Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika 3)

She wasn’t alone.

I was taking harsh, ragged breaths, using all of my efforts just to drag much needed air into my lungs.

I’d known it was going to be hard, but nothing could have prepared me for this.

I spotted her before she approached us, caught her momentary wince as she caught sight of me before she turned slightly away, her shoulders squaring, what’s his name putting his arm around her for a moment before she shrugged him off.  Good.

She was with him.  I knew this, because I kept tabs on her.  Always had.  But she didn’t look to be that into him.  She didn’t shoot him even one of those adoring glances that used to slay me on a regular basis.

Thank God for that one small favor.

But even so, he touched her with privilege, and I hated his guts with a deep and enduring passion.  I hadn’t been in a fight in what seemed like forever, but I had a sudden and persistent urge to start one with him.  It would just be so easy to crush him.  He was half my size and asking to be put in his place.

She approached our group, not avoiding me, her limp more pronounced than I’d realized.

Every jerky step made my chest ache.

She wore a dress the color of her eyes.  It caressed her curves distractingly.  She was as fit as she’d ever been, limp or no.

“Hello, Danika,” I finally spoke, my voice coming out softer, less confident, than I meant for it to.

The punk she was with hung back, talking to the last group of people they’d been mingling with.

I was immeasurably relieved by this.  I hoped to never have to deal with him directly.  Nothing good could come of it.

She nodded in my direction, her gaze staying firmly fixed somewhere else, in the distance, anywhere but at me.  “Hello, Tristan.”  Her tone was firm and impersonal.

It was hardly unexpected, but still, it stung.

Like a new cut on an old wound.  One that had never scarred over, because it had never quite healed.

“It’s great to see you,” I told her.  I couldn’t seem to keep the words in.  “You look exquisite, as always.”

She smiled tightly.  “Sure,” she said.

That punk extricated himself from the couple he’d been talking to and approached her from behind.  He wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling at her like he was besotted.  Of course he was.

The punk didn’t deserve to kiss her f**king feet.

He was several inches shorter than me and at least fifty pounds lighter.  I was guessing I could have choked the life out of him with one hand.  I really wanted to test out that theory.

Danika touched his shoulder familiarly.  “Everyone, this is Andrew.”

“Her boyfriend,” the punk added.

She gave Bianca another tight smile, then introduced them.

I kept my eyes fixed on Danika’s face, trying to block out that punk’s hand on her.  She didn’t seem to be particularly happy with him, and I knew I was a bastard for being happy about that.

Danika left the group quickly and politely, only shooting me one direct glance at the very end, which only seemed to give her stare more weight when she swung it my way.

I broke out into a cold sweat, but other than that, I thought I held up rather well.

She swept by me on her way past.

Oh God, I could smell her.  Just the faintest hint of her perfume mixed with the scent of her.

I made myself blink slowly, count in my head, kept from doing anything crazy, but it was pure, teeth-gritting effort.

I turned to watch them walk away, that punk’s hand still on her.

I needed to get out of there before I followed them and did something supremely stupid.  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go punch something now, so that I don’t give in to the urge to punch someone.”  I strode away.

I took it out on a punching bag in my home gym, because that’s what grown men did when they had the urge to kill someone with their bare hands, or so my therapist told me.

DANIKA

Putting together Bianca’s showing was a rare treat for me.  I got an absolute kick out of every little detail.  She’d given me the freedom to make most of the choices without even consulting with her.

I was not a creative soul myself.  I was pure right brain, analytical to my core, though I was a great admirer of artists, so a showing like this was the closest I got to a creative outlet, and I relished it.

The exhibition was broken up into rooms, as there were over a hundred paintings in her collection, which was practically unheard of.  I organized them by colors, as this was her signature, trying to make each room a true complement of her brilliant eye.

She was thrilled with the results, which made me want to kiss her.  The boss’ girlfriend, and somehow she was the easiest artist I’d ever worked with.

I barely slept the last two days before the big event, working tirelessly to make sure that every detail was perfect.  I met a jittery Bianca at the door with utter confidence that there was nothing on my end that wouldn’t run like clockwork.

I’d thought of everything, and though I was anxious, as any big event made me, I wasn’t a wreck.  That is until Frankie and her girlfriend walked through the door, each on one of Tristan’s arms.

I felt blind-sided, and for one brief crazy moment, I thought I’d lose it.  What it was I wasn’t sure.

My temper, my composure, my mind, take your pick.

Luckily, the moment passed quickly, and I got by mostly ignoring him, though he tried constantly to catch my eye.