Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(68)

Bev had to have known what was going on, when Tristan and I had gotten hot and heavy, but she hadn’t tried to stop me. She had touched my shoulder a few times in passing, saying things like, “If you need to talk about anything, honey, I’m always here,” or “I hope everything is okay…”

And then after, when it had all so obviously gone to hell, she’d gone out of her way to be there for me.

I never cried. I had always been good at keeping the tears in, and the mess with Tristan was no exception.

But Bev bought gallons of ice cream, and was even sweet enough to stay up late several times to eat it with me.

I’d confessed everything to her, every hot, ugly detail. She’d been as wonderful about it as she was about everything, telling me that it would be okay, and that no, I wasn’t the stupidest girl alive.

“My man picker is off,” I’d told her forlornly.

She’d patted my shoulder comfortingly. “Aw, sweetheart, it really isn’t. I saw what you were dealing with. There isn’t a girl alive that could turn down a guy like Tristan, with the way he was laying on the charm. Just take a lesson from it, and it won’t be a waste.”

I knew it was good advice, and I promised myself that I would tuck it away for future use.

Fuck Anonymous with Frankie was a riot. She monopolized the entire thing, going on and on about several of her latest disastrous relationships, and some of her unorthodox sexual preferences.

She told every story with so much humor that all of us were laughing for most of the session, and I was particularly grateful, because she’d deflected any attention off me for another week.

When she went into detail about her lifestyle as a dominatrix, I think she shocked most of the women, but I was fascinated, especially with all of Tristan’s talk of restraints.

“So you’re always dominant?” Candy asked, clearly tantalized by the idea. She’d been flirting with Frankie all night.

Frankie nodded. “Some people switch, but that doesn’t work for me. I have a very specific fetish. There are very different ways to practice BDSM, but my way is full speed ahead hardcore, which isn’t for many, even in the scene. I can only think of one other person, who shall remain anonymous, who takes it as far as I do.”

Sandra looked more shocked than anyone else about Frankie’s lifestyle, just staring at her, open-mouthed, as she went into detail about strap-ons and spreader bars. I got the feeling Frankie could have talked about strap-ons alone for hours.

“I work in the Cavendish Casino,” Sandra told Frankie, her eyes still a little wide in shock. “I work over in the art gallery, which isn’t far from your tattoo shop. Sometimes I see the camera crew when I go out for lunch. It’s all very exciting.”

“You got any tats?” Frankie asked her with a smile, clearly convinced that she didn’t.

“Just a tramp stamp,” Sandra said, which startled a laugh out of several of us, including Frankie.

“A tramp stamp is no joke,” Frankie told her. “So you work on the property. You ever seen the big man on campus?”

Sandra needed no other excuse to start in about James ‘the dreamboat’ Cavendish.

“We think she should make a pass at him,” Candy piped in, after Sandra had been going on for a solid five minutes.

Frankie looked dubious. “My advice would be not to. He’s actually one of my closest friends, and if he’s interested, you’ll know it.”

Sandra looked crestfallen, as though she’d really been planning to make a pass at one of the richest, most beautiful men on the planet. I admired her confidence.

“I met him at a club kind of recently,” I added, when there was a brief pause in the dialogue. “Sandra has talked about him exhaustively for years, and I have to say, I wasn’t at all disappointed. Those eyes…”

Frankie nodded. “He’s to die for beautiful. He doesn’t do relationships, but you couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“Why would he?” Harriet asked, sounding a bit bitter. “Filthy rich, male, and gorgeous, he can stay single forever. He’ll probably knock up some nineteen year old when he’s eighty, and call it a day. Men have it so easy.”

Frankie laughed. “Getting a bit ahead of things, aren’t you? I can’t say what James will be doing when he’s eighty, I’m just telling you that the best you could hope for nowadays is a casual fling with the guy, and if he’s interested in you, you will know it.”

“Well, f**k,” Sandra pouted, “that messes with all of my workplace fantasies about him seducing me in my office.”

My eyes widened. I honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but she didn’t crack a smile, so I was leaning towards thinking that she wasn’t.

I didn’t think it could be healthy to be that obsessed with your boss, but I held my tongue.

Lucy stayed late that night, lingering when everyone had left except for her and Frankie. I’d known she would. One sympathetic look from her and the tears finally came.

She gathered me up into her arms, and I told her every little detail about the last few weeks, leaving out nothing.

It was Frankie’s first time hearing it all, and she looked surprised at some of it, like his reaction to my declaration of love.

“That ass**le,” Frankie said succinctly. “That’s got to be Twatalie baggage, for sure, but that doesn’t make it okay.”