Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(85)

I nodded, the back of my head rubbing against his chest with the motion. “Okay,” I whispered, feeling a little at sea. The way I felt about him, I had to wonder what I would do if he went back on his word. Would I have the strength to walk away from him? I honestly didn’t know. I felt too wrapped up in him to ever walk away willingly.





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE





We were nearly inseparable after that. He slept at Bev’s house with me almost every night. He kept up his hard living, all hours lifestyle, and I was so completely obsessed with him, that I kept it with him.

We drank too much, slept too little, and had more sex in a two week period than I’d ever had in my life.

I was so infatuated that I fell asleep next to him, and still dreamed of him, as though being apart, even in sleep, just wasn’t an option for my lovesick brain.

The curve of his smile, the shape of his dimples, the twinkle in his golden eyes, made my heart race, every single time. The way he looked at me, his possessive touch, the way we made love, had me wrapped around his little finger. There was no question—I’d never been so in love. In fact, the way I felt around Tristan made me question if I’d ever even been in love before at all. Loving him was like that; so out of control that it was hard to imagine there could be anything to compare.

He never said he loved me back, even though I said it all the time, but I felt more loved than I ever had before, and that was enough for me.

I’d never considered myself to be a jealous person before, but there was no doubt that I was with Tristan. Women noticed him. Often. And many weren’t subtle about it. That was bad enough, but what really made me lose it was the few times when we ran into women that he’d actually slept with. When that happened, I turned into a nut job. I knew that I did, and still, I couldn’t seem to stop my knee jerk reaction.

We were at Decadence. It had become our favorite club, because Cory worked there, and Frankie worked in the building. We’d been hanging out with her and Jared a lot, nearly every night.

I was chatting with Jared and Frankie. We were ganging up on him, trying to talk him into making the band play more gigs. Yes, I’d started using the word gig. When in Rome…

Tristan had made a trip to the restroom. I saw him heading back to us. The pink haired rocker chick that had opened for them at their performance stopped him with a hand on his arm.

We kept running into her. Her name was Rosette, and she hit the clubs at least as much as we did, and I was almost positive they’d slept together just by the way she looked at him.

I glanced at Frankie, who always told it like it was. “Have they slept together? I mean before he and I…”

I could tell before she opened her mouth that she knew that they had.

“That’s a question for Tristan. I really can’t say for sure, but he got around a lot…before.”

I thought about how before was only a couple of weeks ago as Rosette clung to his arm, even to the point of following him as he made his way over to the rest of us.

He was smiling at something she said, though it did look like he’d tried to tug his arm away.

She wasn’t budging, and my drunk mind took that very personal. At least, I tried to tell myself it was the alcohol that made me so crazy.

I didn’t go crazy right off the bat. It wasn’t quite so bad as all that. Her hand on his arm was not enough to do it on its own.

It was her second hand, reaching up to grip his bicep, measuring it. She bit her lip and gave him what I thought was a very slutty smile. “You have the best arms, Tryst. So big. In fact—“ she leaned into him, her chest against that arm, stood on tiptoe, and started whispering into his ear.

“You know he has a girlfriend, right?” I called out to her, feeling mad enough to spit.

She turned her head slowly to look at me, her eyes telling me clearly that she knew I’d been there all along. “I heard about that.”

“So you just get a kick out of hanging all over someone else’s man?”

“You’ve been dating for like two weeks, right? That has to be a record for Tryst. How far past breaking his own record do you think he’ll get before he falls off the wagon again?”

Tristan shook her off, looking annoyed. “If you can’t be civil to my girlfriend, you can f*cking walk away.” He pointed, as though to show her which way she could walk.

I loved it.

She didn’t.

She turned a scathing glare on him. “Dean told me you were * whipped, and I didn’t believe him. I see I was wrong.” She made a whipping motion in the air with one hand, accompanied by the universal sound effect for ‘* whipped’.

“Fuck Dean, and f*ck you,” Tristan shot back, going from annoyed to pissed.

“We already did that, honey.” Rosette’s voice was all sweet venom. “Lots of times, in fact. Does your girlfriend know about that? Does she know that we f*cked right before I went on stage at our last performance?”

That had been the night we’d reconciled. So only hours before that he’d been with this skank…

One look at Tristan’s wince, which told me she wasn’t making it up, and I almost had another ‘dish throwing’ moment.

The only thing that stopped me was a well-meaning Jared.

He must have seen the murder in my eyes, because he grabbed me from behind in a gentle, but very firm hold.