Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(69)

Frankie nodded. “Some people switch, but that doesn’t work for me. I have a very specific fetish. There are very different ways to practice BDSM, but my way is full speed ahead hardcore, which isn’t for many, even in the scene. I can only think of one other person, who shall remain anonymous, who takes it as far as I do.”

Sandra looked more shocked than anyone else about Frankie’s lifestyle, just staring at her, open-mouthed, as she went into detail about strap-ons and spreader bars. I got the feeling Frankie could have talked about strap-ons alone for hours.

“I work in the Cavendish Casino,” Sandra told Frankie, her eyes still a little wide in shock. “I work over in the art gallery, which isn’t far from your tattoo shop. Sometimes I see the camera crew when I go out for lunch. It’s all very exciting.”

“You got any tats?” Frankie asked her with a smile, clearly convinced that she didn’t.

“Just a tramp stamp,” Sandra said, which startled a laugh out of several of us, including Frankie.

“A tramp stamp is no joke,” Frankie told her. “So you work on the property. You ever seen the big man on campus?”

Sandra needed no other excuse to start in about James ‘the dreamboat’ Cavendish.

“We think she should make a pass at him,” Candy piped in, after Sandra had been going on for a solid five minutes.

Frankie looked dubious. “My advice would be not to. He’s actually one of my closest friends, and if he’s interested, you’ll know it.”

Sandra looked crestfallen, as though she’d really been planning to make a pass at one of the richest, most beautiful men on the planet. I admired her confidence.

“I met him at a club kind of recently,” I added, when there was a brief pause in the dialogue. “Sandra has talked about him exhaustively for years, and I have to say, I wasn’t at all disappointed. Those eyes…”

Frankie nodded. “He’s to die for beautiful. He doesn’t do relationships, but you couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“Why would he?” Harriet asked, sounding a bit bitter. “Filthy rich, male, and gorgeous, he can stay single forever. He’ll probably knock up some nineteen year old when he’s eighty, and call it a day. Men have it so easy.”

Frankie laughed. “Getting a bit ahead of things, aren’t you? I can’t say what James will be doing when he’s eighty, I’m just telling you that the best you could hope for nowadays is a casual fling with the guy, and if he’s interested in you, you will know it.”

“Well, f*ck,” Sandra pouted, “that messes with all of my workplace fantasies about him seducing me in my office.”

My eyes widened. I honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but she didn’t crack a smile, so I was leaning towards thinking that she wasn’t.

I didn’t think it could be healthy to be that obsessed with your boss, but I held my tongue.

Lucy stayed late that night, lingering when everyone had left except for her and Frankie. I’d known she would. One sympathetic look from her and the tears finally came.

She gathered me up into her arms, and I told her every little detail about the last few weeks, leaving out nothing.

It was Frankie’s first time hearing it all, and she looked surprised at some of it, like his reaction to my declaration of love.

“That *,” Frankie said succinctly. “That’s got to be Twatalie baggage, for sure, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

Bev and Lucy were fascinated by this.

“What on earth is a Twatalie?” Bev asked.

That made me laugh, even through my ugly tears.

“Not what, but who," Frankie explained, her tone wry. "Twatalie is his gold-digging ex. It’s a long story, but she f*cked around on him with some rich men, and he just didn’t see it coming. Been a man-whore ever since.”

That brought on a fresh bout of tears. That’s what I hated most about crying. Once I started, it went on for a long time.

“He—he’s already slept up with other girls. He went out and hooked up with someone the night we had a fight.”

Frankie grimaced. “I’m sorry. I should have kept that to myself. I didn’t realize the extent of what had gone on with you guys.”

“I’d rather know. It hurts, but I needed to hear it. I have to get over this. I’m so stupid.”

The three women rushed to reassure me that I wasn’t stupid, but it was hard not to feel that way, when I knew that I was still in love with Tristan, and he was probably sleeping with some random woman that very night.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





It was almost two weeks after the big falling out when I got an excited call from Frankie. She was bursting at the seams hyper, I could hear it in her voice.

“They’re going to perform at Decadence! Can you believe it? Their first gig in months, and they get to rock at the Cavendish property on a Saturday night!”

I knew, of course I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I asked anyway. “Who?”

“Tristan and the guys! Can you believe that? Jerry is a miracle worker. We’re going.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “I don’t know. I doubt I’m invited. And I’m not sure I want to see Tristan, like, ever again.”