Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(67)

I exploded. “It wasn’t a don’t list, you douche bag, it may as well have been a f**king checklist! Your f**ked up mind just saw it as a challenge!”

His eyes were so cold as he studied me. It was a new experience for me, watching that warm golden gaze that I loved shoot ice at me. “I’m leaving. How about you give me a call when you grow the f**k up?”

I blinked, feeling almost numb as he started to gather his things, shoving them into his large duffle with short, angry movements.

I sat heavily on the bed as he just continued to pack without a word.

“Tristan,” I said once, a soft plea in the word.

He ignored it. He ignored me.

In fact, he never uttered another word before he walked out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The next week was more hellish than any breakup I’d ever been through, which scared the shit out of me, because it wasn’t even a real breakup.

He was never even yours to lose, I told myself, at least a hundred times a day.

He didn’t call, he didn’t text, and he didn’t come back to the house.

The one ray of light that seemed to appear as a result of the fallout was Frankie.

Two days after Tristan left, she started calling. Calling, and texting, and just showing up.

Frankie was good company. She was funny, and irreverent, and just plain easy to talk to. I had no idea why, but she’d decided that we were fast friends, and so we were. Between her and my usual nanny duties, I should have been adequately distracted.

Too bad that still left the nighttime for tossing and turning, and rehashing all of the stupid things I’d done and said.

I told Frankie as much one day over the phone. Her response was to take her distraction campaign into the evening hours, and we so we started hitting the clubs.

She was so persistent about monopolizing all of my free time, that I started to worry she might be interested in me.

“You know I’m into guys, right?” I asked her one night, on the way home from a great dancing my way to distraction session.

She laughed. A lot. And then laughed some more.

“I know what happened between you and Tristan, so yeah, I figured.”

“Okay. Sorry. I know I sounded like an idiot. I just didn’t want to be a tease or anything.”

She was driving, but she was laughing so hard she had to pull her car over to the side of the road. “Fair enough. I wasn’t offended. That just surprised me. I didn’t realize that you thought I was hitting on you.”

“I didn’t think that. I just wasn’t sure…” I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. “Do you know Tristan very well?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I’d say I know him pretty well. I called you the other day because I saw him the night he left here. The way he was acting just…worried me. I could tell he was angry, no, furious, about something, and when I asked him about you, he got worse. And then later, he hooked up with some chick, and ended up getting into a fight with her boyfriend. I know he has a temper, and he’s been in plenty of fights, but I hadn’t seen him quite like that…He was lucky he didn’t get arrested.”

I barely heard the rest of it. After she’d mentioned him hooking up that night, there was a twisting pain my chest that sort of blacked out my ability to hear or concentrate.

“Did Tristan tell you what happened between us?” I asked, when I could speak again, still feeling utterly sick to my stomach.

“Not in so many words. I pieced together that you’d had a falling out because he refuses to talk about you.”

“I swear to God, I’m never getting involved with another man for as long as I live. Especially if it’s a f**k buddy scenario. Fuck that.”

That put a huge smile on her face. “You let me know when you’re ready to play for the other team, sweetie.”

Unaccountably, I blushed.

She laughed, pulling back onto the street. “Sorry, I can’t help it, when you give me an opening like that. What are your plans tomorrow night?”

“My boss Bev has this weekly thing going on at the house. We call it ‘Fuck Anonymous’, because it’s a friend/group therapy session. I can’t miss it, since I dodged it last week, and I know that the longer I avoid it, the more shit I’ll get for it later.”

“Sounds like a steaming hot mess. Can I come?”

I laughed at the description. It was apt, to be sure. “Yes! They’ll love you. It’ll be a match made in heaven.”

“Perfect. What time does it start?”

“Eight-ish is when the talking starts. Drinks and appetizers are out a good hour before, though.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be there at seven. Any hot chicks?”

“Yeah. Several, but none of them are technically single.”

“Fair enough. Have you thought about that tattoo that you wanted?”

I grinned. “I have. I think I want to do it.”

“Will you do it on camera? It’s not a requirement, but I’d appreciate it. The producers are always looking for some sex appeal.”

“Why the hell not?”

She fist pumped the air. “Yes! Score! I can’t wait. You just tell me when, and I’ll get some of my cherry blossom designs ready for you.”

“Soon,” I said vaguely, torn between wanting to do it right that second, and wanting to feel like it wasn’t an impulse decision, especially an impulse decision based on the fact that I was trying to stay distracted from the disaster that had become my love life.