“ My hair is doing that thing we both love. “
Today was supposed to be all about the girls. She, Caroline, and Elena were supposed to go full tourist mode and walk the French Quarter, take in all the sights, sounds, and smells. Take selfies with street performers, have one of the pretend witches read their palms, go pub crawling like the non-natives that they were. Instead the two of them had bailed on her. Again. Bonnie couldn’t be bothered to remember which life or death, end of the world catastrophe had pulled them away this time. She was too busy grabbing the bull by the horns and making the most of today all by her damn self.
Or that had been the plan... backup plan. Until she’d spotted on Derek Hale brooding over the bar of one of the pubs she’d popped into. Smile lighting up her face like Times Square on New Years, she’d sauntered over to his haunt and worked her special brand of Bennett magic. Plan A was back in play. Full Tourist Mode - engaged.
Somehow she’d managed to coax him out of the pub and onto the streets. Cellphone, out. Pokémon GO, open. Derek Hale, prisoner. Things were looking up already.
Bonnie supposed she should be grateful to Elena and Caroline for being flakier than toasted day old croissants. If they hadn’t abandoned her, she wouldn’t have had this once in a lifetime opportunity to prowl the streets of New Orleans with Derek, stopping at stalls, in front of musicians and artists, buying whatever food smelled the best along the way.
Did Derek look particularly thrilled about being her enslaved escort through the French Quarter’s hustle and bustle? No. But when did Derek Hale look particularly thrilled about anything? Bonnie was halfway convinced he was born scowling. It was his factory setting. Not that it had any effect on her.
Two hours into their Tourist Experience, Bonnie had insisted on ice cream. Seated at the tables just outside of the parlor they’d raided, she was nibbling at her spoon of chunky monkey while Derek people watched, largely ignoring his helping of --she leaned over to inspect the contents of his cup-- birthday cake. She should have picked a more exciting flavor for him.
Distracted by the high tension game of Battleship she had going with Stiles, Bonnie snapped to attention at the sound of Derek’s voice stating, “My hair is doing that thing we both love.” He looked away from his reflection in the windowpane of ice cream parlor they were seated in front of, looking proud of the slight quiff of the short, dark strands.
A grin, bright and wide, took shape on her lips and Bonnie reached over without thought or better sense. She stroked her fingers through his soft strands of black and adjusted the volume to his effortless, ‘I woke up like this,’ look. What was completely, totally, massively, unfair was that it was true. The male just had damn good hair.
Hair sufficiently finger combed and styled, Bonnie booped his nose before pulling her hand back. “You’re a good sport, Der-Bear. Thank you for hanging out with me today.” She scooped her spoon full of ice cream and held it up toward his mouth. “Chunky Monkey?”
