Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(70)

I smiled ruefully, knowing it was going to be something crazy, just from the gleeful look in her eyes. “What?”

She pointed behind me, toward the doors that led into the casino. I turned to see a camera crew converging on us, already obviously taping.

I rolled my eyes.

“I had to get this on camera. It’s good press for the band.”

I saw her point, but still glared at her for the ambush.

She was impervious, grabbing my hand and pulling me with her into the chaos.

I thought wryly that maybe I should have counted my blessings, that she hadn’t subjected me to any camera time before, considering all of the time we’d been spending together lately.

“Who is this new hottie, Frankie?” one of her production guys called out.

“She’s Danika!” Frankie called back, not slowing down.

“Is she your date tonight?”

Frankie just laughed, and I felt myself smiling ruefully. “She’s just a friend. Try to keep up, guys.”

It was the strangest thing, but I did find myself forgetting that the cameras were even there, especially as we made our way into Decadence.

The club was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, but I’d never been there on a live music night before. The enormous, once spacious dance floor had been converted into a writhing mass of humanity, and the guys hadn’t even taken the stage yet.

There was one useful thing about being followed around by a camera crew; people got out of your way.

We moved to a spot about five rows from the stage. The ideal spot to see without being right at the front.

I was surprised when Frankie started bossing the crew around like it was her job.

“One camera on us. You won’t want to miss Danika dancing. I know I don’t. The rest, get on the stage. Get a good spot right under the lead singer.”

The all male crew was quick to obey.

I sent her a sidelong glance. “I knew you had your own show, but I didn’t realize that reality stars directed the crew.”

“That’s not the norm,” the one camera guy still on us muttered.

Frankie just grinned and shrugged. “They did it, didn’t they? They’ll thank me later.” She looked at the camera guy. “Tell the truth, Rodney. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“That you haven’t.”

“See. If you know what you’re doing, people listen to you, whether it’s your job to boss them or not. I’m just trying to get the best footage possible. They know it, so they listen to me.”

I laughed, because though I wouldn’t have thought of it, she had a point, because they hadn’t hesitated to follow her orders.

“I’ve found that often the quality you see in successful people is knowing when to take the initiative, and being quick about it. I’ve never sat around, waiting for someone to tell me to take charge. I just do it.”

I considered that, filing it away. I wanted badly to become successful in life, at something. I doubted there was anyone who’d grown up in my kind of chaos that didn’t.

The dim lights suddenly went dark, the camera’s light all that was visible for a long, pregnant pause. The crowd went quiet.

“Dim that light, Rodney!” Frankie said in a loud whisper. “We don’t want to take attention away from the show.”

Proving her words yet again, the camera’s light dimmed.

A spotlight shone onto the stage, illuminating a scantily clad girl with hot pink hair.

My nose wrinkled. “Is she in the band?” I asked Frankie.

“Nope. She must be the opener. The guys must be hooking her up, because I’ve never seen her before.”

More lights went on the stage, illuminating the rocker chick’s band. She started belting out a screaming rendition of some old metal song that I kind of recognized, though I couldn’t have named it. I liked metal, but this wasn’t good metal.

“Is this the kind of music they play?” I asked into Frankie’s ear. It wasn’t what I’d been expecting, at all.

She shook her head, swaying to the ear-splitting noise. “Not at all. She must be f**king one of them, because she is not a good opener for their brand of rock.”

That made me feel slightly ill.

She grimaced. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. It just slipped out.”

I shook my head that it was fine. She was probably right.

The hot pink haired chick sang three very similar songs before ending the set. I had the thought that I wasn’t enjoying myself. This had been a bad idea.

The lights dimmed again, and I felt sick to my stomach as we waited for the band to come on stage.

Tristan walked on last, though he wasn’t dramatic about it. He simply filed on after the others, taking his place at the front with utter confidence.

The spotlight hit him, and he grinned at the crowd. They cheered loudly, the women’s screams markedly louder. And that was before he even sang a note.

When a hard drumbeat started, the guitars bled in, and he actually began to sing, the crowd went wild.

Watching him like that on stage was like seeing the puzzle pieces all shifting into place. He was perfect up there, and it wasn’t any one thing that made him that way. It was everything about him; the proud posture of his broad shoulders, his confident smirk. He’d been my buddy, and then my lover, but watching him onstage made me see just how powerful he was, what a force of nature his very presence was. Part of me loved it, loved him like this, in his element, and part of me hated it. It was terrifying, because deep down I knew that you could never hold onto a man like this. He would become too big to live a normal life. It seemed inevitable.