Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) (10 page)

That surprised a giggle out of her, and I thought that was my favorite sound.
 
It was just so uncharacteristic for her, and I loved to be the cause of it.
 

“I’ll take it as dirty as you can dish it out.”

I felt myself growing hard.
 
She’d gotten the better of me, yet again.
 

We had two drinks before hitting the floor.
 

I was a good dancer, but I had absolutely nothing on Danika.
 
The girl could move.
 
And her dancing wasn’t just about the sexy.
 
I thought that every move she made was filled with talent and beauty.
 
It was a Top Forty dance mix tonight, and she knew the words to every song, frequently matching her moves to the words in cute little ways, flipping her hair, or holstering air guns at her sexy as hell hips.
 

I bummed a cigarette off Kenny when I saw him where he was chatting up some guy in the corner.
 

“Do you mind if I smoke?” I asked Danika as I returned to our table.
 

She was looking at her phone, but she glanced up briefly to shake her head.
 
She didn’t look happy.

“It’s not a habit,” I reassured her as I lit up.
 
“I only smoke when I drink.”

She laughed.
 
“Well, from what I can see, you drink every night.
 
How is that not a habit?”

I smiled ruefully.
 
She did have a point.
 

“Who are you texting?” I asked, trying to get a look at the screen on her phone.
 

Her lip curled in distaste.
 
“No one important.
 
My ex won’t leave me alone, but I’ve learned not to text him back, even if it’s just to tell him to go to hell.”

I felt a totally unreasonable surge of anger move through me at that.
 
“Want me to kick his ass?” I asked, not even close to joking.

She laughed, shaking her head as she put her phone back into her tiny clutch.
 
“No.
 
He’ll give up eventually.”

“What did his text say?”

She rolled her eyes.
 
“He says he loves me.
 
But he sure didn’t love me enough not to cheat on me.”
 

My gut clenched and my fists curled.
 
“How long ago was that?”

She made a dismissive motion with her hands.
 
“Almost a month now.”

My eyes widened.
 
“You haven’t even been broken up for a month?”
 
I couldn’t have said exactly why, but that bothered me.
 
A lot.

“We’re ancient history, as far as I’m concerned.
 
One strike and you’re out.
 
I don’t know if it was the first time he cheated on me, but it was the first time I caught him, and once was enough for me.
 
I wouldn’t take him back if he were the last man on earth.
 
I’m ‘if he caught fire, and I had a glass of water, I’d drink it slowly and watch’ done.”

Even out of sorts, I had to stifle a laugh at that visual.

I heard the faint noise of her phone dinging at her even in her purse, and I wanted to punch somebody.
 

She got it out again, checked the screen, then put it back.
 

“You let me know if he keeps it up, and I will make sure he stops.”

She sent me a sideways smile that made me want to kiss her.
 
“You’re sweet, you know that?”

I shook my head.
 
I’d never thought of myself that way.
 
Not even a little.
 

“What do you say we hit the floor again, boo?” I asked her, after we’d both had two more dirty martinis.

Her perfect little nose wrinkled at me.
 
“Don’t call me that.
 
That is such a weird nickname for a grown ass man to be calling me.”

“So what should I call you?”

“Danika.”

“That sounds so formal.
 
I can’t call you by your name
all
of the time.”

“Then call me something sweet.
 
Like sweetheart, or hell, I don’t know, pudding.”

“Pudding?” I laughed.

She nodded.
 
“It’s sweet, and I like the way you say it.
 
You can’t call someone pudding and not sound sweet on me.
 

“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

She shook her head.
 
“No.
 
I sincerely want you to call me pudding.
 
I think it’s adorable.”

“You’re drunk,” I noted.

She shrugged.
 
“So?
 
I’d still like to hear you call me pudding.”

“You won’t say so in the morning.”

“Then I give you my drunk permission to ignore whatever the sober me tells you.
 
You should like the drunk me better, anyway, because I like you more than the sober me does.”

I couldn’t really argue with that.
 
“Okay, pudding, let’s dance.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

DANIKA

We quickly developed a pattern, and five days later, we’d gone out dancing nearly every night.

I was a restless person.
 
I always had been.
 
I found myself constantly thinking of the next step, calculating what was to come, or even ten steps ahead.
 
I rarely found myself living in the moment.
 
Tristan did that for me.
 
He brought me back to the moment nearly every second I was in his company.
 
It was an addictive kind of feeling, to know, just know, that whatever was going on right now was worth attending to.
 
I didn’t have to look forward with Tristan.
 
I lived in the present, and I loved it.

“Are you getting sick of my hangover sandwiches?” Tristan asked as he handed me one.
 

“Abso-fucking-lutely
not
,” I said, taking my sandwich from him.
 

As I thought about it, I wasn’t sick of one thing about him.
 
We’d been inseparable since nearly the moment we’d met, and it was far from getting old.

“I actually have a promoting gig tonight,” he told me between bites.
 
“So you get to see me work.
 
It’s this new club, over off Paradise.
 
You’ll finally get to meet Dean.”
 

“I can’t go,” I said, recalling what day of the week it was.
 
“I have a thing tonight.”

He stopped eating, watching me.
 
“A thing?”

I shrugged.
 
“A weekly thing.”

“Care to elaborate?
 
Is this a date type of thing, or a girls’ night type of thing?”
 

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the idea of it being a weekly date.
 
What on earth had I said that would make it sound like it was a date?
 
“It’s a girls’ night.”

“Where at?” he asked, taking a bite.

I studied him, wondering what was going through his mind.
 
“It’s here at the house.
 
Why?”
 

He shrugged.
 
“I thought maybe I’d swing by after I’m done tonight and join you.
 
You’re meeting all of my friends.
 
I can return the favor.”

“It’s a girls’ night, so…”

He shrugged.
 
“I’ll finagle my way in.”

“We won’t be partying until four in the morning, so you’ll still be out by the time we’re done.”

His eyes narrowed on me.
 
“Why don’t you want me to come to this thing?”

I poked a finger into his chest.
 
That only served to turn his glare into a smile.
 
“You aren’t invited.
 
Don’t sweat it.
 
It’s just a small, quiet get together.
 
You’d be bored to tears in five minutes.”

“What time does it start?”

“Early.
 
And it ends early.”

“Do you all sit around and talk, or like watch chick flicks?”

I sighed.
 
“We sit around and talk and drink cocktails.
 
There’s not a thing about it you’d be interested in.
 
Just go and do your usual routine tonight.
 
Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

That lit his face up with his most sinister smile.
 
“I feel like you’re daring me to come.”

I shook my head.
 
“You’re a whack-job, you know that?
 
I am most definitely
not
daring you.
 
I’m warning you off.”

That had his eyes narrowing again.
 
“You’re hiding something from me.
 
I’m going to ask Bev what this is all about.
 

I lifted my chin.
 
“Go for it.
 
She’ll tell you what I just did.
 
Girls only.
 
No boys allowed.”

He sighed, finally looking resigned about the whole thing.
 
“Fine.
 
What about tomorrow night?
 
We on for tomorrow?”

I smiled, relieved that he was done pressing the issue.
 
I really didn’t want Lucy to get a load of him.
 
She wouldn’t believe for a second that he and I were purely platonic.
 
Hell, even I didn’t really believe it.

“We’re on,” I told him.

“Any plans for today?” he asked, taking the last bite of his sandwich.

“I told the boys I’d swim with them after breakfast.”

“You said you’d swim with us for four hours!” Ivan called from his couch, where he was scarfing down his blueberry pancakes.
 

“I said four hours or until you said uncle,” I called back.
 
I took a huge bite out of my sandwich, stuffed but unable to throw it away.
 

Tristan snagged the last bit out of my hand, eating it.
 

“Lucky for you, I have swim trunks packed,” he said after he’d washed the bite down with a long drink of his water.
 

“Oh, darn.
 
I was hoping you’d have to borrow a bikini from me.
 
That would have made my day.”

He laughed.
 
“You’ll have to remember that the next time you win a bet.”

Tristan was competitive.
 
In fact, he took the term to a whole new level.
 
He could turn anything into a challenge, from eating breakfast, to being the dogs’ favorite, and he liked to gamble with it.
 
Always.
 
Even my mundane life was never dull, with Tristan around.
 

“Oh, I will, now that you’ve put it on the table.”
 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, waving a hand as though to ward the notion off.
 
“It’s not on the table unless you have something just as big to wager on your end.”

I pursed my lips, thinking.
 
“I’ll come up with something by the time you pull some new competition out of your sleeve.”
 

“How about letting me sleep in your bed?”
 
His expression was perfectly innocent, the reprobate.

“Excuse me?” I asked, wondering if I’d heard him right.

“No funny business.
 
If I win our next wager, I get to sleep in your bed with you, instead of on the couch.
 
I repeat, no funny business.
 
If you win, I’ll wear one of your bikinis for a humiliating swim session.
 
It’ll have to be here at the house, and with the boys gone, since I can guarantee I’ll be exposing myself.”

My mind went crazy for a minute, picturing that very vividly.
 
I’d never thought that cross-dressing could be a turn-on for me.

“Oh no, boo,” he uttered softly, watching me.
 
“Don’t get that look on your face.
 
Are you trying to
kill
me?”
 

I snapped out of it, swallowing hard.
 
He’d won our little tiff over the nickname boo.
 
I’d given up.
 
He’d wanted to call me that more than I hadn’t wanted him to.
 
I was secretly even beginning to think it was cute.

I pointed.
 
“You can change first.
 
I need to get the boys’ swim trunks out for them.”

He strode out of the kitchen and towards my room.
 
I wasn’t surprised when I heard the shower turn on less than a minute later.

I fished out the boys’ swim trunks and left them to change.
 
I nearly walked into Tristan as he stepped out of my bedroom and into my path.
 

I looked up at his face, trying hard not to stare at his bare chest.
 
The sight was mouth-watering.
 
“The boys are getting ready,” I told him.
 
“Now I just need to change.
 
I only need a minute.
 
Can you wait out by the pool, in case they jump the gun and rush it?”

He just nodded, turned, and walked away.
 
I had the supreme self-control not to watch him do it.
 

I was a big fan of one-piece black suits for pool time with the boys, but I didn’t even consider it just then.
 
I fished out my only string bikini.
 
It was bronze, with a gold cover-up, but I left the cover-up in my drawer, knowing I’d be swimming the entire time.