Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(24)

He smiled his most troublesome smile. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Of course it’s friendly.”

“No funny business?”

“None at all. Just pretend I’m one of the girls.”

Unbidden, my gaze ran down his body. By sheer force of will, I returned my eyes to his face. One of the girls, my ass…

“I don’t need to do it often,” I admitted. “Nothing like what you need to do. I go weeks without needing to. Hell, sometimes I go months.”

He grimaced. “That can’t be healthy.”

I hitched my shoulder up in a shrug, keeping up my steady pace.

“Anything in particular that made you need a ‘shower’ today?” he asked, watching me closely.

I glared. “That is not a friendly question.”

He sighed heavily, turning away. “My bad,” he muttered, heading to the free weights.

We hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and I found myself laying down for a nap by early afternoon, since Jerry and the kids were still out and about.

I was just burrowing into the covers when there was a soft knock at my door.

“Yeah?” I called.

Tristan poked his head in. “Hey. I was going to take a short nap, too, before I go out. Mind if I stay in here with you, since the living room will be overrun by the kids pretty soon…”

I watched him. “No funny business?”

“No funny business,” he agreed. “I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”

I snuggled into my pillow, almost at peace with the fact that I could never seem to tell him no. “Okay. Night, Tristan.”

The bed moved as he climbed on the other side. I shivered as I felt him getting under the covers with me.

“Sweet dreams, boo,” he said quietly.

I smiled, my eyes drifting closed.

I woke up as my bathroom door opened. I blinked up at Tristan, who was fully dressed for his night out. He wore a crisp navy dress shirt with dark-washed jeans.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up; the collar unbuttoned enough to show a distracting amount of his throat.

“Aren’t you going to be hot?” I asked.

He grinned, approaching the bed. “Aren’t I, though?”

I rolled my eyes.

He startled me by bending over and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

I gave him wide eyes as he straightened. “What was that?”

“That was a ‘have a nice night, friend’ kiss.”

I pursed my lips, sitting up. “Do you kiss Cory or Kenny on the forehead?”

He just smiled. “I would, if they were as gorgeous as you. I’ll see you later, boo. Have a nice night.”

“You too,” I told him as he walked out.

CHAPTER TEN

I started making snacks early for the girls’ night. Those bitches could eat. Everyone would show up, say they weren’t hungry, have two cocktails, and promptly pig out. I loved it, and I made sure we were prepared.

I prepared a mix of healthy and unhealthy comfort food. I made guacamole, but also put out some processed cheese dip that one of the girls loved. I put out plain tortilla chips, whole wheat pita chips, and plain old potato chips. I made pigs in a blanket, and baked some tater tots, but made sure I cut plenty of fresh vegetables. It was a diverse crowd of women that attended our girls’ night every week, and we tried to accommodate them all. One thing they all indulged in equally, though, was Bev’s cocktail of the week.

Bev joined me in the kitchen when she got home from work. She came bearing gifts in the form of bottles of apple juice, apple schnapps, and vodka.

I nabbed one bottle, inspecting it. “Apple juice, huh?” I asked.

“Indeed,” she said with a grin, washing her hands. “Appletinis.”

One of the best things about girls’ night was that no one even considered dressing up. We all wore sweats or yoga pants. I had my favorite pair of pink sweat short-shorts on that read ‘sassy pants’ on the butt, and a red half-shirt that read UNL because the V had worn out.

Bev took less than five minutes to change into her own pair of sweats—a sight you only saw on girls’ night.

“Jerry just called,” Bev told me as she came back into the kitchen. “He and the boys are catching a movie. They won’t be home until bedtime.”

The doorbell rang, and Bev answered it with a ready cocktail in hand, all of the dogs following closely on her heels.

It was Lucy. Lucy always showed up early. She sort of ran this thing, though she’d been reluctant at first. Our girls’ night had, over time, turned into a weekly group therapy session. Lucy had argued at first that it might not be the best idea to have therapy sessions with her friends, but, when she’d seen how much we all apparently needed it, she’d become more enthusiastic than any of us about the whole thing.

We’d even affectionately named the event. ‘Fuck Anonymous’, because it was anything but anonymous, had been going strong for over a year now, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Lucy and Bev embraced, kissing cheeks, and Bev handed off the cocktail.

Lucy studied the bright green liquid in the martini glass. “This is either tasty, or wicked,” she murmured. She was a petite black-haired woman in her early forties. She had a pretty face, with dark eyes that always seemed to be crinkled up with laughter.