Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(14)

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 f*ck 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.