Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(6)

I rolled my eyes, fully realizing that I was acting like a ten-year old. “Fine, but you have to walk Coffeecup.”

He shrugged. “Sounds great.”

“And I have to clean the pool,” I told him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Bev said.

“I’ll help,” Tristan said, being strangely persistent.

“And I have to finish the laundry.”

Tristan shrugged. “We’ll get started after the cookies are done.”

“You don’t have to do that today, Danika,” Bev tried again. “I can get to the laundry myself tonight, and the pool can wait. You could use a night off.”

“We’ll knock those chores off in an hour, and she’ll still have plenty of time to get ready,” Tristan said.

The oven timer started to beep, and he went to check on his cookies. Bev and I just watched him, not saying a word, as he put on oven mitts and slid the cookie sheet out of the oven. It was a strange and riveting sight; a ripped man at home in the kitchen. Baking f**king cookies. This man was so much Trouble…

He studied the delicious smelling cookies for a long moment, then gave me a sidelong smile. “A perfect batch. You two have to try these.”

I curled my lip at him. “I’m watching my figure.”

His eyes flicked shamelessly over my body. “And you’re doing a damn fine job of it, but you can eat a cookie.”

“Who could turn that down?” Bev asked.

Who indeed? I thought resentfully.

He was too bossy for my taste, or at least, I told myself that.

“So what chore do we need to tackle first?” Tristan asked, while he slid a few still hot cookies from the sheet and onto a plate.

“Dogs,” I said absently, still distracted by his ease in the kitchen.

He nodded, bringing the plate over to us. “The cookies will be cool enough to eat in a minute. You’re eating one, and then we’ll walk the dogs.”

I reached for a cookie, completely enticed by the smell. I was usually really good about dieting since I had to maintain my figure for dancing, but even I couldn’t resist the lure of his divine smelling cookies.

He swatted my hand away. “I said one minute, Danika.”

I glared at him for at least a solid minute.

He only smiled. He offered the plate to Bev first. She took one, thanking him.

I folded my arms over my chest, and just looked at him. I was trying hard to talk myself into refusing to eat a cookie, just to spite him, the bossy son of a bitch.

He flashed a dimple at me, his golden eyes filled with mirth, and had the utter nerve to grab one with his own hand and hold it up to my lips.

I took a bite, the smell and his charm irresistible to me. I closed my eyes, groaning as I chewed.

I heard Bev making a similar noise. The man was not all talk. His cookies were as good as he claimed. It was just the perfect flavor combination of salty and sweet, and the texture was perfect, not too gooey, but melt in your mouth soft. I barely had to chew.

Finally, after taking my time with the first bite, I opened my eyes to look at him. He was still smiling at me, his hand still holding the cookie to my mouth for another bite, but there was heat in his eyes now.

I grabbed the cookie out of his hand, taking another bite. He nabbed one for himself, taking a huge bite. I watched him chew, transfixed by the hard line of his jaw as it worked. Finally, I made myself look away, finishing my cookie with slow, savoring bites.

The boys rushed the kitchen right as I was finishing, and Tristan handed them cookies and paper towels, introducing himself.

He was at ease with the kids, and they seemed to take to him instantly, just like everyone else had. The man was like a charm grenade.

I gathered the dogs’ leashes from the laundry room, slipping into flip-flops and heading to the front door.

Dot saw the leashes first, and rushed to the door, tail wagging. Bev had a huge backyard, but the dogs still loved their walks.

I got them all ready, intending to leave whether Tristan joined me or not. I didn’t need help, and I didn’t quite understand his need to keep me company for my chores.

He caught up to me as I was slipping out the door, holding it open for me. He held a hand out to me as we got outside, and I handed him Coffeecup and Pupcake’s leashes.

We were just moving onto the sidewalk when he asked, “So tell me about your issues with Coffeecup.”

I sighed. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why on earth do you care about my dog issues?”

“Because I’m curious, and I think it’s adorable that you have ‘dog issues’.”

That drew a small smile, and an answer, out of me. “He’s rambunctious. He’s made it his mission in life to try to rush out the front door every time I have to open it for any reason. He’s gotten loose in the neighborhood three times this week.”

He shrugged. “It’s a quiet neighborhood. It’s not like there are cars speeding around here. It’s gated. What’s the big deal?”

I grimaced. “It’s a big deal because of the chicken lady.”

That surprised a laugh out of him. “The chicken lady?”

I laughed too, knowing how ridiculous it sounded—how ridiculous it was. “Yes. The crazy chicken lady.”

He had to stop walking, he was laughing so hard. “Okay. You have to tell me this story. What exactly is a crazy chicken lady?”