Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(20)

“Then call me something sweet. Like sweetheart, or hell, I don’t know, pudding.”

“Pudding?” I laughed.

She nodded. “It’s sweet, and I like the way you say it. You can’t call someone pudding and not sound sweet on me.

“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “No. I sincerely want you to call me pudding. I think it’s adorable.”

“You’re drunk,” I noted.

She shrugged. “So? I’d still like to hear you call me pudding.”

“You won’t say so in the morning.”

“Then I give you my drunk permission to ignore whatever the sober me tells you. You should like the drunk me better, anyway, because I like you more than the sober me does.”

I couldn’t really argue with that. “Okay, pudding, let’s dance.”





CHAPTER EIGHT





DANIKA

We quickly developed a pattern, and five days later, we’d gone out dancing nearly every night.

I was a restless person. I always had been. I found myself constantly thinking of the next step, calculating what was to come, or even ten steps ahead. I rarely found myself living in the moment. Tristan did that for me. He brought me back to the moment nearly every second I was in his company. It was an addictive kind of feeling, to know, just know, that whatever was going on right now was worth attending to. I didn’t have to look forward with Tristan. I lived in the present, and I loved it.

“Are you getting sick of my hangover sandwiches?” Tristan asked as he handed me one.

“Abso-f*cking-lutely not,” I said, taking my sandwich from him.

As I thought about it, I wasn’t sick of one thing about him. We’d been inseparable since nearly the moment we’d met, and it was far from getting old.

“I actually have a promoting gig tonight,” he told me between bites. “So you get to see me work. It’s this new club, over off Paradise. You’ll finally get to meet Dean.”

“I can’t go,” I said, recalling what day of the week it was. “I have a thing tonight.”

He stopped eating, watching me. “A thing?”

I shrugged. “A weekly thing.”

“Care to elaborate? Is this a date type of thing, or a girls’ night type of thing?”

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the idea of it being a weekly date. What on earth had I said that would make it sound like it was a date?“It’s a girls’ night.”

“Where at?” he asked, taking a bite.

I studied him, wondering what was going through his mind. “It’s here at the house. Why?”

He shrugged. “I thought maybe I’d swing by after I’m done tonight and join you. You’re meeting all of my friends. I can return the favor.”

“It’s a girls’ night, so…”

He shrugged. “I’ll finagle my way in.”

“We won’t be partying until four in the morning, so you’ll still be out by the time we’re done.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “Why don’t you want me to come to this thing?”

I poked a finger into his chest. That only served to turn his glare into a smile. “You aren’t invited. Don’t sweat it. It’s just a small, quiet get together. You’d be bored to tears in five minutes.”

“What time does it start?”

“Early. And it ends early.”

“Do you all sit around and talk, or like watch chick flicks?”

I sighed. “We sit around and talk and drink cocktails. There’s not a thing about it you’d be interested in. Just go and do your usual routine tonight. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

That lit his face up with his most sinister smile. “I feel like you’re daring me to come.”

I shook my head. “You’re a whack-job, you know that? I am most definitely not daring you. I’m warning you off.”

That had his eyes narrowing again. “You’re hiding something from me. I’m going to ask Bev what this is all about.

I lifted my chin. “Go for it. She’ll tell you what I just did. Girls only. No boys allowed.”

He sighed, finally looking resigned about the whole thing. “Fine. What about tomorrow night? We on for tomorrow?”

I smiled, relieved that he was done pressing the issue. I really didn’t want Lucy to get a load of him. She wouldn’t believe for a second that he and I were purely platonic. Hell, even I didn’t really believe it.

“We’re on,” I told him.

“Any plans for today?” he asked, taking the last bite of his sandwich.

“I told the boys I’d swim with them after breakfast.”

“You said you’d swim with us for four hours!” Ivan called from his couch, where he was scarfing down his blueberry pancakes.

“I said four hours or until you said uncle,” I called back. I took a huge bite out of my sandwich, stuffed but unable to throw it away.

Tristan snagged the last bit out of my hand, eating it.

“Lucky for you, I have swim trunks packed,” he said after he’d washed the bite down with a long drink of his water.