Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) (34 page)

She grinned when she saw what I was wearing.
 
“That’s a fucking perfect dress for making someone eat their heart out.
 
Good job, girl.
 
Gonna give him a heart attack.”
 

“I just hope he’s not mad that I’m there.
 
He’ll probably think I’m a stage five clinger for showing up.”
 

“No.
 
Stop worrying about that.
 
He knows that you’re coming, and he’s not mad at all.
 
All of the guys will want you there.”
 

I didn’t get a load of what Frankie was wearing until we were getting out of the car at the valet station.
 
My eyes widened.
 

I’d known that she was fond of half-shirts.
 
She worked them like nobody’s business, so much so that I’d found myself trying the style, just hoping I could pull it off half as well.
 

She’d taken the half-shirt to a new extreme, with a ripped up black shirt that showed a hint of under-boob, black leather shorts that showed more than a hint of butt cheek, and some kick ass black combat boots.
 

Nearly every piece of skin that she was strategically baring had ink.
 

“I forgot to tell you something,” she said, looking mischievously happy.
 

I smiled ruefully, knowing it was going to be something crazy, just from the gleeful look in her eyes.
 
“What?”

She pointed behind me, toward the doors that led into the casino.
 
I turned to see a camera crew converging on us, already obviously taping.
 

I rolled my eyes.
 

“I had to get this on camera.
 
It’s good press for the band.”
 

I saw her point, but still glared at her for the ambush.
 

She was impervious, grabbing my hand and pulling me with her into the chaos.
 

I thought wryly that maybe I should have counted my blessings, that she hadn’t subjected me to any camera time before, considering all of the time we’d been spending together lately.

“Who is this new hottie, Frankie?” one of her production guys called out.
 

“She’s Danika!” Frankie called back, not slowing down.
 

“Is she your date tonight?”

Frankie just laughed, and I felt myself smiling ruefully.
 
“She’s just a friend.
 
Try to keep up, guys.”
 

It was the strangest thing, but I did find myself forgetting that the cameras were even there, especially as we made our way into Decadence.
 

The club was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, but I’d never been there on a live music night before.
 
The enormous, once spacious dance floor had been converted into a writhing mass of humanity, and the guys hadn’t even taken the stage yet.
 

There was one useful thing about being followed around by a camera crew; people got out of your way.
   

We moved to a spot about five rows from the stage.
 
The ideal spot to see without being right at the front.

I was surprised when Frankie started bossing the crew around like it was her job.

“One camera on us.
 
You won’t want to miss Danika dancing.
 
I know I don’t.
 
The rest, get on the stage.
 
Get a good spot right under the lead singer.”
 

The all male crew was quick to obey.
 

I sent her a sidelong glance.
 
“I knew you had your own show, but I didn’t realize that reality stars directed the crew.”

“That’s not the norm,” the one camera guy still on us muttered.
 

Frankie just grinned and shrugged.
 
“They did it, didn’t they?
 
They’ll thank me later.”
 
She looked at the camera guy.
 
“Tell the truth, Rodney.
 
Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“That you haven’t.”
 

“See.
 
If you know what you’re doing, people listen to you, whether it’s your job to boss them or not.
 
I’m just trying to get the best footage possible.
 
They know it, so they listen to me.”
 

I laughed, because though I wouldn’t have thought of it, she had a point, because they hadn’t hesitated to follow her orders.

“I’ve found that often the quality you see in successful people is knowing when to take the initiative, and being quick about it.
 
I’ve never sat around, waiting for someone to tell me to take charge.
 
I just do it.”
 

I considered that, filing it away.
 
I wanted badly to become successful in life, at
something
.
 
I doubted there was anyone who’d grown up in my kind of chaos that didn’t.
 

The dim lights suddenly went dark, the camera’s light all that was visible for a long, pregnant pause.
 
The crowd went quiet.
 

“Dim that light, Rodney!” Frankie said in a loud whisper.
 
“We don’t want to take attention away from the show.”

Proving her words yet again, the camera’s light dimmed.
 

A spotlight shone onto the stage, illuminating a scantily clad girl with hot pink hair.
 

My nose wrinkled.
 
“Is
she
in the band?” I asked Frankie.

“Nope.
 
She must be the opener.
 
The guys must be hooking her up, because I’ve never seen her before.”

More lights went on the stage, illuminating the rocker chick’s band.
 
She started belting out a screaming rendition of some old metal song that I kind of recognized, though I couldn’t have named it.
 
I liked metal, but this wasn’t good metal.
 

“Is this the kind of music they play?” I asked into Frankie’s ear.
 
It wasn’t what I’d been expecting, at all.
 

She shook her head, swaying to the ear-splitting noise.
 
“Not at all.
 
She must be fucking one of them, because she is not a good opener for their brand of rock.”
 

That made me feel slightly ill.
 

She grimaced.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
That was insensitive.
 
It just slipped out.”
 

I shook my head that it was fine.
 
She was probably right.

The hot pink haired chick sang three very similar songs before ending the set.
 
I had the thought that I wasn’t enjoying myself.
 
This had been a bad idea.

The lights dimmed again, and I felt sick to my stomach as we waited for the band to come on stage.
 

Tristan walked on last, though he wasn’t dramatic about it.
 
He simply filed on after the others, taking his place at the front with utter confidence.
 

The spotlight hit him, and he grinned at the crowd.
 
They cheered loudly, the women’s screams markedly louder.
 
And that was before he even sang a note.
 

When a hard drumbeat started, the guitars bled in, and he actually began to sing, the crowd went wild.

Watching him like that on stage was like seeing the puzzle pieces all shifting into place.
 
He was perfect up there, and it wasn’t any one thing that made him that way.
 
It was
everything
about him; the proud posture of his broad shoulders, his confident smirk.
 
He’d been my buddy, and then my lover, but watching him onstage made me see just how powerful he was, what a force of nature his very presence was.
 
Part of me loved it, loved him like this, in his element, and part of me hated it.
 
It was terrifying, because deep down I knew that you could never hold onto a man like this.
 
He would become too big to live a normal life.
 
It seemed inevitable.
 

His voice was deeply melodic, the song almost romantic, and the emotion in his voice matched the lyrics, which floored me.
 
I’d never seen that side of him.
 
The idea that he had that in him, but I’d never seen it, left a pretty deep wound in me, and it began to sink in that he really only saw me as a friend.
 
He wanted me, yes, or at least he had before our falling out, but not like I needed him to, not like I wanted him.
 
If I’d kidded myself for a moment that my feelings weren’t one sided, those hopes were dashed as he poured his soul into the song.
 

I’d fallen for him, but he just hadn’t fallen for me.
 
Seeing him up there, getting clued in to all of the pieces of his puzzle, it hit me like a truck.
 
We hadn’t just had a fight.
 
He hadn’t just left because he was angry.
 

He wasn’t in love with me.
 

Growing up as I had, especially in my teenage years, had always made me feel a little lost.
 
And I felt that now.
 
Just lost.
 
Who was I?
 
Who was somebody like me even supposed to be?
 
Nobody loved me.
 
It didn’t feel like anyone ever had.
 
So where did that leave me?
 
Going in circles, I thought.
 
Looking for the wrong things in the wrong people.
 
That’s where I was.
 
I wondered if somebody ever fell for me, like really fell, the way I did, if I would even know it.
 
I only seemed to have guys that couldn’t give a damn on my radar.
 

Still, I couldn’t help but be happy for him, that he had something like this, something so big and special to show the world.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I’d gotten my strange wave of melancholy in hand by the second song in their set, which thankfully, wasn’t another love song.

“He’s like one huge pussy magnet up there,” Frankie almost shouted into my ear.
 

She was right, and I hated it.
 

“He’s one huge pussy magnet everywhere he goes,” I replied.
   

She laughed, and I smiled unhappily.
 

I told myself that it was good to get a healthy dose of reality.
 
It was the first step to moving on, and I needed to get past this insanity.
 

The band was good.
 
Really good.
 
By the third song, I was dancing.
 

Frankie started it, shaking her hips at me, jumping around like a maniac.
 
I had never been one to turn down any excuse to dance, and killer live music mixed with good company was the best excuse of all.
 

I knew that Rodney the camera guy was taping everything, and I found that I didn’t mind.
 
In fact, I gave him a show, dancing playfully with Frankie to the heavy beat of the drum.
 

I loved a good rock song with some heavy drums.
 
I closed my eyes and let the music take over, Tristan’s deep, sexy voice washing over me.
 
How could you be so intimate with a person, and not know they could sing their heart out to a crowd of strangers?
 

I told myself resolutely that it didn’t matter.

They performed seven original songs, all different enough to be interesting, some edgy, some moody and emotional.
 

“There’s some record producer guys here tonight.
 
James Cavendish called them in.
 
He should be here, too.
 
We need to find him afterward, see what he thinks.
 
Wouldn’t it be amazing if they got a record deal?”

I nodded, my eyes wide.
 
In my mind, there was no doubt that they would get one, they were that good.
   

When the set ended, the stage was overrun, mostly by women.
 

In a way, I was relieved, because I didn’t have to worry about actually dealing with Tristan, or any of them, for that matter.
 
I just wasn’t up for it.
 

Frankie seemed to be of the same mind, tugging me in the opposite direction, out into the lounge, her eyes searching the room, before she pulled me past that too.
 

When she started to wander down a hall that clearly said employees only, I dug in my heels.
 

“Where are we going?” I asked her, eyes narrowed.
 

“I told you.
 
I want to talk to James.”

“This is for employees only.”
 

“I work here.
 
Kind of.
 
Don’t worry about it.
 
What are they going to do?
 
Kick us out?”
 

I thought that’s exactly what they’d do, but I let her pull me along.
 

We wound up in a huge white room that I quickly caught on was for the after party.
 

“Frankie!” I rounded on her.
 
“I told you.
 
I don’t want to see anyone.
 
Why would you drag me back here?”
 

She ignored me completely, waving at someone behind me, then rushing off.