Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) (5 page)

I laughed.
 
“I remember.
 
I helped with the tape.
 
You looked fabulous, though, which is all that counts.”
     

She grimaced.
 
“I remember my braless days, though.
 
Now that’s fun.
 
You’re smarter than I was.
 
You rarely go without a bra.
 
I never even owned one until my late thirties.”

I shrugged.
 
I was only a small C-cup, but I didn’t feel comfortable without a bra.
 
The only time I went without was when a dress demanded it, and that rarely ever happened, since I hardly ever dressed up.

I adjusted the dress around my hips, then straightened the neckline.
 
It was one of those dresses that felt good, and looked better.
 

“Your red shoes,” Bev said.

I nodded, knowing which shoes she was referring to.
 
She’d given them to me after wearing them herself to four different events.
 
They were open toed stilettos with a four-inch heel.
 
I loved them, and though they weren’t comfortable, they were hot, and I could dance in them fine, which was all that mattered.

Bev tried to talk me into the earrings, but I held strong.
 
This wasn’t the prom, and I was already decked out.

I felt like hot stuff as I strode out into the living room, but I stopped dead when I got a load of Tristan.
 
If I was hot, he was scorching. The worst part was, I would have bet money it had only taken him minutes to get that way.
 

His slacks and blazer were nice.
 
I didn’t know a thing about suits, but his looked expensive to me, and it fit him perfectly, hugging his build so that no one could doubt that he was buff.
 
It looked like a custom suit, especially considering his size, though I couldn’t have said for sure, and I found it unlikely, since he was a ‘club promoter’.
 
I was pretty sure that was one of those jobs that never had an actual pay check.
 

Black was his color, to be sure.
 
It brought out his tan skin, handsome features, and his golden eyes.
 
He hadn’t shaved, but somehow the black stubble on his jaw and his short black hair went just right with the suit.
 
He looked sinister, and drop-dead gorgeous.

He grinned when he saw me, and I tried my hardest to stop checking him out.
 
I already knew he looked good.
 
I would only embarrass myself by ogling him.
 

“I’d like to say several things,” he began, “but since we’re just being friendly, may I just say that you look
very
nice.”

“Thank you,” I told him, still trying hard not to check him out.
 
He shifted, shoving his hands in his pockets, and my eyes went to his chest, fascinated with the way that the material pulled there.
 
“You look very nice, too.”
 

His grin deepened, and his dimples made my own self-destructive music play at full volume in my head.
 
“You like to dance?”

Oh, God, please say he doesn’t dance,
I thought.
 
Please, please, please, say he’s not good at it.
 
“I do,” I said, my tone flat.

He wiggled his brows at me playfully.
 
“That’s good.
 
So do I.
 
We’ll have to see if you can keep up.”

I folded my arms across my chest, arching a brow at him.
 
“I can go all night.”

He touched a hand to his forehead, looking pained.
 
“Tease,” he murmured, opening the front door for me.
 

Either Bev or Jerry had been nice enough to shut the dogs in back so they wouldn’t be rushing the front door as we left.
 

“Am I driving?” I asked.
 
I didn’t really want to drive my beat up, 98’ civic to the strip, but I was pretty sure that was our only option, since Tristan had clearly driven to the house in Jerry’s car.
 

“Nope.”
 
He pointed to a black sedan that was idling at the curb.
 
“I’d hate to make the twenty-one year old act as the designated driver.
 
That’s blasphemy.
 
My friend is going to take us.
 
He owes me a few favors.”
 

He opened the back door of the car for me, I slid in, and he shut it behind me, climbing into the passenger’s seat.
 

A skinny, brown-haired guy sat behind the driver’s seat.
 
He wore black-framed eyeglasses.
 
He was handsome, in a hipster sort of way, with even features, and dark eyes.
 
I thought he could have been a year or two older than me.
 

He flashed me a friendly smile as Tristan made introductions.
 
“This is Kenny.
 
Our friends love nicknames, though, so we call him Pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” I asked.
 

Kenny rolled his eyes.
 
“It’s stupid.”
 

“We call him that because he’s a nice guy.
 
No matter how brief the hookup, he’ll always make a girl pancakes in the morning.”

It was my turn to do some eye rolling.
 
“Aren’t you a bunch of charmers.”

Kenny grinned, and Tristan laughed.
   

“What about you?” I asked Tristan.
 
“You don’t even make them pancakes?”

“If they’re around in the morning, sure.
 
I’m not opposed to cooking.”
 

“Do you have a nickname?”

“Tristan is the only name I answer to,” he said.
 

Kenny shot him a wide-eyed look.
 
“The guys call him Tryst, like with a Y, but he hates it.”

“That’s adorable,” I said, instantly liking the way it made him glare.
 
He was way too smiley, most of the time.
 
“Tryst.
 
A nice way to call you a man-whore.
 
I like it.”

Tristan turned in his seat to look at me.
 
“You are not allowed to call me that.”

I shrugged at him, grinning.
 
“How on earth could you stop me?”
 

He grinned right back.
 
“Trust me, I’ll think of something.”

Of course that only made me curious about what he would do.
 
“Sure thing, Tryst,” I told him.

He shook his head.
 
“Don’t make me get out of my seat.”
 

“What will you do?”

He thought it over.
 
“Let me try again.
 
It’s obvious threats only encourage you.
 
If you can refrain from calling me that, I will cook you breakfast.”

“I don’t like pancakes,” I warned him.

“I’ll make you anything you want.
 
Consider me your short order cook.”

“Is this offer good for only one breakfast?”

“I’ll make you whatever you want, every morning I stay at the house.”

“Deal,” I told him quickly.
 
After tasting his cookies, I wanted whatever he was cooking.
 
“But I’m very picky.
 
You’ll have your work cut out for you in the morning.”

He just smiled.
 
“I look forward to it.
 
I’m going to blow your mind.”
 

I crossed my legs, looking away, my mind veering far from the thought of food.

“So you two aren’t….dating?” Kenny asked Tristan, shooting him a glance.
 

“We’re not, but don’t get any ideas.
 
None of you knuckleheads are allowed to go near her.
 
Spread the word.”
 

“What sort of caveman reasoning is that?” I piped in, agitated.
 
I certainly had no intention of dating one of his obviously immature friends, but I sure as hell didn’t think he should have a say in it.

He flashed those damned dimples at me, so charming that I wanted to hit him over the head with my purse.
 
“Just looking out for my friend.
 
You’re the relationship type.
 
None of the guys you’re going to meet are.
 
I’m looking to save you a headache down the road.”
 

“How sweet,” I murmured, wondering what I was getting myself into with this crowd.
 
“We meeting all of these charmers tonight?”
 

“I don’t know who will be there,” Tristan said, looking at Kenny.
 

Kenny shrugged.
 
“Who knows?
 
Cory is working the bar, so my guess is there will be a turnout.
 
Not many of our friends will turn down free drinks at one of the hottest clubs in town, but Jared is the only one I know for sure will be there.”

“Nice,” Tristan said, sounding pleased.
 
“Jared is my baby brother.
 
You’ll love him.
 
Everybody does.
 
You have any brothers or sisters?”
 

A tight fist gripped around my heart at the question.
 
I hadn’t been expecting it, and it was a subject that my mind tended to shy away from.
 
“I have a sister.”

“Older or younger?”

“She’s two years younger than me.”

“She live in town?”
 

I bit my lip.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I haven’t heard from her in years.”

“Why the hell not?
 
You have to keep in touch with family.”

If only it were so simple.
 
“She hates me, actually.
 
I couldn’t get her to talk to me if I tried.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Because I’m a shitty big sister.
 
Are we done with the interrogation?”
 

“My bad.
 
I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

“So don’t be.
 
Just drop it.”
 
I felt bitchy, but being a bitch was better than rehashing painful old baggage just to appease his curiosity.

He put his hands in the air to signal that he would stop.
 

Even agitated, I couldn’t help but study those big, sexy hands.
 

“Sorry,” he said, sounding sincere.
 
“Sorry.
 
I will drop it.
 
To make up for being so rude, I’ll pick up your tab for the night.”

I gave him a level stare.
 
“You know the bartender.
 
It was already going to be free, wasn’t it?”
 

Those damned dimples came back in force.
 
Even in the darkness of the car, I could see the twinkle in his golden eyes. “Have I mentioned that I like sassy women?
 
Yes, the tab was going to be covered either way.
 
How about I help you with your chores while I stay at the house?
 
Will that make up for me being so nosy?”
 

I studied him, knowing that, friends or not, being in close proximity to him for a prolonged period of time would not be good for my peace of mind.
 
Still, I just couldn’t seem to resist.
 
I enjoyed being around him, Trouble or no.
 

“It will.
 
You’re my chore bitch for the week,” I told him.
 
A happy smile overtook my face as he threw his head back and laughed.

“She owns your ass,” Kenny said, laughing.
 

Tristan gave me a sideways smile that could only be described as mischievous.
 
“I can think of worse things.”

CHAPTER FOUR

It was mid-summer, and the air felt like a hair dryer as Tristan handed me out of the car.

“You’re kind of a gentleman…for a man-whore,” I told him so only he could hear.

That startled a laugh out of him.
 
“I try,” he told me, not sounding at all offended.
 

Kenny had valet parked, so we were inside of the Cavendish Casino in a few short steps.
 
Cool air blasted me as we stepped inside, a stark contrast that had my nipples hard as rocks in a heartbeat.
 

“Brrr,” I said.
 

That made Tristan steal a glance at my nipples.
 

I heard the perverted bastard mutter, “Fuck,” as he looked quickly away.
 

“Pervert,” I said softly.
 

Of course that made him smile.