Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(15)

“It’s okay. Just don’t let it happen again.” I smiled while I said it, and there was no anger behind the words.

I just wasn’t sure how many times I could tell him no and mean it. I wanted him, and I wasn’t dense enough to deny it to myself.

“I’ll try my best,” he murmured.

CHAPTER SIX

I knew before I’d even opened my eyes that I had a raging hangover. You couldn’t go from hardly ever drinking, to losing count of your drinks in one night, and not feel it, and Lord did I feel it.

I checked the clock and groaned out loud when I saw that it was seven a.m. That’s how I knew that my hangover was truly heinous; it had woken me up after only three hours of sleep.

I sat up reaching for the glass of water I kept on my nightstand. I drank the entire glass, even though drinking was the last thing I wanted to do, because I knew that getting rehydrated was the best way to recover from the hangover.

Dot, who’d been sleeping in his own doggy bed near the foot of mine, moved to my feet. He put his head on his paws, and looked up at me. I couldn’t decide if he was giving me a sympathetic look or a condescending one.

My door opened, and Mat peeked his head inside, grinning. “Good morning, boo,” he said, using the nickname he’d given me when he was four.

“Morning, peeka,” I told him, using my own nickname for him.

Mat was always the first one awake, but everyone else quickly followed, usually due to the noise he managed to make. “Everybody else is still sleeping,” he said in a whisper that managed to be louder than outright speaking.

“I figured,” I said with a rueful smile. He always woke me up first, since I cooked breakfast. “Whatcha want for breakfast?”

“Blueberry pancakes, please!” he nearly shouted.

I winced and held up a hand. “Coming right up, but I’m going to need you to stay nice and quiet this morning, okay?”

“Got it!” he said in a slightly quieter voice. “Will you turn on cartoons while I wait for my food?”

“Of course, bud. I just need to go to the bathroom, then I’ll be right out.”

I used the restroom and made my way to the living room, Dot dogging my steps.

Mat was sitting on his kid-sized couch on the floor, Pupcake in his lap. He was staring in confusion across the room, and as I stepped into the room, I saw why.

I padded quietly across the room, switching on the TV and finding a channel with some cartoons. Mat fixated on the television, and I walked quietly over to the shirtless hunk of a man that was sprawled out on the sofa. I was so fuzzy headed that I’d forgotten he was even crashing here.

He was lying on his back, a pillow pulled over his face, and another one draped over his lap. He’d completely kicked off his thin blanket. I could just make out that he was at least wearing boxer-briefs, which was good, but the rest of him was all tanned, bared, tattooed skin.

Not good, I thought, taking him in. I’d had no doubts that he would look good naked, and I certainly didn’t need to see just how good.

Even at rest, I could see the hard ridges in his abdomen. And his arms. Jesus. His arms were huge, which was kind of a thing for me. I thought they might have been bigger than my waist, and for sheer perverse reasons, I wanted to measure them to see if I was right. And the tattoos…God, the tattoos. I didn’t have a bit of ink, but I loved his. He didn’t have full sleeves, like his brother, but he wasn’t too far off. His arms were covered with intricate designs, and it wasn’t all black, either. I loved all the color. It stood out startlingly against the other black ink, as though the black was just there to frame the color.

I told myself it was totally necessary as I reached out and touched his bare shoulder. I nudged him, and if I enjoyed the feel of his muscular flesh, what was the harm?

“Tristan,” I said quietly, nudging him again. My hand stayed there, and I tried to shake him a little, but he was too big for that…

He started, pulling the pillow off his eyes and blinked up at me. “Fuck, Danika, it’s early.”

“He said a bad word, boo!” Mat called out, clearly affronted.

“Fuck, sorry,” Tristan said, then winced.

I couldn’t hold back a grin. “You can use my bed to sleep it off. This living room is about to turn into a war zone, and I need to make some blueberry pancakes.”

“Is that what you want for breakfast?” he asked, sitting up.

I backed away like he was on fire. Which he kind of was…

“Huh?” I asked him, totally distracted by the sight of that perfect body, practically naked, and moving around. I went to the gym often, and I stayed in good shape myself, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen a body so perfect in my life.

He stood up, and I took another step back. He started to move around the couch, and something he was doing finally snapped me out of my trance.

“Why are you still holding a pillow over your lap?” I asked.

He sent me a wry smile, bending down to pick up his duffle bag, which he’d set behind the couch. “Can’t you guess? I’ll give you a hint; the first word is morning, and the second rhymes with hood.”

I blushed, feeling stupid. “Oh…well, you can use my bathroom, and you can stash your bag in there, so it’s not in the way.”

“Okay. Thank you. Just give my five minutes, and I’ll cook breakfast for everybody.”