Bad Things

CHAPTER EIGHT



DANIKA



We quickly developed a pattern, and five days later, we’d gone out dancing nearly every night.



I was a restless person. I always had been. I found myself constantly thinking of the next step, calculating what was to come, or even ten steps ahead. I rarely found myself living in the moment. Tristan did that for me. He brought me back to the moment nearly every second I was in his company. It was an addictive kind of feeling, to know, just know, that whatever was going on right now was worth attending to. I didn’t have to look forward with Tristan. I lived in the present, and I loved it.



“Are you getting sick of my hangover sandwiches?” Tristan asked as he handed me one.



“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” I said, taking my sandwich from him.



As I thought about it, I wasn’t sick of one thing about him. We’d been inseparable since nearly the moment we’d met, and it was far from getting old.



“I actually have a promoting gig tonight,” he told me between bites. “So you get to see me work. It’s this new club, over off Paradise. You’ll finally get to meet Dean.”



“I can’t go,” I said, recalling what day of the week it was. “I have a thing tonight.”



He stopped eating, watching me. “A thing?”



I shrugged. “A weekly thing.”



“Care to elaborate? Is this a date type of thing, or a girls’ night type of thing?”



I blinked at him, caught off guard by the idea of it being a weekly date. What on earth had I said that would make it sound like it was a date?“It’s a girls’ night.”



“Where at?” he asked, taking a bite.



I studied him, wondering what was going through his mind. “It’s here at the house. Why?”



He shrugged. “I thought maybe I’d swing by after I’m done tonight and join you. You’re meeting all of my friends. I can return the favor.”



“It’s a girls’ night, so…”



He shrugged. “I’ll finagle my way in.”



“We won’t be partying until four in the morning, so you’ll still be out by the time we’re done.”



His eyes narrowed on me. “Why don’t you want me to come to this thing?”



I poked a finger into his chest. That only served to turn his glare into a smile. “You aren’t invited. Don’t sweat it. It’s just a small, quiet get together. You’d be bored to tears in five minutes.”



“What time does it start?”



“Early. And it ends early.”



“Do you all sit around and talk, or like watch chick flicks?”



I sighed. “We sit around and talk and drink cocktails. There’s not a thing about it you’d be interested in. Just go and do your usual routine tonight. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”



That lit his face up with his most sinister smile. “I feel like you’re daring me to come.”



I shook my head. “You’re a whack-job, you know that? I am most definitely not daring you. I’m warning you off.”



That had his eyes narrowing again. “You’re hiding something from me. I’m going to ask Bev what this is all about.



I lifted my chin. “Go for it. She’ll tell you what I just did. Girls only. No boys allowed.”



He sighed, finally looking resigned about the whole thing. “Fine. What about tomorrow night? We on for tomorrow?”



I smiled, relieved that he was done pressing the issue. I really didn’t want Lucy to get a load of him. She wouldn’t believe for a second that he and I were purely platonic. Hell, even I didn’t really believe it.



“We’re on,” I told him.



“Any plans for today?” he asked, taking the last bite of his sandwich.



“I told the boys I’d swim with them after breakfast.”



“You said you’d swim with us for four hours!” Ivan called from his couch, where he was scarfing down his blueberry pancakes.



“I said four hours or until you said uncle,” I called back. I took a huge bite out of my sandwich, stuffed but unable to throw it away.



Tristan snagged the last bit out of my hand, eating it.



“Lucky for you, I have swim trunks packed,” he said after he’d washed the bite down with a long drink of his water.



“Oh, darn. I was hoping you’d have to borrow a bikini from me. That would have made my day.”



He laughed. “You’ll have to remember that the next time you win a bet.”



Tristan was competitive. In fact, he took the term to a whole new level. He could turn anything into a challenge, from eating breakfast, to being the dogs’ favorite, and he liked to gamble with it. Always. Even my mundane life was never dull, with Tristan around.



“Oh, I will, now that you’ve put it on the table.”



“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, waving a hand as though to ward the notion off. “It’s not on the table unless you have something just as big to wager on your end.”



I pursed my lips, thinking. “I’ll come up with something by the time you pull some new competition out of your sleeve.”



“How about letting me sleep in your bed?” His expression was perfectly innocent, the reprobate.



“Excuse me?” I asked, wondering if I’d heard him right.



“No funny business. If I win our next wager, I get to sleep in your bed with you, instead of on the couch. I repeat, no funny business. If you win, I’ll wear one of your bikinis for a humiliating swim session. It’ll have to be here at the house, and with the boys gone, since I can guarantee I’ll be exposing myself.”



My mind went crazy for a minute, picturing that very vividly. I’d never thought that cross-dressing could be a turn-on for me.



“Oh no, boo,” he uttered softly, watching me. “Don’t get that look on your face. Are you trying to kill me?”



I snapped out of it, swallowing hard. He’d won our little tiff over the nickname boo. I’d given up. He’d wanted to call me that more than I hadn’t wanted him to. I was secretly even beginning to think it was cute.



I pointed. “You can change first. I need to get the boys’ swim trunks out for them.”



He strode out of the kitchen and towards my room. I wasn’t surprised when I heard the shower turn on less than a minute later.



I fished out the boys’ swim trunks and left them to change. I nearly walked into Tristan as he stepped out of my bedroom and into my path.



I looked up at his face, trying hard not to stare at his bare chest. The sight was mouth-watering. “The boys are getting ready,” I told him. “Now I just need to change. I only need a minute. Can you wait out by the pool, in case they jump the gun and rush it?”



He just nodded, turned, and walked away. I had the supreme self-control not to watch him do it.



I was a big fan of one-piece black suits for pool time with the boys, but I didn’t even consider it just then. I fished out my only string bikini. It was bronze, with a gold cover-up, but I left the cover-up in my drawer, knowing I’d be swimming the entire time.



I was reaching out to open the sliding glass door that led to the pool when I remembered sunscreen.



I grabbed a tube of forty-five SPF out of the bathroom, catching Mat as he was racing through the hallway.



He stood still, but tapped his foot impatiently as I helped him put it on. “I coulda been in the pool already, boo,” he whined.



“Well, we don’t swim without putting sunblock on first, so no you couldn’t have,” I told him sternly. I wasn’t one to indulge whiny moods.



He glanced at me, and snapped out of it almost instantly. “Can I go now?”



I nodded, waving him off. “Go for it, peeka.”



Ivan came barreling down the hallway, and I gave him the same treatment. He stood patiently, knowing the routine.



“Is Tristan going to live with us for very long?” he asked.



“Not very long. Just another week or two. How come?”



“I like him. He’s a good cook, and he’s funny.”



“Can’t argue with that,” I told him, then waved him off.



I took a minute to pull my hair into a messy ponytail on top of my head, and carefully sun-blocked my face in the mirror. I went outside to keep an eye on the boys as I spread it over my body.



Ivan and Mat were already in the pool as I stepped outside. Tristan was poised at the edge of the pool, watching them attentively. I had a brief moment to take in the awesome sight of Tristan shirtless in broad daylight before he looked at me.



I slipped on my gold framed shades, then bent to rub the sunscreen into my thighs. I propped my foot on one of the carelessly strewn lounge chairs to cover my knee and calf. Slowly, I gave my other leg the same treatment. I straightened, rubbing it onto my shoulders, and arms.



I began to walk towards Tristan as I slathered it onto my stomach.



I handed him the bottle when I reached him.



I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. He was wearing shades, too, but I could still read his expression well enough.



“Want me to get your back?” he asked.



“Yes,” I said, caught off-guard. I’d forgotten to do my back. I’d meant for him to use it for himself, but he made a good point. I turned around.



The first touch of his slick hands made me jump. He rubbed the sunblock on, and I was very conscious of the fact that I loved his hands on me. And he hadn’t even begun…



After he’d covered my shoulders and back with tantalizingly light touches, he began to rub and massage, focusing on my shoulders. I just about melted beneath his fingertips.



“Mmmm,” I hummed as he worked at a tense spot on my neck.



“I see you rubbing this spot all the time. You’re tense. You should let me work on you.”



“Are you a massage therapist, too?”



“No, but I have strong hands, and they’re at your service, whenever you like.”



Boy, did my mind go crazy with that statement, running wild with the things I’d like him to do with his hands.



His hands moved down my back, rubbing deep into my muscle tissue. He worked to the sides of my waist, kneading. I moaned when his arms circled me, his hands working on my abs. I felt his chest just brush against my back, and instinctively I leaned into him.



“Boo, why is he touching your belly?” Mat shouted with typical six-year old volume control basically loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood.



That snapped me out of it. I straightened, moving away from Tristan. “He was helping me put on sunscreen, peeka.”



I didn’t look at Tristan again until he spoke. “Can you get my back?” he asked, his voice hoarse.



“Yes, of course,” I said, moving to help him automatically. I paused for a long moment, staring at his back on full display.



I thought that there couldn’t be anything on earth sexier than a strong back as I began to work the sunblock into his skin, relishing the feel of his firm, resilient flesh. I kneaded at his shoulders, trying to copy what he’d done to me, as I studied his myriad tattoos.



There was a golden dragon on his shoulder. It was intricate, and every detail looked precise and perfect, even in the direct sun. It was beautiful. I made a note to ask him about it. Later.