Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(51)

“Tristan is a mama’s boy, too, but not as bad as this one,” Frankie told me, as she ran her hands down Jared’s abs, tracing over the scaled dragon she’d done.

My brow furrowed as I studied the intricate dragon. It was golden, and so elaborate that I had to study it carefully to catch all of the details. It was a lot like one she’d done on Tristan’s shoulder, but Jared’s dragon had one extra quirk that made me roll my eyes.

“Is that dragon smoking a joint, or a cigarette?” I asked, my tone wry.

“Guess,” Jared said playfully.

“Well half of it is in the water,” I complained.

“Here.” He hopped out of the pool, perching on the edge so I had a better view.

I moved close, getting between his legs to study the smoking dragon. “I can’t believe you put a dragon smoking a joint on his stomach,” I said to Frankie, my tone accusing, when I saw for certain what it was.

“I tried to talk him out of the joint. But he insisted. There’s also a marijuana leaf on his hip, though that wasn’t me. I explained to him that people almost always regret drug tattoos. When he’s older, with kids of his own, he’ll never be able to tell them to say no to drugs without looking like a hypocrite.”

“I wouldn’t tell them to say no. I’ll be a cool ass dad.”

“See now, everyone says that, until they have children,” Frankie explained. “Your priorities will change, I guarantee it.”

I glanced up at Jared when he had no response to her statement.

He was looking towards the house, an expression of frozen panic on his face.

I knew who it was before I turned to look. My hands fell from Jared’s stomach, where they’d been innocently tracing a tattoo.

“Fuuuck, he’s going to kill me,” Jared said softly.

Tristan had arrived, and he was striding towards us with a look on his face I’d never seen before.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tristan didn’t even spare me a glance, his cold eyes all for his brother. The color gold had never looked so icy.

He barely paused when he reached us.

“A word, Jared,” he said tersely, striding right past us.

Jared ran a hand over his damp, inky black hair, his expression tight. “Wish me luck, ladies,” he uttered softly, before following his brother.

“This is an unfortunate development,” Frankie said, watching the brothers stride away.

“He wasn’t supposed to be here,” I defended.

“You’re right. I wonder how he found out about you guys being here together.”

“You think he came here because someone told him?”

“He had a club promoting job tonight, right? Something compelling brought him here, and you and Jared showing up together is the only thing that comes to mind.”

“But I don’t even know anyone here. Who would have told him?”

“It looks like me and Dean are the only possibilities, and I didn’t rat you out. I’ll be getting hell for that later, by the way.”

“Fucking Dean,” I said darkly.

“Fucking Dean,” Frankie agreed. “They’ve all been friends since they were kids, but I can’t stand Dean. He’s always rubbed me the wrong way. He’s just too slick. You’ll notice he disappeared right before the shit hit the fan.”

It was several minutes before Tristan approached us again, and this time it was without Jared.

“Where’d your brother go?” I asked him, searching the crowd. I saw no sign of Jared.

Tristan crouched down near the edge of the pool, looking meaner than I’d ever seen him.

“He went home. Can we talk, Danika?”

It was the tone he used, as much as the words that made a shiver of dread go through me. I’d never seen him like this.

I moved to the side of the pool, and began to climb out.

“Hey Tristan,” Frankie called out, her voice friendly. “I didn’t expect to see you at this thing.”

“Hey, Frankie. It’s pretty apparent that nobody did.” As he spoke he helped me out of the pool.

“Do you have a towel?” he asked, his tone still as hostile as I’d ever heard it.

I shook my head, feeling a little numb.

“Are you cold?” he asked, solicitous even in a rage.

I shook my head again. It was hot as a hairdryer outside, and even the pool hadn’t been enough to cool me off.

I didn’t realize that we were leaving the party until Tristan called out, “Talk to you later, Frankie,” as we walked away.

He snagged me a white towel off a huge pile of folded ones near the house. I wrapped myself in it, following him silently. I was torn between feeling guilty about going out with Jared, and being pissed about the way he was acting. He had no right, but I had as good as lied to him by not telling him who I was going out with.

I followed Tristan through the house and out the front door. He was opening the passenger door of a black Camaro before I spoke again.

“I can’t take the towel,” I argued, glancing back at the mansion. It seemed like such a trashy thing to do—to take advantage of the mysterious homeowner’s hospitality.

His jaw clenched, and he just stood there, staring at me and holding the door open.

I got in, stealing the stupid towel.