Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(107)

AN EXCERPT FROM ROCK BOTTOM





DANIKA





It had already been a shit of a day by the time I made it to Tristan’s apartment. Shitty was really an understatement, though. It had been hell. Pure hell. Right in the fire of it.

I had too much on my plate, and my boyfriend was out of town for weeks at a time, which just sucked. Knowing that I’d get to see Tristan at some point on a day like this was all that had helped me keep it together.

I had a key to his apartment, but I knocked first, out of courtesy. I wasn’t that courteous, though, because I unlocked it and walked in before anyone had time to answer.

I saw right away that they wouldn’t have answered, anyway.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon, but you wouldn’t know it by the state of the apartment. Women were everywhere, slutty, groupie looking women, and I instantly felt my temper starting to boil.

Dean was lying, shirtless, on the couch. His jeans were undone, and some tramp had her hand down his pants, even as another bimbo sat hip to hip with him, sharing a joint.

Dean saw me and smiled, and I knew that this wasn’t going to be a good visit. Just as I could read a different meaning into every one of Tristan’s smiles, Dean’s only ever meant one thing. Trouble. Not fun trouble. Just bad trouble. Ruin your day trouble.

“Hey! You come to join the party? I think your boyfriend is busy, but you know you’re always first in line to suck my cock.”

I walked through the living room, heading to the back of the apartment, where the bedrooms were. If I’d been thinking clearly, I’d have gone through the kitchen, but a few words out of his mouth and my brain was already too scrambled with my temper to have a mature interaction with him, if there was such a thing.

“You might not want to go back there. I believe he said he wanted privacy…”

I whipped my head around to give him one smoldering glare.

He just chuckled. “You know I think you’re f*cking hot when you’re mad. I mean, I’d f*ck you any time, but when you’re mad, mmmm, now that would be a treat.”

I stifled my first urge, which was to tell him to go f*ck himself, because I knew he’d just turn it into a suggestion. Instead, I settled for specific and childish. “I hope you choke on one of your own used condoms, and die, you *,” I told him, striding out of the room.

I heard him laughing behind me, and my fists clenched hard.

“Babe, I don’t use condoms,” he called after me.

“Disgusting pig,” I muttered as I reached the closed door to Tristan’s room.

I didn’t knock, just opening the door quietly. I figured girlfriend rights superseded some common courtesies.

I froze in the doorway as I took in the room.

Tristan was lying on his back on the bed, wearing nothing but his boxers, an arm thrown over his eyes, as though he were sleeping. By the agitated movements of his chest, I knew that wasn’t the case.

A naked woman, some beyond trashy, slutbag blonde from hell, was straddling him. Her hands were running over his chest, tracing his tattoos.

I was absolutely frozen, in fury, in hurt, in outright disbelief, which was all that kept me from reacting too quickly, which turned out to be a good thing.

“If you don’t get off right this second,” Tristan growled from underneath the naked tramp, his voice sleepy, and irritated, and just plain mean. “I’m going to throw you off. I told you, I have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not here now,” the slut from hell purred, still running her hands over his chest. My chest. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

That was my cue to shout, yes, you bitch, I am here, but some devil kept me silent. I sincerely wanted to see how this played out. I needed to see it.

“Well, then, since you apparently don’t have an ounce of pride or self-respect, let me spell it out for you. I don’t want you. I want you to leave my room and my apartment and never come back. I turned you down three times, and you still waited until I was passed out, and jumped me. How many times do I have to say it? I wouldn’t touch you if you were my only option, which you aren’t. Is that clear enough for you, or do you want me to try a different language now?”

He sounded mean, mean in a way I rarely heard from him. He was usually so amiable, bossy, yes, possessive, always, but usually just nice, and it was startling to hear his voice go pure mean.

Bimbo face seemed to get the hint, climbing off him with a pout on her face. “You’re no fun,” she muttered, “and I can tell that you wanted me. I got you hard.”

“Don’t take it personal. The f*cking wind blowing gets me hard. Now get out.”

She barely spared me a glance, but I had to stifle the urge to follow her and scratch her eyes out.

I stayed in the doorway, leaning against the frame of it while he sat up, rubbing his eyes. It took him a few quiet moments to notice me there.

When he did, he went white, as though he’d just seen a ghost.

He slid out of bed, moving to me, looking guilty as hell. If I hadn’t just heard the whole thing with my own ears, that look would have been enough to convict him. It was a good thing I’d kept my mouth shut and let it play out. Still, I was spitting mad. I was sick to death of shit like this always testing us. It just seemed to me, that if you valued a thing, you found ways to keep it from being compromised. Groupies in the apartment had been a bone of contention for a while now.