Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) (12 page)

I pictured his massive arms as I worked my T-shirt up, cupping my breast.
 
I visualized his sinister smile as I kneaded the flesh around my nipple.
 
I was already wet.
 
I thought of his golden eyes as I pushed the wand inside of me, shivering in pleasure as the vibrations rocked me.
 
I pulled it out and moaned as I touched it to my clit, imagining his body, with those perfect abs, and that ripped chest.
 
I remembered that brief touch of his erection against me, pushing the toy inside of me.
 

It usually took me a long time to relax and let go enough to come, but I wasn’t having any trouble just then, my race toward the finish faster than I could ever remember.
 
I was letting myself relax into a climax when there was a knock at my bedroom door.
 
I tensed.
 

“Danika?” Tristan called.

I closed my eyes, letting that deep voice wash over me.
 

“Yes?” I answered breathlessly.
 

“You coming?”
 

“Yes,” I nearly moaned.
 

“What’s taking so long?” he questioned.
 

“Almost there,” I gasped.
 

There was a long pause from the other side of the door.
 
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rougher now.
 

I didn’t answer, something about that rough tone setting me off.
 
I grabbed a corner of my blanket, biting it to stifle my moans as I climaxed.
 

“Can I come in?” he asked.
 

I heard him try the door.
 

“I need a minute,” I told him, just lying there, my heart still racing.
 

“Okay,” he said, almost too quiet for me to hear.
 

I was decent but flustered when I finally opened my door.
 

Tristan was just standing there, hands on his hips, eyes on the floor.
 
He looked up, then craned his neck to look into my room.
 

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, mostly meaning it.
 
I did feel more relaxed than I had.

“We working out?”
 

“Sure.
 
Let me just tie my hair back, and grab my shoes.
 
I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

He startled me by tipping my chin up with his finger.
 

I blinked at him.
 

“You look different.”

“What do you mean?”

He hummed low in his throat, and I about lost it.
 
It was the sexiest noise I’d ever heard.
 
“Fuck, Danika, I know that look.
 
Were you taking your own version of a ‘shower’ in there?”

It took me a while to catch his meaning.
 
My cheeks flushed red, but I was too stubborn not to meet his gaze squarely.
 
I firmed my jaw, leaning away from his hand.
 
“And what if I was?
 
You think you’re the only one that needs a ‘shower’ every once in a while?”
   

He seemed taken aback by that.
 
“No.
 
I didn’t
—I don’t think that.
 
I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard.
 
That’s…way too fucking hot.
 
Excuse me.”
 
He turned around and started walking back down the hall.
 

“We still on for a workout?” I called to his back.
 

“Hell yes,” he called back.
 

I grinned.
 

I was jogging on the treadmill for a good forty-five minutes before he said another word.
 

He dropped down from doing a long round of pull-ups that I pretended I wasn’t counting.
 

He approached the front of my machine, studying my face.

“So, um,” he finally spoke, clearing his throat, “how often do you need to, uh, take a ‘shower’?”

I sent him an arch look, but my heart was pounding harder at his question.
 
“Is this a
friendly
conversation?” I asked, breathing hard, from the workout, and the question.

He smiled his most troublesome smile.
 
“We’re friends, aren’t we?
 
Of course it’s friendly.”

“No funny business?”

“None at all.
 
Just pretend I’m one of the girls.”

Unbidden, my gaze ran down his body.
 
By sheer force of will, I returned my eyes to his face.
 
One of the girls, my ass…

“I don’t need to do it often,” I admitted.
 
“Nothing like what you need to do.
 
I go weeks without needing to.
 
Hell, sometimes I go months.”

He grimaced.
 
“That can’t be healthy.”

I hitched my shoulder up in a shrug, keeping up my steady pace.
 

“Anything in particular that made you need a ‘shower’ today?” he asked, watching me closely.

I glared.
 
“That is
not
a friendly question.”

He sighed heavily, turning away.
 
“My bad,” he muttered, heading to the free weights.
 

We hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and I found myself laying down for a nap by early afternoon, since Jerry and the kids were still out and about.

I was just burrowing into the covers when there was a soft knock at my door.
 

“Yeah?” I called.

Tristan poked his head in.
 
“Hey.
 
I was going to take a short nap, too, before I go out.
 
Mind if I stay in here with you, since the living room will be overrun by the kids pretty soon…”

I watched him.
 
“No funny business?”

“No funny business,” he agreed.
 
“I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”

I snuggled into my pillow, almost at peace with the fact that I could never seem to tell him no.
 
“Okay.
 
Night, Tristan.”

The bed moved as he climbed on the other side.
 
I shivered as I felt him getting under the covers with me.
 

“Sweet dreams, boo,” he said quietly.

I smiled, my eyes drifting closed.

I woke up as my bathroom door opened.
 
I blinked up at Tristan, who was fully dressed for his night out.
 
He wore a crisp navy dress shirt with dark-washed jeans.
 

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up; the collar unbuttoned enough to show a distracting amount of his throat.
 

“Aren’t you going to be hot?” I asked.

He grinned, approaching the bed.
 
“Aren’t I, though?”

I rolled my eyes.
 

He startled me by bending over and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.
 

I gave him wide eyes as he straightened.
 
“What was that?”

“That was a ‘have a nice night, friend’ kiss.”

I pursed my lips, sitting up.
 
“Do you kiss Cory or Kenny on the forehead?”

He just smiled.
 
“I would, if they were as gorgeous as you.
 
I’ll see you later, boo.
 
Have a nice night.”

“You too,” I told him as he walked out.

CHAPTER TEN

I started making snacks early for the girls’ night.
 
Those bitches could
eat
.
 
Everyone would show up, say they weren’t hungry, have two cocktails, and promptly pig out.
 
I loved it, and I made sure we were prepared.

I prepared a mix of healthy and unhealthy comfort food.
 
I made guacamole, but also put out some processed cheese dip that one of the girls loved.
 
I put out plain tortilla chips, whole wheat pita chips, and plain old potato chips.
 
I made pigs in a blanket, and baked some tater tots, but made sure I cut plenty of fresh vegetables.
 
It was a diverse crowd of women that attended our girls’ night every week, and we tried to accommodate them all.
 
One thing they all indulged in equally, though, was Bev’s cocktail of the week.
 

Bev joined me in the kitchen when she got home from work.
 
She came bearing gifts in the form of bottles of apple juice, apple schnapps, and vodka.
 

I nabbed one bottle, inspecting it.
 
“Apple juice, huh?” I asked.

“Indeed,” she said with a grin, washing her hands.
 
“Appletinis.”
 

One of the best things about girls’ night was that no one even considered dressing up.
 
We all wore sweats or yoga pants.
 
I had my favorite pair of pink sweat short-shorts on that read ‘sassy pants’ on the butt, and a red half-shirt that read UNL because the V had worn out.
 

Bev took less than five minutes to change into her own pair of sweats
—
a sight you only saw on girls’ night.
 

“Jerry just called,” Bev told me as she came back into the kitchen.
 
“He and the boys are catching a movie.
 
They won’t be home until bedtime.”

The doorbell rang, and Bev answered it with a ready cocktail in hand, all of the dogs following closely on her heels.
 

It was Lucy.
 
Lucy always showed up early.
 
She sort of ran this thing, though she’d been reluctant at first.
 
Our girls’ night had, over time, turned into a weekly group therapy session.
 
Lucy had argued at first that it might not be the best idea to have therapy sessions with her friends, but, when she’d seen how much we all apparently needed it, she’d become more enthusiastic than any of us about the whole thing.
 

We’d even affectionately named the event.
 
‘Fuck Anonymous’, because it was anything
but
anonymous, had been going strong for over a year now, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Lucy and Bev embraced, kissing cheeks, and Bev handed off the cocktail.
 

Lucy studied the bright green liquid in the martini glass.
 
“This is either tasty, or wicked,” she murmured.
 
She was a petite black-haired woman in her early forties.
 
She had a pretty face, with dark eyes that always seemed to be crinkled up with laughter.
 

“It’s a little bit of both, I think,” Bev said.

Lucy came into the kitchen, where I was laying out the food, paper plate buffet style.
 

I set down the plate in my hand to give her a big hug.
 

“How are you, dear?” she asked as she pulled back.
 
“You look great.”

I glanced down at my sloppy ensemble, wondering if she could be joking.
 
“Um, thanks.
 
I’m doing good.”

Bev went back to bartending from the small bar in the dining room, pouring and then bringing me my own bright martini.
 

I thanked her, taking a tiny sip.
 
My brows shot up.
 
“That’s tasty.”

Bev went back to the bar, pouring herself a glass.
 
She held it up.
 
“Cheers ladies.
 
Fuck anonymous!”

“Fuck anonymous!” I said, raising my glass.

“Fuck anonymous!” Lucy called, smiling.
 

I took a long drink, then went back to stocking the buffet.

The doorbell rang.
 
Bev answered it with another green martini in hand.
 

It was the neighbor, Sarah.
 
She was a short, plump, white-haired woman in her sixties.
 
She had a plate of her famous peanut butter cookies, as always.
 

Bev handed her the cocktail, and took the cookies.
 

They embraced, and Sarah took her usual spot on the sofa in the living room.
 

“Fuck anonymous,” she called out sweetly, before taking a big drink.

Jen, another neighbor, arrived next.
 
Jen was a blonde, Barbie doll housewife with a great personality and a beauty pageant smile.
 
She was the only one of us that never resorted to wearing sweats, even for girls’ night.
 
She wore an emerald green sheath with mint green stilettos.
 

“I matched the drink of the week.
 
What are the odds?”
 
We all laughed.

She’d brought a huge box of chocolates, and we added it to the paper plate buffet.
 

“Fuck anonymous,” Sarah said quietly, taking a drink.
 

Harriet and Sandra arrived together.
 

Harriet was an attorney, like Bev, though her firm was smaller.
 
She was thirty-nine, and she had dark hair and nondescript features.
 
No one would know at first glance that she was a closet sexpot.