Bad Things

I was relieved when he shook his head. His smile was innocent enough, but I thought there was a hint of something else in his eyes.



“Just dancing, sweetheart.”



I dropped low, really low, and shook my way back up, my hands just brushing his thighs as I rose.



“You making a move on me?” he called out with a laugh.



I shook my head at him, giving him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “Just dancing, sweetheart.”



It was on after that. He’d caress my hip. I’d counter that by a turn and an extra little arch of my back, just brushing up against him. He’d curse loudly, but we kept dancing.



I was actually giggling when he finally pulled me back into the lounge. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d giggled.



“I’m conceding, but only because I think you’d go until we both passed out, just to prove a point,” Tristan told me as we walked.



“All I heard just now was ‘blah, blah, blah Danika wins’.”



He stopped, shaking his head and laughing. “I like you,” he told me.



I wrinkled my nose at him. “I like you, too, platonic friend of mine.”



We were both grinning like fools as we rejoined the group.



Cory served us another round. Kenny and Jared immediately started making cracks when they saw that Tristan was drinking a margarita.



“He drinks those to feel pretty,” Cory made sure to add. “True story.”



“Real men don’t drink margaritas,” Jared told me, waving his bottle of beer.



I pointed at the bottle. “That will give you a beer gut.”



Jared grinned, lifting up his shirt to show me some very nice abs. “Hasn’t been a problem so far.”



I was a little too tipsy not to give him a very big smile for the very nice show.



Tristan slapped a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, leaning in to say something in his ear. Whatever it was wiped the smile from Jared’s face. He let his shirt drop.



“Give us a minute,” Tristan said, moving a few feet away.



They had a short, hushed conversation before returning to us. Tristan’s face was very blank, but Jared’s looked slightly flushed, perhaps with temper.



“So are you in this band that Tristan claims to be in?” I asked Kenny.



Kenny beamed at me. “Yes, I am. All four of us are, plus one of our buddies who isn’t here tonight.”



“What kind of music do you play?” I asked.



“Rock.”



I wasn’t surprised in the least. “So who plays what?”



“I’m bass, Jared is lead guitar, Cory is drums, Tristan is lead vocals, and our friend Dean is rhythm guitar.”



I shot Tristan a look. “Gee, the lead singer of a rock band. I’m shocked. I never would have guessed.” Sarcasm dripped from every word.



He seemed to find that funny, which was good. I’d much rather have him think I was funny, than be offended by my sense of humor.



“So when and where do I get to see you play?” I asked, turning back to Kenny.



Kenny’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. Dean is setting up some gigs for us. Of course you’re invited, whenever that happens.”



“So what are your day jobs?” I asked, figuring they all had to have one.



“As you’ve seen, Cory is a bartender, and I’m a valet parker on the weekends here. Our friend Dean is a blackjack dealer. And Tristan and Jared are both in the club promoting business.”



“They get paid to party,” Cory added.



I couldn’t seem to keep my two cents in. “All I think when I hear club promoter is drug dealer, or unemployed.”



Jared grimaced.



Tristan just laughed. “You’re coming to the next club party I host,” he said, pointing at me.



I shrugged, giving him a sassy look. “Don’t threaten me with a good time…”



All four of them seemed to find that hilarious. I flushed with pleasure. I could get used to this kind of attention, especially since it was coming from four hot guys.



“Danika works for Jerry,” Tristan told them.



“We love Jerry!” Kenny said.



“She’s the nanny,” Tristan added.



“Holy shit,” Jared muttered.



“Did not see that coming,” Cory called out, his back to us as he mixed a drink.



“Not what I was expecting,” Kenny mused.



“Why is that so surprising to everyone?” I asked, baffled that all four of them had had the same reaction to my being a nanny.



“I had you pegged for a model,” Jared said.



“Tristan loves to date models,” Cory called out.



“Fuck off,” Tristan told him.



“We’re not dating,” I stated firmly.



“I would have guessed dancer,” Tristan told me, as though he hadn’t just told Cory to fuck off. Typical guys…



I pointed at Tristan. “This round goes to Tristan. I’m a full-time student, and a nanny, but I am an aspiring dancer, not that I ever have the time.” I returned his smile, utterly charmed by it. “And the model thing is very flattering, guys, but I’m a little short for that.”



“Not for Vegas modeling,” Jared pointed out.



“You’re what, five-eight?” Kenny guessed. “That’s tall enough.”



“I’d guess she’s five-seven,” Tristan mused, “and she is tall enough, but I’m betting she’s never even tried modeling, especially of the Vegas variety. Not your scene, right?”



I curled my lip at him. “You don’t know me that well. Quit pretending you’re an expert.”



“Am I wrong?” His brows shot up with the question.



“You’re not,” I grudgingly admitted.



I blamed the alcohol when he gave me a smug smile, and my reaction was to stick my tongue out at him.



He grabbed my hand, pulling me back out of my chair. “Just for that, we’re going for another round on the floor.”



“You’re a glutton for punishment,” I told him, but I followed easily enough.



The music had changed to Top Forty remixes, and something slow and sultry with a heavy beat had overtaken the room.



Uh oh, I thought.



My eyes narrowed on his as he pulled me flush against him, sliding one sneaky knee between mine. “What are you doing?” I asked pointedly.



“Just feeling the music. What happens on the dance floor, stays on the dance floor, and I really am just dancing with you, I swear.”



I can live with that, I thought, moving against him, letting the music take me over for another intoxicating spell.



We danced close, but he still didn’t cross any lines. We kept our lower regions very carefully apart, though our chests rubbed together more than once. I didn’t know what it said about me, or my previous relationships, but I didn’t think I’d ever been more turned on in my life as I was just from dancing with Tristan. My breath came out in little pants, every inch of my skin overheated, and not just from exertion.



“You’re absolutely positive that you don’t hookup? Not even one really awesome night together before we settle down to being friends?” His voice was a rasp in my ear that made me shiver from head to toe.



I shook my head with no hesitation. It wasn’t that I wasn’t tempted; I just knew that I would feel like shit in the morning, if I did something like that. I wasn’t someone who could handle sex without commitment. I never had been.



“I’m positive,” I said into his ear.



“No friends with benefits, either?” he asked hopefully.



“The friends with benefits thing never works.”



He pulled back to meet my eyes. “I agree,” he said, though he didn’t look happy about it. “That never works. Someone always ends up getting hurt. Sorry, I just lost my mind for second. That was an asshole thing to say.”



“It’s okay. Just don’t let it happen again.” I smiled while I said it, and there was no anger behind the words.



I just wasn’t sure how many times I could tell him no and mean it. I wanted him, and I wasn’t dense enough to deny it to myself.



“I’ll try my best,” he murmured.



CHAPTER SIX



I knew before I’d even opened my eyes that I had a raging hangover. You couldn’t go from hardly ever drinking, to losing count of your drinks in one night, and not feel it, and Lord did I feel it.



I checked the clock and groaned out loud when I saw that it was seven a.m. That’s how I knew that my hangover was truly heinous; it had woken me up after only three hours of sleep.



I sat up reaching for the glass of water I kept on my nightstand. I drank the entire glass, even though drinking was the last thing I wanted to do, because I knew that getting rehydrated was the best way to recover from the hangover.



Dot, who’d been sleeping in his own doggy bed near the foot of mine, moved to my feet. He put his head on his paws, and looked up at me. I couldn’t decide if he was giving me a sympathetic look or a condescending one.



My door opened, and Mat peeked his head inside, grinning. “Good morning, boo,” he said, using the nickname he’d given me when he was four.



“Morning, peeka,” I told him, using my own nickname for him.



Mat was always the first one awake, but everyone else quickly followed, usually due to the noise he managed to make. “Everybody else is still sleeping,” he said in a whisper that managed to be louder than outright speaking.



“I figured,” I said with a rueful smile. He always woke me up first, since I cooked breakfast. “Whatcha want for breakfast?”



“Blueberry pancakes, please!” he nearly shouted.



I winced and held up a hand. “Coming right up, but I’m going to need you to stay nice and quiet this morning, okay?”



“Got it!” he said in a slightly quieter voice. “Will you turn on cartoons while I wait for my food?”



“Of course, bud. I just need to go to the bathroom, then I’ll be right out.”



I used the restroom and made my way to the living room, Dot dogging my steps.



Mat was sitting on his kid-sized couch on the floor, Pupcake in his lap. He was staring in confusion across the room, and as I stepped into the room, I saw why.



I padded quietly across the room, switching on the TV and finding a channel with some cartoons. Mat fixated on the television, and I walked quietly over to the shirtless hunk of a man that was sprawled out on the sofa. I was so fuzzy headed that I’d forgotten he was even crashing here.



He was lying on his back, a pillow pulled over his face, and another one draped over his lap. He’d completely kicked off his thin blanket. I could just make out that he was at least wearing boxer-briefs, which was good, but the rest of him was all tanned, bared, tattooed skin.



Not good, I thought, taking him in. I’d had no doubts that he would look good naked, and I certainly didn’t need to see just how good.



Even at rest, I could see the hard ridges in his abdomen. And his arms. Jesus. His arms were huge, which was kind of a thing for me. I thought they might have been bigger than my waist, and for sheer perverse reasons, I wanted to measure them to see if I was right. And the tattoos…God, the tattoos. I didn’t have a bit of ink, but I loved his. He didn’t have full sleeves, like his brother, but he wasn’t too far off. His arms were covered with intricate designs, and it wasn’t all black, either. I loved all the color. It stood out startlingly against the other black ink, as though the black was just there to frame the color.