time. Plus I work out a lot. Not as much as Cam, but then again, I don't drink more than half my calories in beer every week."

"So this is like a special treat?" I asked. "What's the occasion?"

"Your lovely company, of course." He winked playfully. I looked away before he could catch the flush of my cheeks.

When I placed my order I thought Damon would call me out on it — a grilled chicken sandwich with a side house salad — but he didn't say a word. Although he was craving a thousand calories, I wasn't much one for greasy foods. Except when it came to Asian take-out, of course.

That thought only brought to mind my dad, making me wonder how he was doing. I'd have to visit him again soon. He hadn't looked so good last time. My heart sank a little.

It was terrible that I dreaded visiting my own father, but I never knew what to expect. Would he be up and about, with a clean house and freshly laundered clothes? Or would he be sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, unshaven and greasy-haired? Some weeks, some months, were better than others. We'd been in a string of bad months recently. I'd learned not to get my hopes up.

When our orders were ready, Damon and I took our food to a small booth with uncomfortable plastic seating. I placed the folder Jessie had given me to the side.

"Don't touch it with your greasy fingers," I warned.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He picked up a fry and held it out to me. "That salad looks disappointing."

I had to admit, the wilted lettuce and unripe tomato chunks didn't seem all the appealing. I took the fry Damon had thoughtfully offered. "We should start contacting those community groups right away. Maybe split them between us."

"Getting right down to business, are we?" Damon asked. He munched on a fry, giving me a considering look. "Have you always been a workaholic?"

"Runs in the family," I said without meaning to.

He examined me closely. "Your dad?" he guessed.

The quiet words woke something in my chest. Damon wasn't teasing or playing. I scrutinized him, wondering how much he knew. No doubt Hope had confided in Ian. Perhaps Ian had told Damon a bit about it.

"My brother mentioned your mom passed away when you were younger," he said, confirming my suspicions. "He didn't say much else. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said. "It was a long time ago."

"You never really get over childhood trauma, no matter how long it's been," he said.

I wondered if he knew that from experience.

"You said Ian was your only family. Did your parents also…?" I trailed off, trying to be delicate.

A brief cloud shaded his expression. He shook his head. "They're still alive."

"Kat mentioned—" I hesitated.

Damon nodded, understanding what I was getting at without words. "Me and Ian left home. We mostly couch-surfed with friends, sometimes stayed at shelters, once in a while cheap motels if we earned enough money busking. It wasn't like we were living in a box under a bridge the whole time." He gave me a sad sort of smile. "Still. There were some rough nights."

"I'm so sorry," I said.

He shrugged. "It was better than staying at home."

"I get that," I said quietly. "Me and Hope moved out on our own when we turned eighteen."

The both of us went silent, neither one wanting to ask the difficult questions. Nether of us wanting to be the first to ask exactly what was so bad about our home lives that we'd had to leave. I had a feeling Damon's story was worse than mine.

We each took a few more bites in silence. Finally Damon spoke up.

"So you've got a workaholic dad who also taught you about cars?"

I was surprised he remembered. Then again, I had made kind of a big deal about his ride.

"That was before," I said.

"Before your mom passed away?"

"She died in a car accident. After that…"

Damon nodded in understanding. "So he threw himself into his work. Like father, like daughter."

"I suppose." I hated to think I was turning into my dad. He'd used work to ignore his feelings. He worked so hard he made himself sick. But that's exactly what I'd been doing since Damon first walked into my office. "Maybe we're all destined to turn into our parents."

Damon's eyes went dark. "Fucking hope not," he muttered.

I paused, eyeing him. Damon didn't want to turn into his father anymore than I wanted to turn into mine.

"Is your dad the reason you left home?" I asked slowly.

Damon flicked his gaze up to meet mine. He nodded once. "Yeah. My father… is not a good man." The tightness around his mouth, the tired lines around his eyes, made my heart clench.

For all my father's faults, he was a good man. He'd simply fallen too deep into a hole of despair, unable or unwilling to reach out for help. I hadn't left home because of him. I'd left home for him. My sister and I had moved out in the hopes that he'd get better.

"I'm sorry," I said honestly.

"I'm not," Damon said. "All the shit that happened, it lead us to Darkest Days. I wouldn't trade that for anything. I just wish, for Ian's sake—" Damon exhaled sharply, looking away.

Something hard and unyielding in my chest softened. Based on what Hope had told me about her boyfriend, I had to assume some of the personal problems Ian had been dealing with stemmed from his childhood.

"Is Ian the younger twin?" I asked. "Hope's younger than me by a minute. You've got that protectiveness thing all older siblings have."

Damon smiled softly. "I try not to bring it up. He hates to be reminded of that."

"Every younger twin does, I think." I tried to keep my rapidly beating heart from pumping too much blood to my cheeks.

"So you're protecting Hope from something, too?" he asked.

It didn't escape me that he used the present tense.

I'd never confided in anyone. But maybe Damon would get it. He'd understand the need to protect his loved ones.

"My dad's not a bad man," I finally said, saying my thoughts out loud. "He just…"

Couldn't stand to be around us.

Couldn't bring himself to look at his daughter's faces.

Couldn't be the father we wanted him to be. The father we needed him to be.

"He changed after your mom died," Damon guessed. "He wasn't the same person."

"He never really recovered," I said. "Even now, he's still…"

"He still what?" Damon asked gently.

"He worked himself too hard," I admitted. "He got put on medical leave. With nothing to do all day he just…" I cleared it and sat up straighter in my chair. "Hope doesn't need to deal with that," I said firmly. "It was bad enough when we still lived at home. Being ignored, being neglected, no kid should have to grow up that way."

"Sometimes being ignored is better than the alternative," Damon said.

I tilted my head at him, questioning.

"Sorry," he said with a shake of his head. "I don't want to get into the whose-childhood-was-shitter game."

From the way he spoke, I was guessing he would win. Even knowing as little as I did about Ian and his struggles, I had to assume whatever it was had affected Damon just as much, and perhaps worse. As an older twin, I knew what it was like to take on the world to protect your younger sibling. I understood the burden, the heartache.

"I think it's really great you decided to throw this kind of event," I said instead.

Some of the darkness left Damon's eyes. "It helps to give back, you know?"

"So you're doing this for selfish reasons?" I teased, lightening the mood.

He laughed. "You did call me a narcissist once."

"Only once?" I replied. "I'll have to make sure to include it in my daily repertoire."

"You're using fancy words again," he noted. "You're going to get me all hot and bothered."

"Behave," I scolded. "We're in public."

"So in private is okay, then?" He wriggled his eyebrows in a comically come-hither way.

I laughed and snorted at the same time. "And here I thought we could get through one afternoon without your sexual innuendo."

"What's the fun in that?" he said.

"Is it always just about fun and playing around to you?" I asked.

"Why shouldn't it be?" He relaxed back into his chair, stretching his legs until his toe nudged mine. "Live life to the fullest, seize the day, dance like no one's watching, and so on. I've got a dozen more clichés like that in my back pocket."

"I get the point."

"Do you?" he asked. He stared me in the eyes, oddly serious. "I asked you before when was the last time you did anything spontaneously and you couldn't answer."

"I remember," I replied. "You also made me sit on a seven thousand dollar piece of technology and told me to take my panties off."

Damon narrowed his eyes, a smirk crossing his face.

"I got you to do one of them," he said in a low voice. "Want to take me up on the other?"

"We're in a greasy burger joint."

"That's not a no."

Damon's legs bumped against mine under the table. I shifted them back. He leaned back and stretched, knees brushing mine. I couldn't back up any further in the booth. One knee slowly edged its way between my thighs, parting them slightly. My breath caught in my throat.

"I bet I can guess what color panties you're wearing." His eyes flashed with a wicked glint.

"Black," I said immediately. "No need to guess."

"I'll need to check for myself to make sure you're not lying."

My stomach clenched at the heat in his words. I pressed my thighs together unconsciously, accidentally squeezing his knee in the process. The fire in his eyes flared up. The vibrant green of them almost made me want to spread my thighs, to open up to him.

The more sane part of my brain told me to shut this down, now.

I shifted in my seat abruptly, dislodging his leg, sitting up prim and proper.

"Remember our conversation?" I asked. "No dating, no touching."

"I can't believe you're really serious about that." Disgruntled disappointment crossed Damon's face.

"Is dating really that horrible of an idea?" I asked.

He looked thoughtful. "It's not a horrible idea," he said slowly.

"Did some girl break your heart and now you've sworn to never love again?" I asked, half joking.

He frowned. "No. I'm not heartbroken or traumatized or anything like that. It's just, why would I have wanted to be tied down to one woman when there have been so many throwing themselves at me?"

I stared at him in disbelief. "So Mr. Rock-Star-Sex-God doesn't want to settle down. It's as simple as that?"

"I've never had a reason to." He shrugged. "What can I say, I've been drowning in puss—"

"Don't even finish that disgusting sentence," I warned, cutting him off. I grabbed my purse in a huff and slid out of the booth. "I can't believe I thought we could have one normal afternoon working together."

"I didn't mean it to sound like that." Damon jolted up after me. "Why are you always getting so upset?"

"Maybe I'm just too sensitive," I shot back sarcastically. "I'm sure the models and groupies you sleep with don't mind being tossed aside, but I'm not that girl."

"You're so judgmental." His mouth twisted. "All the girls I sleep with know the deal."

"Exactly," I said, tapping my finger against the back of the booth in agitation. "I know your deal and I don't want any part of it."

His eyebrows drew down into a frown. "You really have something against fun, don't you?"

"Good bye Damon," I ground out through clenched teeth.

I turned on my heel and left.