Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(78)

DANIKA

I let out the breath I’d been holding when I saw him striding back to the car, five minutes later, as promised.

He got back into driver’s seat, hands going to the steering wheel and clenching. I could tell he was upset by the tenseness in his posture, and that grip on the wheel.

When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. “Can you tell me why you stayed with him for so long? I met him for five minutes, and there’s no doubt in my mind that you can do better. Worlds better. You’re a smart girl. Why did it take you two years to figure that out?”

I didn’t look away from him, but the answer to that question made me feel delicate. Still, I wanted to give him the real answer, no bullshit. “I guess I didn’t want better. I wanted…just what I could keep. This probably doesn’t make sense to you, since you have a family, but I wanted something like a family. Even if he wasn’t perfect, I thought he’d stick around. No one’s ever stuck around for me.

“In the back of my mind, I guess I thought that if I aimed really low, things were more likely to last. I just wanted to belong to someone, and for someone to belong to me. It turns out, aiming low only brings you lower.” I took a long, shaky breath. “I’ve learned that lesson a few times. I think it finally stuck this time.”

His hand moved from its death grip on the steering wheel to softly cover mine where it was gripped in my lap. “I’ll always stick around for you, Danika. I mean that. You’re my best friend. No matter what, I’ll always be there for you, if you want me.”

That had me torn. Completely. My sweet side wanted to melt at those words, but my bitter side wanted to call him out, because he hadn’t stuck around. Not even close.

My bitter side won out. “Like you’ve been sticking around? Taking off for two weeks, not calling, not coming by, not even inviting me to your performance. Is that what you’d call being there for me?”

“I’m sorry for that. I went off the deep end for a minute, but I’m back, okay? I, um, haven’t had any luck with relationships. In fact, the only serious one I ever had was just bad. It makes my skin crawl to even think about how much of myself I put into that mess, and it just wasn’t worth it.”

“Twatalie,” I said darkly, not wanting to talk about her; the woman he’d been willing to give so much more to.

He wasn’t familiar with the nickname, and it surprised a laugh out of him. “Twatalie?”

“Frankie told me about her. If someone is named Natalie, and they’re a twat, they automatically get downgraded to Twatalie.”

He squeezed my hand, his smile big and warm and all for me. “It is fitting. And for the record, I wanted you at the performance, and I knew you were coming. I was a shit for not calling you myself, but I made sure that you knew about it.”

“You told Frankie to tell me?”

“I didn’t have to, but yeah I asked her to. She would have anyway, I see now. Frankie is good like that. Listen, I just need you to give me one more chance, okay? I won’t pull this shit again. I didn’t know…I didn’t understand what a mistake I’d made, until I saw you tonight, but it’s real f*cking crystal clear to me now, that I shouldn’t have done that.”

I still had a million questions, and I was far from done picking this to death, but my sweet side won out for the moment. “So you want to call a truce?”

“Something like that. Whatever you call it that involves you letting me back into your life, and not hating me for being a bastard.”

My breath shuddered out in a sigh. “I could never hate you, and you’re already back.”

He started driving, still holding my hand. “I missed you.” He said it like he had each time before, as though he was just realizing it himself.

I let us into Bev’s house quietly, going straight to my room.

Tristan was pressing himself against my back as I closed the door, his mouth at my neck.

“I need to be inside of you again,” he rasped into my ear, his tone urgent, kissing me on that spot on my neck that drove me wild.

I loved his desperation, loved feeling like he couldn’t get enough of me, and even if it meant something different to him than it did to me, I was going to savor it while I could.

He peeled my dress off me from behind, pushing me onto my stomach on the bed. I heard him working out of his own wet clothes before his hot body was pressing hard onto my back. He pushed until I was grunting under the weight of him, hugging me hard.

He eased off quickly, raising up to his knees, and using a hand on my belly to bring me with him. His hands on my hips had me on all fours, bracing for him. I heard him ripping open a foil packet before he was at my entrance, pushing just inside.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

I reached down with one hand, rubbing my clit as his cock teased at my entrance, and his hands found my breasts, skimming over them with a light touch. I pushed back hard, working him in another inch.

He moaned, his fingers rolling my nipples, then tugging at them. “Work that clit faster, sweetheart. You aren’t wet enough to take all of me yet.”

“I am,” I argued, twisting my hips towards him, desperate to feel him deeper.

He pulled out completely.

“You think so?” he asked, something in his tone making me crane my neck to look back at him.