Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(68)

“I know what happened between you and Tristan, so yeah, I figured.”

“Okay. Sorry. I know I sounded like an idiot. I just didn’t want to be a tease or anything.”

She was driving, but she was laughing so hard she had to pull her car over to the side of the road. “Fair enough. I wasn’t offended. That just surprised me. I didn’t realize that you thought I was hitting on you.”

“I didn’t think that. I just wasn’t sure…” I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. “Do you know Tristan very well?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I’d say I know him pretty well. I called you the other day because I saw him the night he left here. The way he was acting just…worried me. I could tell he was angry, no, furious, about something, and when I asked him about you, he got worse. And then later, he hooked up with some chick, and ended up getting into a fight with her boyfriend. I know he has a temper, and he’s been in plenty of fights, but I hadn’t seen him quite like that…He was lucky he didn’t get arrested.”

I barely heard the rest of it. After she’d mentioned him hooking up that night, there was a twisting pain my chest that sort of blacked out my ability to hear or concentrate.

“Did Tristan tell you what happened between us?” I asked, when I could speak again, still feeling utterly sick to my stomach.

“Not in so many words. I pieced together that you’d had a falling out because he refuses to talk about you.”

“I swear to God, I’m never getting involved with another man for as long as I live. Especially if it’s a f*ck buddy scenario. Fuck that.”

That put a huge smile on her face. “You let me know when you’re ready to play for the other team, sweetie.”

Unaccountably, I blushed.

She laughed, pulling back onto the street. “Sorry, I can’t help it, when you give me an opening like that. What are your plans tomorrow night?”

“My boss Bev has this weekly thing going on at the house. We call it ‘Fuck Anonymous’, because it’s a friend/group therapy session. I can’t miss it, since I dodged it last week, and I know that the longer I avoid it, the more shit I’ll get for it later.”

“Sounds like a steaming hot mess. Can I come?”

I laughed at the description. It was apt, to be sure. “Yes! They’ll love you. It’ll be a match made in heaven.”

“Perfect. What time does it start?”

“Eight-ish is when the talking starts. Drinks and appetizers are out a good hour before, though.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be there at seven. Any hot chicks?”

“Yeah. Several, but none of them are technically single.”

“Fair enough. Have you thought about that tattoo that you wanted?”

I grinned. “I have. I think I want to do it.”

“Will you do it on camera? It’s not a requirement, but I’d appreciate it. The producers are always looking for some sex appeal.”

“Why the hell not?”

She fist pumped the air. “Yes! Score! I can’t wait. You just tell me when, and I’ll get some of my cherry blossom designs ready for you.”

“Soon,” I said vaguely, torn between wanting to do it right that second, and wanting to feel like it wasn’t an impulse decision, especially an impulse decision based on the fact that I was trying to stay distracted from the disaster that had become my love life.





Bev had to have known what was going on, when Tristan and I had gotten hot and heavy, but she hadn’t tried to stop me. She had touched my shoulder a few times in passing, saying things like, “If you need to talk about anything, honey, I’m always here,” or “I hope everything is okay…”

And then after, when it had all so obviously gone to hell, she’d gone out of her way to be there for me.

I never cried. I had always been good at keeping the tears in, and the mess with Tristan was no exception.

But Bev bought gallons of ice cream, and was even sweet enough to stay up late several times to eat it with me.

I’d confessed everything to her, every hot, ugly detail. She’d been as wonderful about it as she was about everything, telling me that it would be okay, and that no, I wasn’t the stupidest girl alive.

“My man picker is off,” I’d told her forlornly.

She’d patted my shoulder comfortingly. “Aw, sweetheart, it really isn’t. I saw what you were dealing with. There isn’t a girl alive that could turn down a guy like Tristan, with the way he was laying on the charm. Just take a lesson from it, and it won’t be a waste.”

I knew it was good advice, and I promised myself that I would tuck it away for future use.

Fuck Anonymous with Frankie was a riot. She monopolized the entire thing, going on and on about several of her latest disastrous relationships, and some of her unorthodox sexual preferences.

She told every story with so much humor that all of us were laughing for most of the session, and I was particularly grateful, because she’d deflected any attention off me for another week.

When she went into detail about her lifestyle as a dominatrix, I think she shocked most of the women, but I was fascinated, especially with all of Tristan’s talk of restraints.

“So you’re always dominant?” Candy asked, clearly tantalized by the idea. She’d been flirting with Frankie all night.