I do not own The Hunger Games.

Honky Tonk

"This is a bad idea." Katniss Everdeen eyes the outside of Haymitch's Honky tonk and Tavern with equal parts dread and disgust.

"We're in Texas: open containers of alcohol and large caliber firearms are both totally legal. Everything that's fun here is a bad idea. Come on, Brainless." Johanna Mason, Katniss's college roommate and general rabble-rouser, pries Katniss's fingers from the door handle of her Ford Bronco. When Katniss still won't budge from where she's dug her borrowed red and black cowboy boots into the dirt, Johanna sighs and runs her fingers through her short, spiky, dark hair. She levels a steady stare at her friend – the one who had been with her through thick and thin in college. "Katniss, look. You came here on vacation so that you could really let go of all the bullshit pressure from back home. I know that situation with Gale really fucked you up, but it's resolved now. You really have no excuse but to live up to your promise to me on the phone: cut lose for once in your pathetically sheltered life and come inside."

Katniss eyes her friend's earnest expression skeptically. "You're not going to let up on this, are you?"

"Uh, no. We've already done all the local tourist crap, so you owe me. And I need a little nightlife."

Katniss's sigh originates from somewhere deep. Like her feet. All she wanted was a place to enjoy a quiet beer and the game. Instead, she's dressed up in boots and a mini-skirt so short it's like a Daisy Duke throwback. Jo hadn't even let her wear lucky #92's jersey, claiming that she would have to get a much bigger set of balls to walk into a bar in Jo's hometown wearing it. Glancing at the juxtaposition of timber and neon on the faux-log front of the bar, she no longer thinks her friend was exaggerating. She smooths her palms down her skirt hiding her NY Giants underwear before declaring, "I am not riding the bull."

Jo gleefully claps her hand around her friend's shoulder and snorts. "That's alright. I plan on riding enough of something tonight for the both of us. Now let's go get you so drunk that you forget the Cowboys are the enemy."

-o-

Katniss eyes the inside of the tavern, noting the rustic stone and log decor, complete with faux-antlers. When she can't help but notice the four large screen TV's, all showing the Cowboys hosting the Giants at AT&T Stadium, she gives a tiny cheer. Sure, it isn't quite the quiet and relaxed atmosphere she had been hoping for, but at least the game's outcome won't be a mystery. She lets Jo lead her to the bar, threading their way through the throng of jean-clad cowboys sporting big hats, big boots, and big egos.

Jo thumps her fist on the scarred wood that smells of about a billion spilled Budweisers. "Hey, Bartender! Down here!" When he ignores her, she thumps louder. When he still ignores her, she wolf-whistles to get his attention. "Bartender, you've got a fine ass, sure. But pardon me if I don't want to see just your backside tonight."

Katniss nods at Jo's ass-essment: the butt displayed to perfection in dark, western-cut jeans is lean and firm. Just the way Jo likes it. Which is why Katniss almost chokes when the guy straightens to well over six feet and clear, gray eyes underneath the sternest brows she's ever seen clash with Jo's. "Is that so, sweetheart? You think you'd know what to do with all this?" The tall man with the salt and pepper hair gestures to his broad chest and lean hips. All the while, his eyes rove over Jo. "Seems like you'd need a little more experience to handle a seasoned buck like me."

Katniss is horrified on behalf of her friend. Is the old guy flirting with Jo?

Jo gives a husky laugh. "I don't think you need to worry about my experience points, guy. What I lack on that front I can more than make up in creativity."

Those silver eyes glimmer for just a second before a bored look steals over his face. "Oh, I don't doubt that. And now that you have my attention, what can I get for you two ladies?"

"I need six shots of tequila stat in order to keep my friend from running out the door."

The tall man nods, grabs six shot glasses, and places them on the counter.

Jo frowns. "You know what? We'd better make it an even ten." In answer to the dark eyebrow that shoots up nearly to his hairline, she leans forward and puts her hand on his wrist. "That will keep her from running out the door and give her personality a little boost."

The guy shrugs, adding the shot glasses and pouring, then gives her the total.

"Jo, tequila?" Katniss grimaces. "You know what tequila does to me."

Jo grabs her friend in a friendly headlock. With one more wink at the guy behind the counter, she announces to the room, "It makes your clothes fall off, which is sort of the point. Now, drink up!"

-o—

Katniss stares blearily in horrified fascination at the huge dance floor filled to capacity with something she hoped never to see: line dancing. It's clear the sweaty, grinning folks on the dance floor take a lot of pleasure in the stomping, clapping, and pivoting they're doing. Not to mention the fact that everyone seems to know the words to every song. Every song.

Jo sense Katniss's reticence. She bumps her shoulder and asks, "You ready to hit the dance floor, Brainless?"

"What?" Katniss is almost hypnotized by the synchronized movements. She has to pull herself out of her zoned-out state to tune into Jo's words.

"We're going to get out there and get down. Boot scootin' boogie. Shake our groove things."

"No. Jo, they are singing about work clothes, boots, and Brown Chicken Brown Cow. What the hell is that?"

Jo rolls her eyes. "I am not above marching back to the bar and asking them to shut off the game."

"Then I'll watch it on my phone. Besides, I'm not the only one here watching it."

"I can't believe you'd rather watch guys in spandex on TV than guys in tight jeans here." At Katniss's unamused look, Jo tries a different tactic. "See the hottie on the dance floor?"

Katniss plays dumb. "Who?"

Jo heaves an exasperated sigh. "The blond guy with the backwards Longhorns cap on?" At Katniss's blank face, Jo continues, "I figured you would have noticed his ass, which is so tight I bet you could bounce a quarter off of it. Or his abs, which are ribbed for your pleasure. Or those NASCAR hips, which can do two hundred miles per hour for hours on end before driving into the winner's circle. But whatever. Take a look at him, Brainless. And by the way, I know you can see him because your blush right now goes all the way down to your water bra."

Describing her reaction as a blush is putting it mildly: Katniss has spent the last ten minutes with her eyes riveted on the guy in question. It's not that he's gorgeous. He's a little too short and a little too broad for that characterization in today's world of long, lean-limbed beauty, something Katniss knows well at her own diminutive height. His hair is a little too shaggy, with curls tumbling over his forehead and ears and brushing his collar below the backwards brim of the cap. But his smile is killer and his broad shoulders are perfectly displayed in a form-fitting black polo shirt that tapers to a "v" into his 501's. Jo is right about his hips, too. But more than that, he's got presence.

Jo leans closer. "We're going to go out there and give this a try or I'm going to go tell Captain Piston-hips over there that this is your last night in San Antonio and you're getting over your last relationship. Hell, Katniss, that's not even a lie. I'll lay it on him that you're so lonely that you want to personally subscribe to his fine, fine ass's Facebook and Twitter feeds, and that you need a cowboy like him and a long night on the range to help your recovery."

Katniss knows Jo'll do it, too. Frankly, she thinks she's getting off easy, since Jo hasn't threatened to slip him her room key. Yet.

Maybe it's the shots. Or Jo's threats. But forty-five minutes later, Katniss is actually starting to get the hang of it and let loose a little. Sure, she does it mostly by keeping her eyes glued to Captain Piston-hips's feet, but he's fun to watch and his exaggerated, thumping steps make it easy. And if she knows her hips will never pivot like his, she doesn't mind.

What she does mind is how little she's seen of the game. "I'm heading to the bar, you coming?" she shouts over some guy singing about how a girl should shake it on the hood of his tractor.

"I'll be there in a minute. Order me a couple of shots?"

Katniss frowns darkly at her friend, knowing what sort of trouble Jo can get into in sixty seconds. But she makes her way to the bar with a mental shrug. Jo can take care of herself, after all.

"Where's your hot friend?" the bartender asks as he pours a beer for another customer.

"What? Do I need to hit on you in order to get a drink?"

He stops pouring. His drawl is more pronounced and slower, like he's trying to piss her off. "You aren't from around here, are you, Sweetheart?"

Katniss is nothing if not curt in the face of such southern hospitality. "Uh, no. I would have thought that would have been obvious from my accent. Can I have the shots now?"

He looks over her shoulder. "Your friend here's a real charmer, you know that? You weren't kidding about hoping the shots would improve her personality."

"She's a real asset to humanity." Jo winks at the bartender before hoisting herself so she leans over the bar. The old guy now has a pretty clear shot down her shirt. "Don't take it personally."

He glances at her displayed cleavage and answers her wink with a grin that shows off a dimple and drops ten years off his age. "I don't take very much personally. Especially when alcohol can make it all better."

"That's the right spirit. I never got your name, cowboy."

"Haymitch. Nice to meetcha, ma'am."

"OOOH. Like, let's go for a roll in the hay, Haymitch?" Jo pushes her breasts further together in a move designed to at least get them free drinks.

"If that's what pleases you."

Jo's voice drops to a throaty drawl. "Oh, that pleases me, alright."

Katniss's sarcasm breaks the mood. "Excuse me for interrupting. Can we have our drinks now?"

Jo and Haymitch share a sympathetic look before Jo apologizes, "She's a Yankee."

"I can tell. Manners of a slug, all of 'em."

Katniss resists the urge to kick Jo when her friend nods in agreement. Instead, she rolls her eyes and makes her way to the big screen TV so she can watch her team trounce the Cowgirls. Because they will, no doubt about it. She watches the snap and the evil empire – as she likes to think of those douchebags from Dallas – throws long. It's incomplete and she's already snorted loudly at Romo's clear incompetence when the ref calls offsides on the play.

She doesn't even think before she gestures at the screen and yells, "Are you getting blowjobs from The Crypt Keeper to call plays like that, ref? He was behind the line!" A quiet chuckle comes from behind her. She whirls to find the piston-hipped dance floor guy standing behind her, taking a pull from his bottle of Bud while everyone else in the immediate vicinity gapes at her.

Haymitch yells from the bar, "You're a real piece of work, Sweetheart. Aren'tcha?"

There's laughter to go along with her flaming face. To hide her embarrassment, she channels Jo and gives the hot blond a slow once-over from the tips of his ash blond curls, just visible under the ball cap, to his black, scuffed cowboy boots.

"Like what you see?" He seems unaffected and unimpressed.

Katniss scowls. "Not really."

He shrugs, more of a ripple of shoulders that sets off a chain reaction visible through his close-fitting polo: muscles move down his torso to the magic "v" that disappears into his jeans. Katniss feels an answering ripple. She'd rather die than admit it, though. "Well, your friend over there sent me to give you these. She said…let's see…'it's imperative you take them to correct your personality disorder'."

Through the fog of her anger, she registers that he's holding two shot glasses in his left hand. She shoots them in succession, wincing as the sharp burn of the alcohol hits her throat before biting out, "I do not have a personality disorder."

"Ma'am, with all due respect, you're standing in a bar, in Texas, watching the Cowboys play the Giants and you're yelling at the screen like you want the Giants to win. That makes you either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

Katniss wants to wipe the half-grin off his adorable, dimpled face. She's offended by that face. How dare he presume to talk to her that way, about her team, in that drawl of his? He's too cute, too confident, too…everything. She weaves on her feet as she points a finger at his chest. "Well, Mr. My-Hips-Don't-Lie, since you seem to know so much about me, which is it? Because football, Giants football, was something I shared with my dad. It got me through his death and my Mom's inability to find a job in our God-forsaken little town, which necessitated me having to work twice as hard so the lights stayed on and we had something to eat. It even got me through a rough patch during preseason when the love of my life and best friend on the whole planet got sick. Really sick. So what if I'm a Giants girl all the way down to my NY Giants thong? Giants football is sacred. It's way more sacred than that douchebag Garrett sucking Romo's tiny cock."

Utter silence descends on the bar area. Katniss can feel her pulse beating in her cheeks and she's sure she looks like a total psycho, especially when she catches site of Blondie's wide, blue eyes. And the hands he's holding, palms up, like he's surrendering.

"I just came to deliver a message," he says.

"Well, message delivered."

He nods at her with a solemn look, touching his index finger to his forehead in salute.

She watches him saunter off, the pit of her belly quivering.

An hour later and it's done: her boys have lost. Lost. Mincey was all over Manning like it was his freaking job or something. And Manning…don't even get her started on his abysmal eighteen completions in thirty three pass attempts. One hundred sixty-three yards. That's just pathetic. She's spent the last hour of her life at a table, bouncing pennies into shot glasses, watching Manning and the Giants offense get their helmets handed to them while all the other patrons treat her like a caged, man-eating tiger. And the worst part? Haymitch at the bar won't give her anything more to drink.

"You're bad for business, Sweetheart," he told her when she asked nicely for two more after Manning's first sack in the second half. "Doesn't matter than your friend has thighs of steel and can ride a bull like she's born for it. You're a mean drunk, so no more for you."

Everyone at the bar witnessed her humiliation. Her fading-buzz, almost-sober humiliation.

"Hey. Mind if I sit down?"

Katniss is so depressed she doesn't even look up. Granted, she doesn't have to: she can spy those scuffed boots from where her head rests on her arm. "Sure. It's not like anyone else's sitting there."

The blond snorts. "Well that's because everyone's huddled at the bar, terrified you're going to go off again. Here. You look like you could use this." He slides a Bud her way. "I'm Peeta, by the way."

The drink makes her raise her head and she looks at him skeptically. "Does Haymitch know you're giving me this?"

He colors slightly and rubs the back of his neck. "I told him I was buying a beer for a pretty girl."

"And he bought that?" She takes a pull from the bottle anyway.

Peeta gapes. "It wasn't a lie."

"Oh." The bottle hits the table with clink. She fiddles with the label for something to do with her suddenly fidgety hands. "Peeta, that's really sweet and everything. But I told you that I'm involved right now."

He nods. "I remember when you announced it at the bar. I just thought… well, you looked like you could use a friend after that. Or maybe some poison to put yourself out of your misery." He gives an exaggerated shudder as he motions to the TV, where the post-game interviews play.

She gives a self-deprecating laugh. "Thanks. I'm Katniss, by the way. So, uh, are you from around here? Since the entire bar knows I'm not."

They laugh together. "My whole family lives here, but I just came into town for a wedding. Rye's my brother and he's marrying that firecracker over there." Peeta points to the bouncy blonde that's hanging on a guy who looks a lot like Peeta. "This is their Jack and Jill bachelor party." Katniss's raised eyebrow earns a chuckle. "I don't even know how I know that term. It must be all the wedding craziness."

"So you're here for the wedding? That sounds like fun."

"Yeah. And to visit some of my friends from high school and college." He tugs the Longhorns cap down over his escaping curls for emphasis. "Honestly, though, I'd much rather hang out with you."

Her self-derision is thick when she asks, "Because I'm such a charmer?"

"Absolutely. You have no idea how taken the whole bar is with you." His dimples flash for a second.

His smile almost makes her forget the Giants' loss. Almost. "Yeah. I'm sure they're all placing bets on whether you make it out of here alive."

They're quiet for a minute before Peeta asks, "So, tell me about your guy?"

Katniss swallows the lump in her throat. "He had some health issues recently. And I…I thought I was going to lose him."

"I'm so sorry. Katniss."

She can tell he's sincere, so she gives him a small smile. "It's alright. Gale's better now – he's making a full recovery. I can't wait to get home to him. He's always been my rock. It's been weird not having him around."

Peeta rubs the back of his neck again before saying quietly, "He's a lucky guy."

Katniss looks around, then hops down from her barstool. "Come on. Let me buy you a beer."

"You don't have to-"

She fixes him with a steely glare. "Where I come from, we don't owe people beers. We even the score by the end of the night."

"Okay."

They make their way over to the bar, where Jo is still flirting with Haymitch. "You two make nice, or what?" Jo asks her friend.

"Yeah. Can you order us another round of beers? And can you watch my phone for a second?"

"Sure." Jo waits until Katniss is beyond earshot. "So, you're not from here, are you? I can tell by your fake-ass accent that you're not, so don't fuck with me. You're from back East somewhere, aren't you?"

Peeta blushes. "I grew up here. The accent comes out when I'm back, and especially when I've been drinking. But yeah, I live in Philadelphia now."

"Philly?" Jo sucks in a whistling breath and practically spits the word. "Jesus, Brainless. That's Eagle territory. Don't tell Everdeen that, or she'll stop talking to you faster than you can say, 'NFL cockblock'. You get me?"

"Thanks for the safety tip, but I don't think it will be necessary: she's in a relationship."

Jo's silent for a moment. "Did she tell you that?"

"She told the whole bar that, remember?"

Jo shakes her head. "Nope. Must have been riding the bull. But she told you about Gale? All about Gale?"

Peeta nods. "Yeah. About how he's been sick, but he's better now." When Jo stares at him and laughs, he frowns darkly. "Look, it's pretty messed up that the love of your friend's life had a brush with death and you're laughing about it-"

She's full-out belly-laughing now. "Stop. STOP! Brainless, I get it. You want to hit that, but she told you that she's into someone else. And you believed her, which is, like, so, so sweet. Frankly, it's amazing that a nice guy like you put up with her frothing-at-the-mouth, rabid Giants fan bullshit. But you did. So maybe you're more than just a nice guy. I'm going to throw you a bone." Johanna fiddles with Katniss's cell phone for a minute before swiveling it so it faces Peeta. "This is Gale."

Peeta stares at the picture of a black Labrador retriever with soulful eyes and a graying muzzle. The next picture is a much more rambunctious, younger version of the same dog leaping off a dock into a lake. And the third one is of Katniss and the dog wearing birthday hats. Katniss has her arms around the dog like he's her lifeline. Peeta pauses for a minute trying to grasp what the pictures mean. "But…that's a dog. She said…"

"She's had him since right before her dad passed away. He's been her closest friend. And he got sick with some kidney issues recently. He almost died before she got him to the vet so they could remove the blockage. So, you see? There's nothing but the fact that you're probably an Eagles fan to get in the way of you drilling her, Texas-style."

Peeta leans back against the bar with his arms bent. It's a casual pose, but it's obvious he's considering everything he's learned. "So, except for the Eagles fan thing – and I'm not admitting that, mind you – you think I have a shot?"

"She talked to you, didn't she? Katniss doesn't talk to very many people. You should consider it a high compliment. Besides, in case you missed out, her eyes were glued to your ass for most of the night. I have you to thank for her even venturing out onto the dance floor. Now, you should probably go see what's taking her so long. It would suck if she passed out or puked before you could do some deep-core drilling." Peeta's halfway to the restroom before Jo calls after him, "Oh, and Casanova? Don't be a total dickhead about this, alright? If you're truly in Philly, you're close enough to bump into her at a game, so be careful. You might do the one-night stand thing, but Kat never does. Not ever. And living in Philly, you're not even that far from her."

Peeta glances towards the restrooms deep in thought.

"You like her, don't you? I mean, more than bar hook-up." Jo rubs her hands together. "That's even better. Why don't you go check out if she needs some water or something? Maybe you can work in some sort of heart to heart confession that will make her look past your glaring faults – no offense – and hone in on your finer points."

"You mean, like my sense of fairness and honesty? I'd never try to take advantage of her without letting her know the score up front."

"Yeah, I figured: you have that earnest and clueless look about you. Not scat! Take your Luke Bryan ass out of here. You're cramping my style."

-o-

He's waiting for her when she comes out of the bathroom. "You alright?"

It looks like she's washed her face in cold water and didn't dry it off all that well. Water droplets hang off her eyelashes and the tip of her nose. She stops short when she sees him leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. "Why wouldn't I be?" She swings her braid over her shoulder. Peeta can't tell if she's angry or embarrassed, or both.

Peeta shrugs and it does that rippling thing to his abs again. "Your friend thought you might be having a tough time, so I agreed to come check on you. Since I can see I'm not needed, I'll just mosey along…"

"You know, don't you? Jo told you. Well great. Just fucking great." She hustles the two steps to grab onto his arm and blows out a breath. "Wait! Peeta, wait. I'm sorry. That was…rude." She tugs on the end of her braid, and looks at him from under her lashes, amazed that he still looks attractive even as her beer goggles wear off. Against her better judgment, she takes a step closer. "I need you."

Peeta cocks an eyebrow. "You seem to be doing just fine."

Katniss considers him for a minute almost shyly. She shakes her head and steps toward him, reveling in the spicy tang of sweat and beer and something else that unfurls a swirl of desire in her belly. "I'm not. I…I need you."

He swallows at her proximity. "You do?"

She nods and reaches up to touch her lips softly to his.

That's the only invitation Peeta needs to gather her to him and deepen the kiss. Her mouth opens beneath his and he groans with the heat of her against him as their tongues play. He could easily lose himself in her and he knows it. But he also knows that he's got to get control of the situation. He keeps his hands firmly on her waist –no wandering, he reminds himself – and pulls his mouth from hers. "Katniss, I need to tell you something."

"Mmmm?" She runs her leg up the outside of his thigh, pressing even closer to him. Nibbling along his jaw, she moves his hand from the safety of her waist to her butt as she scoots her center right over his.

Fuck. Peeta closes his eyes and drops his head against the wall. She feels amazing. And holy crap, but unless his hands deceive him, she's really wearing a thong. It's probably blue with a small Giants logo. The thought has him even more turned on than he was just a second ago with her pressed against him and grinding. His hands have a mind of their own, cupping her against him before sliding temptingly just to the edge of where she's already wet and swollen. Her lips trace his jaw and lower. When she bites him on the collarbone, he can't resist sliding a finger just past her entrance.

Easy, Peeta. Easy. He finds it in himself to remove his hands and grab hers to stop her from untucking his shirt. "Katniss, wait. Look at me." The sparkle in her eyes almost makes him forget why it's necessary for him to talk to her. Almost. He has to grind his teeth and recite the alphabet backwards, then remind himself of the fact that he doesn't want just quick sex in the back hallway of a honky tonk with this girl. "I need to tell you that….I live in Philadelphia."

The twinkle dims as her eyes widen in shock and surprise. "You can't be-"

"I'm not."

"But you live there." She shoots the accusation at him. As if his entire city is guilty by location.

He nods solemnly. If there's going to be a defining moment for the trust in their relationship, it's this one. "I do. And I like it."

She takes a step away from him as if burned and her brows draw together in a frown he's beginning to find as attractive as the rest of her. "You lied to me."

"I just never mentioned that I live on the East Coast now. You assumed that I was a redneck from here."

"No, instead you're a low-life scumbag from Philly." She whirls on a booted heel and stalks back toward the bar.

Peeta blocks her, desperate. Even angry, she's the most magnificent woman he's ever met. "Look, it's not like I didn't want to live in New Jersey. Buddy Valastro has the bakery market cornered there, though, so I had to pick someplace else."

"Well, that's great for you." She fists her hands on her hips. "Now, get out of my way."

He colors slightly, realizing his bulk is, indeed, blocking the entrance to the restrooms and an audience has gathered. He moves and lets traffic flow around them. When they're past the bulk of humanity, he takes her arm. "Please, hear me out." Katniss huffs and pulls her arm away but holds her ground. "I like you, Katniss. I really do. And I think you like me. Judging from that kiss back there, I think we could have something amazing. Something more than just some hot grinding in the back of a bar. Something real."

He steps away from her a little to give her even more space. He can tell she's not expecting it – the added distance. "I've put my contact info into your phone. And I would really, really like to see you again. I get that you feel…betrayed…by my geography. But you played me with the Gale thing, so I can think we could call it even and maybe start over. I'll give you some time to think it over, ok? But maybe…maybe we could catch a game together or something. Sit on the Giants side. Maybe we could even tailgate before and I can feed you some of my signature cheese buns. I'm gonna head back to my family now. But I'm really glad that I got to meet you."

It feels like punch to the stomach when she makes no move to stop him.

-o—

"Where's Captain Piston-hips? You guys were gone so long I was sure you were already picking out a flat-bottomed pontoon boat and a cabin together." Johanna still sits at the bar when Katniss comes back alone.

Katniss flips the braid over her shoulder, a sure sign she's pissed. "You mean Mr. Cheese Buns? Oh, he had to go back to Philly and make some fucking cheese steaks or something." She shouts down the bar to Haymitch, who promptly ignores her, "Can I please get another drink?"

Johanna finishes munching on a pretzel. "You know, Brainless, you could do worse."

She snorts. "Than an Eagles fan? No, thank you."

"Hear me out, will ya? Christ, you're surly when your boys lose. As I was saying, he's got a job. He's respectful. Did he bang you in the bathroom? No? Then he's a gentleman, too. And he's cute! If he's willing to be flexible with his fan affiliation and put up with your football insanity, he's a catch."

"No. Now, can we please go?"

Jo bites into another pretzel. She doesn't even look contrite when she says, "Yeah, about that. I'm going home with Haymitch here." She shoots the bartender a toothy smile and drops her voice to a stage whisper, "He says he does Pilates and yoga and I want to check out how flexible he is. Plus, he's decided to graciously help me get over my daddy issues."

"Jo, you don't have daddy issues: you have a great relationship with yours."

"I do now. And will you shut up? He'll hear you." Jo shoots another grin his way, which earns her a flip of a shot glass in the air. "Look at those reflexes, Brainless. I hope he's filled his Viagra prescription recently, because I could use a four-hour erection."

"Jo, you're disgusting."

"Stop kink-shaming and take the keys. I'll check in with you tomorrow."

"It's already tomorrow."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Brainless. Later. I'll check in later."

-o-

Two hours later Katniss is still awake. She left Jo at the bar, as asked. But now her hotel room is quiet. Too quiet. She's hyper-aware of every little sound in the room. Her thoughts keep drifting to the hottie at the bar: he was nice. Plus, he smelled incredible. And that ass could make a host of heavenly angels sing. She had wanted to sink her teeth right into it. Tonight was the first time that she had been into a guy to the point of wanting to jump him in a really long time. Alcohol or no alcohol, there's something about Peeta Mellark that's just remarkably appealing. She has to punch her pillow in frustration over the fact that she could be wrapped around him right this minute if it weren't for her fan-dards.

When her phone dings with an incoming multimedia message, she bolts upright even though it's not Jo's ringtone. She stares at the text part of the message as her phone takes its time downloading the picture.

Peeta Mellark: Hope you got home okay.

She gapes at the picture for a full minute: it's Peeta, in a Giants jersey. A number 92 jersey, to be specific. How did he know Strahan was her favorite player?

Katniss Everdeen: You know that isn't going to butter me up, right?

Peeta Mellark: It's not? Can't blame a guy for trying.

Katniss Everdeen: You could have gotten that jersey anywhere.

Peeta Mellark: I'm wounded. You're very distrusting, you know that? But would an Eagles fan be caught dead wearing this?

Katniss eyes the blinking cursor: Peeta has a point. She knows she wouldn't don an Eagles jersey if the shoe were on the other foot, no matter how hot the guy is.

Katniss Everdeen: No, probably not.

Peeta Mellark: Then you'll allow it if I want to tell you goodnight?

She can't stop herself from smiling, really. The guy has charm to spare.

Katniss Everdeen: I'll allow it.

There's a pause that makes Katniss nervous. What the hell is he doing?

Peeta Mellark: Um, what if it's in person? Would you allow it, then?

Katniss Everdeen: Where are you?

Peeta Mellark: In the lobby. I don't know your room number or anything.

Katniss Everdeen: You're wearing a Giants jersey in a hotel lobby at 3 am just so you can say goodnight? You're lucky you didn't get your ass kicked.

Peeta Mellark: We say whupped here in Texas. And I guess I was willing to risk it - you just have that effect.

Katniss smiles so widely her cheeks hurt. Peeta's willing to do something crazy like that for her? If he's an Eagles fan, he's the craziest one she's ever met. This guy is definitely worth taking a chance. It takes her another minute to get up the nerve to type what she wants to, but her phone dings before she can hit send.

Peeta Mellark: Don't feel like you have to let me up. There's a big guy here named Bubba who keeps eyeing me like he wants to make me his bitch. I'll be fine. No pressure.

Katniss Everdeen: Room 192. I'll be wearing a matching jersey. And nothing else.

For the amazingly incomparable Court81981, who gives so much back.