Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(19)

“I’m impressed. Grey Goose bottle service. You’ve got some pretty good connections, for a homeless guy.”

I laughed, already mixing dirty martinis for us.

“Just how dirty do you want this?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

That surprised a giggle out of her, and I thought that was my favorite sound. It was just so uncharacteristic for her, and I loved to be the cause of it.

“I’ll take it as dirty as you can dish it out.”

I felt myself growing hard. She’d gotten the better of me, yet again.

We had two drinks before hitting the floor.

I was a good dancer, but I had absolutely nothing on Danika. The girl could move. And her dancing wasn’t just about the sexy. I thought that every move she made was filled with talent and beauty. It was a Top Forty dance mix tonight, and she knew the words to every song, frequently matching her moves to the words in cute little ways, flipping her hair, or holstering air guns at her sexy as hell hips.

I bummed a cigarette off Kenny when I saw him where he was chatting up some guy in the corner.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” I asked Danika as I returned to our table.

She was looking at her phone, but she glanced up briefly to shake her head. She didn’t look happy.

“It’s not a habit,” I reassured her as I lit up. “I only smoke when I drink.”

She laughed. “Well, from what I can see, you drink every night. How is that not a habit?”

I smiled ruefully. She did have a point.

“Who are you texting?” I asked, trying to get a look at the screen on her phone.

Her lip curled in distaste. “No one important. My ex won’t leave me alone, but I’ve learned not to text him back, even if it’s just to tell him to go to hell.”

I felt a totally unreasonable surge of anger move through me at that. “Want me to kick his ass?” I asked, not even close to joking.

She laughed, shaking her head as she put her phone back into her tiny clutch. “No. He’ll give up eventually.”

“What did his text say?”

She rolled her eyes. “He says he loves me. But he sure didn’t love me enough not to cheat on me.”

My gut clenched and my fists curled. “How long ago was that?”

She made a dismissive motion with her hands. “Almost a month now.”

My eyes widened. “You haven’t even been broken up for a month?” I couldn’t have said exactly why, but that bothered me. A lot.

“We’re ancient history, as far as I’m concerned. One strike and you’re out. I don’t know if it was the first time he cheated on me, but it was the first time I caught him, and once was enough for me. I wouldn’t take him back if he were the last man on earth. I’m ‘if he caught fire, and I had a glass of water, I’d drink it slowly and watch’ done.”

Even out of sorts, I had to stifle a laugh at that visual.

I heard the faint noise of her phone dinging at her even in her purse, and I wanted to punch somebody.

She got it out again, checked the screen, then put it back.

“You let me know if he keeps it up, and I will make sure he stops.”

She sent me a sideways smile that made me want to kiss her. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

I shook my head. I’d never thought of myself that way. Not even a little.

“What do you say we hit the floor again, boo?” I asked her, after we’d both had two more dirty martinis.

Her perfect little nose wrinkled at me. “Don’t call me that. That is such a weird nickname for a grown ass man to be calling me.”

“So what should I call you?”

“Danika.”

“That sounds so formal. I can’t call you by your name all of the time.”

“Then call me something sweet. Like sweetheart, or hell, I don’t know, pudding.”

“Pudding?” I laughed.

She nodded. “It’s sweet, and I like the way you say it. You can’t call someone pudding and not sound sweet on me.

“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

She shook her head. “No. I sincerely want you to call me pudding. I think it’s adorable.”

“You’re drunk,” I noted.

She shrugged. “So? I’d still like to hear you call me pudding.”

“You won’t say so in the morning.”

“Then I give you my drunk permission to ignore whatever the sober me tells you. You should like the drunk me better, anyway, because I like you more than the sober me does.”

I couldn’t really argue with that. “Okay, pudding, let’s dance.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

DANIKA

We quickly developed a pattern, and five days later, we’d gone out dancing nearly every night.

I was a restless person. I always had been. I found myself constantly thinking of the next step, calculating what was to come, or even ten steps ahead. I rarely found myself living in the moment. Tristan did that for me. He brought me back to the moment nearly every second I was in his company. It was an addictive kind of feeling, to know, just know, that whatever was going on right now was worth attending to. I didn’t have to look forward with Tristan. I lived in the present, and I loved it.