Bad Things (Tristan & Danika 1)

“My boss has a few paintings from your gallery. Let me just say, I’m a huge fan of some of the artists you’ve discovered. Art is a passion of mine.”

He looked intrigued, tilting his head to study me. “Well, thank you. It seems we share a passion, then, Danika.”

Frankie seemed to catch his eye, and his grin widened.

“For art, Frankie. Relax. I wouldn’t hit on your girl.”

This baffled me, and I found my mind slowly trying to make sense of it when he turned his dazzling smile on me again.

“Who’s the artist of the paintings? The ones your boss got from my gallery.”

“Someone named Mallory. Jackson Mallory.”

“Tell me about the pieces.”

“One is an abstract, called Orchard. Bold, warm colors, emotional leaning towards moody. It’s absolutely stunning.”

He was studying me very intently. “I know the painting. I like that description. You have a flair for this, Danika. Tell me about the second one.”

“It’s untitled. A portrait of a woman. A redhead. Her features are very detailed and…sensual.” I felt very embarrassed to use that word in front of him, but I couldn’t think of a better one. “A semi-nude, though luckily the essentials are covered, since my boss has two little ones in the house.”

“I remember that painting, as well. I’ll tell you what, Danika. If you ever want a job in the art world, you let me know. You have a good eye, and a penchant for descriptions, which is very important. And most importantly, that passion.”

I was stunned, and flattered beyond words. So flattered that I barely stammered out a thank you at the praise. I’d never considered working at a gallery, but I couldn’t say why it hadn’t occurred to me. There was no question I’d enjoy it.

“Whenever you’re done trying to hire her, James, I want you to tell me what you thought of the band!”

He looked thoughtful. “They’re good. Very good. That lead singer is an attention grabber. I’d be shocked if they don’t get a deal soon. In fact, I think they’re getting an earful about that already.” He nodded across the room, and we turned to look.

I turned, my gut churning as I saw Tristan and the guys, engaged in an intense conversation with some men in suits. I saw that Jerry was with them, which I should have guessed. He’d been the one to put this whole thing together.

I turned away quickly, not wanting to look at Tristan, or notice all of the women waiting to get the band’s attention.

I counted to ten, not letting myself look at him again.

“Does the casino have a magic act?” I asked James, a devil getting ahold of my tongue.

“Excuse me?” he asked, looking amused but baffled.

“Tristan, the lead singer. You said he was an attention grabber. You’re right. He is. He’s a great singer, but that’s not even his biggest talent.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“He does card tricks. Sleight of hand that you wouldn’t believe. I can’t even describe it, it’s so good. You should ask him about it. And you should think about getting a fresh, young magic act. There’s enough old men with too much plastic surgery dominating that field. You should do something different.”

James didn’t blow off my suggestion, as I’d more than half assumed he would.

“That’s a solid idea. Our current act is a walking heart attack, so I’ll have to ask Tristan about this sometime. Ah, here he is. Tristan, Danika’s been telling me…”

James trailed off as a hand grabbed my arm from behind.

“Excuse me,” I heard an achingly familiar voice growl right before I was being dragged out of the room by a big hand that was attached to the person that I least wanted to see in the world.

TRISTAN

It was even worse than I’d anticipated, when I laid eyes on her again. One glance at her and I was lost.

We weren’t alone, in fact it felt like everyone I’d ever met was crowded into the room with us. She was standing close to Frankie, their sides nearly touching. She was thinner than the other woman, but she towered over her, especially in those fuck-me heels.

Both of them had black hair, but that was about all they had in common, looks wise. Still, they were a striking sight, standing side by side. Danika looked like a supermodel, her lithe curves hugged perfectly in that tiny white dress that drove me out of my mind crazy, and Frankie could have been a pinup model, with her half-shirt exposing huge amounts of toned, inked up skin.

They were talking to James, in fact they’d gone directly to him, as though no one else was in the room. But of course, that wasn’t the worst of it…

The part that made my gut twist hard was that she barely looked at me, just one quick glance and she looked pointedly away, as though she was afraid to meet my eyes, as though she didn’t think I’d be happy to see her there.

That killed me, but I couldn’t blame her. I’d been a bastard. Not only had I not called her for weeks, I hadn’t even been the one to invite her here, hadn’t even tried to reach out when I knew she was coming.

She was saying something to James that had her eyes flashing, her hands moving in small gestures to emphasize her point.

She was doing that adorable thing she did where she got so passionate about a subject that it turned into a rant. I loved it when she did that, and now she was doing it for James Cavendish.

And worse, James looked fascinated by her, interrupting her impassioned little tirade occasionally, his smile warm.

The guys had all been worried that our pink-haired opening act would blow our shot at a record deal, but I realized that I was about to do that, when I choked out James fucking Cavendish.

I was moving to them, approaching Danika from behind, before I could stop myself.

I overheard the last bit of what Danika was saying to Cavendish as I walked up.

“Tristan, the lead singer. You said he was an attention grabber. You’re right. He is. He’s a great singer, but that’s not even his biggest talent.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“He does card tricks. Sleight of hand that you wouldn’t believe. I can’t even describe it, it’s so good. You should ask him about it. And you should think about getting a fresh, young, hot magic act. There’s enough old men with too much plastic surgery dominating the game. You should do something different.”

My chest ached, my vision going a bit blurry.

Cavendish smiled at her like she’d just said something brilliant. He looked up, said something in my general direction, but I barely heard him, I was so floored by the revelation that, while I’d been a complete bastard to her, she was promoting me like she was my damned cheerleader.

I didn’t think, I just moved, striding to her, grabbing her arm, and dragging her with me out of the room.

She went along with me without much fight at first, but when she saw that we were leaving the club, she started to try to pull away.

“We need to talk,” I told her gruffly.

“Now?! You think we need to talk right now? This is not good timing for you. I’m pretty sure you need to be back there, talking with those record guys.”

“That’s what Jerry is for. No reason for me to talk to them. Anything they wanted to know about me, they saw on stage.”

She followed me rather sedately, for all of ten seconds.

“What the hell, Tristan? Have you ever tried to walk in four inch heels? I’m guessing not, but unless you want me to break an ankle, you had better slow down. And where are we going?”

I slowed, not looking at her, but listening to her, absolutely floored at how good it felt just to hear her voice again, even if she was yelling at me.

“I missed you,” I told her quietly, as I punched the button on the elevator that led to the parking garage.

“You missed me?” she asked, her tone incredulous, as the elevator doors enclosed us. “You missed me?” she repeated, when I didn’t respond. “Obviously. Because this is what you do when you miss somebody; you don’t call, you don’t text, for weeks, and you fuck around with random women.”

I winced, suddenly feeling a little light headed. So she knew. Of course she did. Fuck. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. At least I wouldn’t have to tell her myself.

The elevator door opened and I tugged her out into the parking garage, practically dragging her to my car.

I opened the passenger door, just looking at her as she scratched at my hand like a wild cat.

“Let me go! What are you doing? Why would you think it’s okay to just drag me to your car?”

I clenched my jaw, feeling completely out of control. “Get in the car. We need to talk.”

She glared at me for a solid minute, my hand still holding her wrist. I knew I wasn’t hurting her, but I wasn’t letting go, either. Not until she got in the car.

She got in, calling me a few choice names as I closed the door behind her.

I got into the driver’s seat, and just sat there for a long time, neither of us speaking.

I listened to her inhaling, exhaling, and thought again how much I’d missed just having her breath the same air as me.

“We need to talk,” I repeated myself, yet again. “I missed you.”

I didn’t know why it was so hard for me to find the words I wanted to say to her, to find words to even begin to express what I was feeling, but that seemed to be the best I could choke out.

Something in my words, or maybe my tone, finally reached her.

She let out a long, resigned sigh. “We should talk. I’ll start. You were right. About everything. We should have stuck to that stupid list. Friends was always our only option. I just lost my mind for a bit.”

It felt like I’d been punched in the gut, only worse, because I’d been punched plenty of times, and it never felt like this, like some raw wound that I’d helped to cause, and that I might not recover from.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

TRISTAN

I don’t know how long I just sat there in a sort of stunned silence. I was not good with this shit.

I started the car, pulling slowly onto the ramp that led up to the top.

“Um, where are you going? This isn’t even the way to the exit, Tristan.”

“So fucking bossy,” I growled, steering my car up onto the top floor, which wasn’t covered.

Rain pelted the car, drowning out some of the tense silence that was driving me crazy.

I’d barely glanced at her since we’d walked out of the after party.

Where she’d torn my heart out of my chest.

By being my biggest supporter, when she had every right to hate my guts.

Finally, I turned to look at her.

She stared back steadily, her jaw firm, her arms folded across her chest. “So that’s it then,” she said, sass in every word.

“What’s it?”

“We made a mistake. Let’s forget it ever happened, and go back to friendship. I realized tonight—”

“I know what you taste like,” I interrupted, my tone harsh. “I know how it feels to have you come against my tongue. What it feels like to have you clench around my cock while you lose your fucking mind. And you, you’ve tasted me. I’ve shoved my cock so deep down your throat I felt your tonsils, Danika. Are we going to forget all of that?”