Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(35)

He swallowed hard. “I need to. God, Danika, even your feet are f**king sexy to me, and I like you too f**king much to screw it up. I want to be around you. I’d be sad if you we didn’t see each other anymore, and I’m batting zero at the relationship thing. I’m a good friend, though, so yeah, I need a real clear ‘don’t’ list, so I don’t screw it up.”

I smirked at him. “My feet, huh? My feet are really that sexy? You crazy horn-dog.”

I didn’t want a relationship with him, either. I knew that it would mean the end of us as friends, but knowing that he found me that sexy made me warm all over. It didn’t make me feel dirty to have him look at me like that, it made me feel special. It was a novelty for me, to be sure.

He laughed and nodded, giving me really good eye contact. “Yes. It’s a problem. I’m a man-whore, and you would tempt a saint. Let’s find a way to keep our friendship safe.”

I liked that, liked that he valued my company more than my body. I nodded, finally giving him smile for smile. “Yes. That makes sense. Sex isn’t worth it anyway. It never leaves me with anything but a need for a date with my vibrator, and that’s if I’m lucky.”

He groaned and slapped his forehead. “I need to get that image out of my head. That was cruel. Do you mean that your last boyfriend didn’t make sure you got off?” He asked the question like he just couldn’t help himself. I knew him well enough to know that he couldn’t.

I laughed, trying not to make it sound as bitter as it actually was. “No. I’m saying that none of them did. They couldn’t find a clit with a map. Selfish pricks.”

He ran a hand over his face, and it went a little slack before he looked at me again. “That hurts me deep in my soul, Danika. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’d make sure you came, first and last. I’d go down on you every time, if that’s what you like. I’d lick—“

I held up a hand, giving him an arch look, though I was far from unaffected by his little speech. I wanted badly to see if he was really that good, but I shook myself out of it.

He grimaced. “Sorry, sorry. That was out of line. You can’t tell me stuff like that. It makes me want to punch somebody and, well, do things to you that do not need to be spoken out loud. But it does prove my point about me needing a ‘don’t’ list.”

I nodded. It was becoming apparent that we both needed one. “Yes. Don’t you worry about poor old me. I like my vibrator just fine. Better than any c**k that’s ever come near me, in fact.”

He closed his eyes, lowered his head, and held up one finger as though he needed a moment.

I giggled, because I had been trying to torment him, and I saw by the oversized bulge in his jeans that I’d succeeded.

I snapped my fingers at him. “Okay, okay, let’s get on with it. Get started with your list.”

1. No sex, no making out, no kissing.

“No getting off and thinking about you?” I asked. Yes, I was trying to torment him.

He held up that finger that made me giggle again. He looked like he was thinking hard for a long moment, finally shaking his head. “Nope. Can’t do that. Sorry. It’s like saying I won’t get hard when I see you wearing a bikini. It would just be a lie. But I won’t torture you with the details, I swear.”

I nodded, still smiling. Teasing just never got old with him. He made it so much fun. He made absolutely everything fun. “The same,” I told him. “I’ll try not to be too loud when I cry out your name as I get myself off.”

He shook his head, looking pained. “So jacked up,” he muttered under his breath.

After a long pause, he started writing again without another word.

2. No getting jealous or complaining about who the other one is dating or hooking up with.

“That goes for you too, right?” I asked archly. “No hitting guys in bars for looking at me funny.”

“I didn’t hit him. I just choked him a little.”

“Um, yeah, that sounds worse than punching. Not helping your argument.”

He completely ignored that, writing.

3. We can hang out whenever we want, but we won’t call it a date, even if we’re doing date-like things

“Would oral be considered date-like?” I asked, just messing with him, as usual. I’d never been able to have sexual banter with a man that didn’t end up making me feel like shit. It was just the opposite with Tristan. For some reason, it made me feel warm and fuzzy every time.

He sent me a twisted grin. “I’m pretty sure that would be breaking the no kissing rule.”

“Pretty sure leaves wiggle room.”

He gave me a look that could only be described as longing. “I do love the way you wiggle.”

I giggled.

He went back to writing.

4. No nagging.

“That counts for you, too. No telling me when I’ve had too many shots. That’s for me to decide.”

He sent me an exasperated look. “Well, if you drink enough shots that you climb on the bar to dance, and some guy grabs you, don’t nag me for beating the shit out of him.”

“That sounds like a clear violation of rule number,” I pointed out.

“That’s not jealousy. That’s me being protective of my buddy.”