Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(43)

He had a point there.

“We broke half of the rules on our list back in that ditch,” he told me as we made our way back to the house.

“I’m well aware.”

“I think I know what the problem is.” He sounded resigned, and troubled. I didn’t particularly want to hear what had him sounding so serious.

“We’re stupid and a little nuts?” I guessed.

“I’ve been celibate for too long, and now I’m taking it out on you. I need to blow off some steam, ya know?”

That stung. It shouldn’t have, but it hurt bad. I was on board with the friend thing, but the idea that this attraction between us had more to do with his own sexual frustration, and nothing to do with how he might feel about me, well, it made me want to cry, which made me feel like a particularly stupid girl, and I hated that feeling. I liked to think that my head ruled me, not my heart, and being around Tristan played havoc with that idea.

“I think I’ll go out tonight…by myself.”

Ouch, ouch, ouch, I thought. “That makes sense,” I said. “I need to catch up on sleep, anyway. This crazy clubbing schedule is not my thing.”

“I’ll still make you breakfast in the morning,” he offered.

I grimaced, wondering if he would even be home in the morning. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.”

He snagged my hand, stopping our progress to look at me. I squinted at him, rain falling straight into our faces. This was no place to have a chat.

“Are you upset?”

I shook my head. “Of course not,” I said instantly, my tone dismissive.

I was upset, but I didn’t have a right to it, so I refused to acknowledge it out loud. I had too much pride for that.

“How the hell are we going to go into the house like this?” I asked, changing the subject. “We’re covered in mud. Maybe we should just stay in the rain, until it washes off.”

“The backyard hose,” he suggested.

That turned out to be a bad idea, even if it was our only option. Someone who you badly want to sleep with, but have decided that you won’t, is not the person you want to hose down with water in a hot, hot rainstorm.

I was in a black mood after that, but tried hard not to show it. As I went through my daily chores, played with the boys, and put them to bed, I just felt…down and…sad. And as I realized how depressed I was feeling, that’s when it occurred to me just how happy I’d been since Tristan had come along, hangovers and all. I’d been…giddy lately, the days flying by, as though in a dream, and it suddenly felt as though it was all crashing down on me.

What were we doing? Hanging out constantly and playing house? What did it mean? Nothing. Nothing at all. Well, except for one thing. I was a stupid girl, and I had feelings for a guy who was basically a walking hormone where women were concerned.

Tristan seemed to sense my mood, and he turned extra affectionate. Nothing blatant. No come-ons. Just a shoulder rub, a random kiss on the forehead, or a careless hand stroked over my hair, with lots of questions like, “Is everything okay? Are we cool?”

I gave answers like, “I’m just tired,” and, ”I need to catch up on sleep.”

I never slipped up once, never told him that I hated that he was going out without me, and especially that I hated why he was doing it. I kept my pride, if nothing else.

Tristan was beyond sweet, helping me put the boys to bed, and even playfully insisting on tucking me in before he went out.

He wasn’t going any place with a dress code, I noted, by his black T-shirt and jeans. Still, he looked too gorgeous to be real, and I hated how easy I knew it would be for him to find some random girl to f**k.

“Don’t wait up for me,” he told me with a wink.

I made sure he saw me roll my eyes. “I’ll be asleep before Kenny even picks you up.”

I didn’t cry after he’d gone, but it was just as troubling to me that I had to make an effort not to. Eventually, I fell into a fitful sleep.

The sound of the bathroom door closing, and then the shower turning on, woke me.

My tired eyes found the clock. It was four a.m. Tristan was just getting home. I was suddenly wide awake.

I waited in silence when he finally finished his shower, walking quietly to his side of the bed.

“Did you get lucky?” I whispered as he settled in.

He froze, and then he was hugging me from behind, his voice a rasp in my ear. “You waiting up for me, boo?”

“No. I just woke up when you opened the door. So did you? Get lucky?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer.

He sighed. “I did. Hopefully I can control myself now. Our friendship is safe.” He patted my hip comfortingly as he said it, like he’d done it for me.

He’d washed the other woman off him. Or at least, I didn’t smell anything like that on him. But I still smelled the alcohol on his breath, and there was something about his voice, not a slur, but something more subtle, some sense of disconnect in his tone that made me think he was high, or at least very drunk.

I shut my eyes tightly, cursing the tears that bled down my cheeks.

It took me forever to get to sleep. I just lay there for a long time, calling myself every kind of fool.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I woke up in black mood. I put on a good show for the boys, but I all wanted to do was curl up in a ball, and be alone for days. The fact that Tristan stayed in bed for most of the morning didn’t help.