Bad Things

We started walking again, but we were both smiling..



“Well, if he gets loose while I’m around, I’ll catch him before he can murder any chickens. I promise.”



“He’s really fast,” I warned, not believing for a second that he could catch the crazy dog if it got loose.



“So am I.”



I just shook my head, laughing.



CHAPTER THREE



We got through my chores in record time. Tristan even folded laundry with me. I thought he was bizarre…and really kind of sweet.



Within short hours of meeting the strange man, I found myself rifling through my closet, looking for Vegas club gear. The dirty Vegas club scene was so not me, but I still found myself excited about going out. Tristan was just…fun, and I was excited for fun. The candid conversation that had set us up as friends right off the bat eased any reservations I might have had about hanging out with someone like him.



I didn’t have a lot of friends my own age. I’d adopted most of Bev’s circle of friends as my own, and besides myself, the youngest of them was thirty-two. I felt comfortable with older people. I attributed that to Bev. Being around her had just always been so good for me; so safe. She was mature, and she knew how to be healthy. She was stable, and I needed stability. I clung to it. And people my age living in sin city rarely belonged in the same sentence with stability. I knew that Tristan was no exception, he likely didn’t belong in the same book with stability, but still, he was hard to resist.



I was staring at my closet full of clothes for a good five minutes when Bev found me. It was a well-stocked closet, thanks to Bev’s frequent hand-me downs. Thank God we wore the same size, and I couldn’t complain, but I just wasn’t sure how to dress. The Vegas nightlife was pretty diverse; I could get away with wearing jeans, or go fully decked out, but I just couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to look like a slob, but I really didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.



Bev gave a brief knock on my door before she came in—her usual routine. She had a black silk halter dress draped over her arm. I recognized it as one she’d worn several times before. It was one of her favorites. It bloused out, and banded at the hips. I’d tried it on for fun once, and I knew it was flattering, in fact, it was gorgeous, but maybe too dressy for a club night out with a guy I barely knew.



Still, I coveted that dress.



I bit my lip, and she gave me a ‘look’.



“If you wear this, I’ll give you a free pass at anything you want in my closet at a future date of your choosing,” she told me.



Just like that, she had me. Her closet was mind-boggling, and way above my pay scale.



“Thank you,” I told her.



She smiled and winked at me, clearly pleased with my agreement.



I showered and did my hair and makeup first, letting the steam from the shower smooth out any small wrinkles in the dress. The top was pure silk, held at the neck with Swarovski crystals. The fitted skirt was a silky looking material, but it had elastic, so it had stretch, and I could still dance in it, which was a must. I didn’t love to go clubbing, but I did love to dance.



I eyed the way out of my price range dress as I blew out my hair, letting it fall straight—a black waterfall down my back. Black was always a good bet for me. It brought out my ivory skin and pale gray eyes. My mother was half-Russian, half-Japanese, and I supposed my features were a mix of both. That was only a guessing game, though, really, since I’d never known what the other side of that equation consisted of.



I lined my eyes carefully in black, and smudged a smoky dark gray shadow onto my eyelids. I was liberal with the mascara, and used a dark maroon lip stain, but that was all. My skin tone didn’t need, and couldn’t handle foundation.



I was still wearing just a towel when Bev breezed into the bathroom with me. She and I hadn’t had privacy boundaries for years, and I only smiled at her as she barged in on me after a cursory knock.



I started shaking my head as soon as I saw the jewelry box in her hand. She didn’t own any cheap, costume jewelry, and I would be terrified if I borrowed something expensive and then lost it. The sad fact was I could never afford to replace even her cheapest piece of bling.



She completely disregarded the headshake, opening the box to show me a pair of earrings. They were huge, pear shaped, diamond studs, two carats at least. “They latch on tight, Danika. There’s no way you’d lose one, and that dress begs for diamonds.”



“I can’t, Bev. I just can’t. And I think I might already be overdressed. Tristan is probably just going to wear a T-shirt and jeans, anyway.”



“You’re wrong there. I saw him. He’s already ready, and he’s looking sharp.”



I smirked. I loved it when she went all old school on me. “Sharp? Like a pencil?”



“Sharp, like dressed up, you smart ass.”



“What’s he wearing?”



“Black slacks and a blazer over a black T-shirt.”



“Sounds a little Vegas douchy. The T-shirt with a suit, I mean. And isn’t it a little hot for that?”



She shrugged. “Wait until you see him. Call it whatever you want, but he looks edible.”



I laughed. “I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to go out with him. Lucy will have a field day, harassing you about it. Hell, she’ll harass us both.”



Bev pursed her lips, and I grinned, knowing that she was going to go into Lucy mode. She did a spot-on impression of our psychiatrist friend, Lucy.



“Jumping from one relationship and straight into another is a symptom of your love addiction, Danika,” she said, her voice pitched low.



I sighed. “He really is just a friend, no funny business at all, but I doubt she’d believe that if she got a look at him.”



Bev nodded. “I believe you, but I have a feeling she’ll have something to say about it.”



I started getting dressed, completely unfazed by Bev’s presence.



I heard a big sigh behind me as I was slipping the dress over my head.



“I’d give anything to have tits like that again. I had to tape mine up to wear that dress, I shit you not.”



I laughed. “I remember. I helped with the tape. You looked fabulous, though, which is all that counts.”



She grimaced. “I remember my braless days, though. Now that’s fun. You’re smarter than I was. You rarely go without a bra. I never even owned one until my late thirties.”



I shrugged. I was only a small C-cup, but I didn’t feel comfortable without a bra. The only time I went without was when a dress demanded it, and that rarely ever happened, since I hardly ever dressed up.



I adjusted the dress around my hips, then straightened the neckline. It was one of those dresses that felt good, and looked better.



“Your red shoes,” Bev said.



I nodded, knowing which shoes she was referring to. She’d given them to me after wearing them herself to four different events. They were open toed stilettos with a four-inch heel. I loved them, and though they weren’t comfortable, they were hot, and I could dance in them fine, which was all that mattered.



Bev tried to talk me into the earrings, but I held strong. This wasn’t the prom, and I was already decked out.



I felt like hot stuff as I strode out into the living room, but I stopped dead when I got a load of Tristan. If I was hot, he was scorching. The worst part was, I would have bet money it had only taken him minutes to get that way.



His slacks and blazer were nice. I didn’t know a thing about suits, but his looked expensive to me, and it fit him perfectly, hugging his build so that no one could doubt that he was buff. It looked like a custom suit, especially considering his size, though I couldn’t have said for sure, and I found it unlikely, since he was a ‘club promoter’. I was pretty sure that was one of those jobs that never had an actual pay check.



Black was his color, to be sure. It brought out his tan skin, handsome features, and his golden eyes. He hadn’t shaved, but somehow the black stubble on his jaw and his short black hair went just right with the suit. He looked sinister, and drop-dead gorgeous.



He grinned when he saw me, and I tried my hardest to stop checking him out. I already knew he looked good. I would only embarrass myself by ogling him.



“I’d like to say several things,” he began, “but since we’re just being friendly, may I just say that you look very nice.”



“Thank you,” I told him, still trying hard not to check him out. He shifted, shoving his hands in his pockets, and my eyes went to his chest, fascinated with the way that the material pulled there. “You look very nice, too.”



His grin deepened, and his dimples made my own self-destructive music play at full volume in my head. “You like to dance?”



Oh, God, please say he doesn’t dance, I thought. Please, please, please, say he’s not good at it. “I do,” I said, my tone flat.



He wiggled his brows at me playfully. “That’s good. So do I. We’ll have to see if you can keep up.”



I folded my arms across my chest, arching a brow at him. “I can go all night.”



He touched a hand to his forehead, looking pained. “Tease,” he murmured, opening the front door for me.



Either Bev or Jerry had been nice enough to shut the dogs in back so they wouldn’t be rushing the front door as we left.



“Am I driving?” I asked. I didn’t really want to drive my beat up, 98’ civic to the strip, but I was pretty sure that was our only option, since Tristan had clearly driven to the house in Jerry’s car.



“Nope.” He pointed to a black sedan that was idling at the curb. “I’d hate to make the twenty-one year old act as the designated driver. That’s blasphemy. My friend is going to take us. He owes me a few favors.”



He opened the back door of the car for me, I slid in, and he shut it behind me, climbing into the passenger’s seat.



A skinny, brown-haired guy sat behind the driver’s seat. He wore black-framed eyeglasses. He was handsome, in a hipster sort of way, with even features, and dark eyes. I thought he could have been a year or two older than me.



He flashed me a friendly smile as Tristan made introductions. “This is Kenny. Our friends love nicknames, though, so we call him Pancakes.”



“Pancakes?” I asked.



Kenny rolled his eyes. “It’s stupid.”



“We call him that because he’s a nice guy. No matter how brief the hookup, he’ll always make a girl pancakes in the morning.”



It was my turn to do some eye rolling. “Aren’t you a bunch of charmers.”



Kenny grinned, and Tristan laughed.



“What about you?” I asked Tristan. “You don’t even make them pancakes?”



“If they’re around in the morning, sure. I’m not opposed to cooking.”



“Do you have a nickname?”



“Tristan is the only name I answer to,” he said.



Kenny shot him a wide-eyed look. “The guys call him Tryst, like with a Y, but he hates it.”



“That’s adorable,” I said, instantly liking the way it made him glare. He was way too smiley, most of the time. “Tryst. A nice way to call you a man-whore. I like it.”