Bad Things

“So there’s this party tonight, some big house party. Wanna go?”



“I don’t think so. I won’t know anybody.”



“You’ll know me. And you’ll meet some of my friends. Have you met Dean?”



“I haven’t.” I’d almost met the band’s mysterious fifth member a few times, but it had never actually happened.



“Well, it’s your lucky night. He’ll be there. And this cool chick Frankie will be there. She’s a tattoo artist, and she’s getting her own reality show, so she’ll be famous soon. I bet you two will love each other. She’ll hit on you, because you’re gorgeous, but that’s to be expected.”



“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Don’t you think Tristan will be pissed if he finds out we we’re hanging out? I went out of my way not to tell him who I was going out with tonight.”



Jared shrugged, unconcerned. “Who will tell him? He’s working tonight, so he won’t be coming, and I can guarantee Dean won’t say a word. If we run into anyone else, I doubt they’d make the connection between you and him. So he’s still staying with you, huh? I can’t believe his apartment isn’t ready yet…”



That gave me pause. Not that the apartment wasn’t ready, but the fact that I’d never given a thought to how long he’d been at the house, and some part of my brain had even forgotten that he was supposed to be leaving soon. Originally, he’d only been staying for a week, but that week had come and gone in a flash.



“We can just go for a little bit,” he cajoled. “It’s only twenty minutes away. I’ll drive, and I’ll bring you back to your car whenever you ask. It’s a pool party. We can go swimming. I promise it’ll be fun.”



I did have a suit in the car, packed from my last excursion to Decadence.



“Do you mind if we just go for an hour or so?” I asked.



He took that as my capitulation, and his smile widened. “That sounds perfect.”



We wound up somewhere to the west of the strip. And what he called a ‘house party’ was held in a gated estate that I don’t think anyone could have called just a ‘house’.



“I’m not sure exactly where, but someone told me James Cavendish has a place just down the street. Frankie, that tattoo artist you’re going to meet, is actually good friends with him. The reality show she’s starring in will be in his casino.”



“Really?” I asked, impressed.



“Yes. And like I said, you’re going to love her. She’s a blast.”



“Are you sure we’re dressed for this?” I asked him as he pulled his black Mustang through a set of intimidating gates.



“Oh yeah. Half of these people will be wearing swimsuits, so we just might be overdressed.”



I’d stuffed my bikini into my purse, but I glanced at his hands as we made our way past closely parked cars to the huge building at the center of the property. “Do you have a suit?”



He grinned. “Already wearing it, under my jeans.”



“You had this all planned out,” I observed.



“I had my hopes.”



The place was packed, and the setup reminded me of a frat party more than anything, which surprised me, considering that it was held at the biggest mansion I’d ever seen.



People were walking around in swimsuits, holding red plastic cups. I was instantly more at ease. My first impression of the place had been intimidating, but I could deal with plastic cups and a pool party, no matter the swanky location. Still, it was hard to even get through a room, there were so many people.



“How will you find anyone in this crush?” I asked Jared, having to lean into him and speak directly into his ear to be heard.



He shrugged. “Let’s get to the pool. We’ll either see them or we won’t.”



It took some searching, but Jared found me an empty room to change. Luckily, my small outfit fit into my purse. I was just debating about where to stash it when Jared opened the door a crack, peeking his head in. “Want to stash your purse in my trunk? We can just go around the house to get to the pool, so we won’t have to swim through the crowd twice.”



“Good idea,” I said, following him.



He snagged my hand as he navigated us back through the crush of people.



Tristan held my hand all the time, but for some reason I felt like I shouldn’t let Jared do it. I didn’t protest, though, telling myself I was being silly.



We stashed my purse in his trunk, making our way toward the back of the house by way of a paved path.



I was surprised when Jared stopped us at the side of the house, pulling me into a darkened alcove. He pulled me close, and I didn’t protest, closing my eyes and tilting my head back.



I let him kiss me, shivering as he ran light fingers along my bare back. He was a good kisser, his lips soft on mine. He wasn’t forceful at all, just cajoling, and I found myself thinking about how Tristan’s kiss had been, how it had demanded more from me that I’d known I wanted to give, and how I’d wanted to give more than I could afford to. Even thinking about another man the whole time, though, I could see that Jared knew what he was doing.



Still, it felt wrong, and I found myself quickly regretting it. This was Tristan’s brother, and as much as I wished that I didn’t, I had feelings for Tristan, and this was wrong. It was a nice kiss, but that was all. Just nice was nothing like what I felt for Tristan, which meant that the kiss, as meaningless as it was, was giving the wrong impression. I couldn’t date Jared. It was naive of me to even have considered it.



I pulled back.



“I’m sorry,” I told him quietly. “We shouldn’t.”



“I know,” he said with a smile. “This isn’t a date. Still, I had to try.”



I rolled my eyes, less worried about leading him on after that statement.



“That came out wrong. What I meant was…I like you, a lot. I think about you way too often, and I’d like to spend more time with you. I won’t try that again, not until you want me to.”



I sighed, hating what I had to admit, but knowing that it was the only fair thing to do. “I don’t think we can ever date, Jared. Tristan and I are just friends, that was the truth, but I do have feelings for him, which makes this wrong.”



Even in the dim light, I could see his mouth tighten, and his brows draw together, but he nodded. “Okay. Okay, I understand.”



“Please don’t tell Tristan that I said that. He doesn’t know.”



“Of course.”



We suffered through a long, awkward silence before he spoke again. “Do you still want to swim?”



“Yes. If you do.”



“Yeah. I still want to be friends. All of the stuff with Tristan doesn’t change that. We’re friends, right?”



I smiled, which drew a small smile from him. “Yes, we’re friends.”



CHAPTER NINETEEN



The backyard of the mansion was just as impressive as the front, and the pool was colossal. But it wasn’t our first destination.



We fell into the line that led to the margarita bar. I was ready for one, after that awkward conversation.



“I’m so sorry—”, I said.



“I’m sorry,” Jared said at the same time.



We smiled at each other.



“I won’t make this awkward,” Jared said quietly.



“Good. Thank you. I hate awkward.”



“Agreed,” Jared said. As he spoke, a very pretty blond man clapped him on the shoulder from behind.



Jared turned to see who had grabbed him and grinned. “Mean Dean,” he said, his tone laced with affection.



Mean Dean was gorgeous, in a pretty boy sort of way. In fact, I’d have said he was the prettiest man I’d ever seen, if I’d never laid eyes on James Fucking Cavendish.



Dean was just a few inches taller than me, and lean bordering on slender, even compared to Jared. I doubted he had a six-pack, like the brothers, but his face was his attraction. Almost white blond hair, tan skin, cornflower blue eyes, and the face of an angel would have made anyone do a double take.



Still, right from the beginning, there was something I didn’t like about his smile.



He grinned at Jared, stepping closer to us. Someone behind us made a loud comment about him cutting into the line, but he pretended not to hear. “Glad you could make it, Diet T.”



Jared stiffened at the nickname.



I raised my brows, instantly curious. These guys and their nicknames…



“What does Diet T mean?” I asked.



Dean turned a rather greasy smile on me. “Have you met his brother? Isn’t Jared like the diet version of Tryst? Skinnier, less handsome, less smart, less talented. So we call him Diet T.”



Jared looked uncomfortable, and just that easily, Dean went right to my shit list.



“And what’s your nickname?” I asked Dean.



“I’m Mean Dean. And who are you, my lovely?”



“I’m Danika. Where does Mean Dean come from? It sounds like they went easy on you in the nickname department.”



“I don’t remember how the nickname started. So you’re Danika… I’ve heard about you. Going out with both of the brothers, huh? I think I just thought up your nickname! We’ll call you Number One, because you’re the band’s first groupie.”



As he spoke, he gripped Jared’s hand, and I saw a small baggie pass from one man to the other.



I was irate, for more than one reason.



“Quit being an ass,” Jared muttered to his friend.



“Oh, relax. I’m only joking,” Dean said.



It was pretty easy to see where the Mean Dean nickname had come from. He was a vicious motherfucker, but then again, so was I, if provoked. “You’re awfully clever for a drug dealer,” I told him, my smile sweet, my tone, not so much.



His grin only widened. “I’m not a dealer if I’m giving it away. Want some, Number One?”



“No thank you,” I said through my teeth, stifling the urge to make up a rude nickname for him. There’s nothing more immature than name calling, I told myself firmly. “So you’re just a drug pusher, not a dealer? That’s much better…”



Dean looked at Jared, still smiling. “She’s feisty. I like that. When do I get my turn with her?”



“Sorry, I’m not into chicks,” I told him, deadpan.



That killed his grin, and widened mine.



“She’s got a point,” a laughing female voice said from behind me. “Dean is almost pretty enough to interest me.”



I turned to see a petite, black-haired girl with doll-like features. Her makeup was heavy, ran toward goth, and she was covered in tats, but it was obvious that she had a very pretty face, and a pretty smile.



“Finally going to take me up on my offer, Frankie?” Dean asked.



“I said almost, Dean. And almost isn’t enough for me to deal with a penis.”



Frankie held out a hand to me, giving me a very warm look. “Danika. Tristan told me about you. Nice to meet you. I’m Frankie.”



I shook her hand, trying to smile, though I still wanted to punch Dean in the face. “Nice to meet you. Jared was just telling me about your reality show.”