Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)(73)

The guys had all been worried that our pink-haired opening act would blow our shot at a record deal, but I realized that I was about to do that, when I choked out James f**king Cavendish.

I was moving to them, approaching Danika from behind, before I could stop myself.

I overheard the last bit of what Danika was saying to Cavendish as I walked up.

“Tristan, the lead singer. You said he was an attention grabber. You’re right. He is. He’s a great singer, but that’s not even his biggest talent.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“He does card tricks. Sleight of hand that you wouldn’t believe. I can’t even describe it, it’s so good. You should ask him about it. And you should think about getting a fresh, young, hot magic act. There’s enough old men with too much plastic surgery dominating the game. You should do something different.”

My chest ached, my vision going a bit blurry.

Cavendish smiled at her like she’d just said something brilliant. He looked up, said something in my general direction, but I barely heard him, I was so floored by the revelation that, while I’d been a complete bastard to her, she was promoting me like she was my damned cheerleader.

I didn’t think, I just moved, striding to her, grabbing her arm, and dragging her with me out of the room.

She went along with me without much fight at first, but when she saw that we were leaving the club, she started to try to pull away.

“We need to talk,” I told her gruffly.

“Now?! You think we need to talk right now? This is not good timing for you. I’m pretty sure you need to be back there, talking with those record guys.”

“That’s what Jerry is for. No reason for me to talk to them. Anything they wanted to know about me, they saw on stage.”

She followed me rather sedately, for all of ten seconds.

“What the hell, Tristan? Have you ever tried to walk in four inch heels? I’m guessing not, but unless you want me to break an ankle, you had better slow down. And where are we going?”

I slowed, not looking at her, but listening to her, absolutely floored at how good it felt just to hear her voice again, even if she was yelling at me.

“I missed you,” I told her quietly, as I punched the button on the elevator that led to the parking garage.

“You missed me?” she asked, her tone incredulous, as the elevator doors enclosed us. “You missed me?” she repeated, when I didn’t respond. “Obviously. Because this is what you do when you miss somebody; you don’t call, you don’t text, for weeks, and you f**k around with random women.”

I winced, suddenly feeling a little light headed. So she knew. Of course she did. Fuck. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. At least I wouldn’t have to tell her myself.

The elevator door opened and I tugged her out into the parking garage, practically dragging her to my car.

I opened the passenger door, just looking at her as she scratched at my hand like a wild cat.

“Let me go! What are you doing? Why would you think it’s okay to just drag me to your car?”

I clenched my jaw, feeling completely out of control. “Get in the car. We need to talk.”

She glared at me for a solid minute, my hand still holding her wrist. I knew I wasn’t hurting her, but I wasn’t letting go, either. Not until she got in the car.

She got in, calling me a few choice names as I closed the door behind her.

I got into the driver’s seat, and just sat there for a long time, neither of us speaking.

I listened to her inhaling, exhaling, and thought again how much I’d missed just having her breath the same air as me.

“We need to talk,” I repeated myself, yet again. “I missed you.”

I didn’t know why it was so hard for me to find the words I wanted to say to her, to find words to even begin to express what I was feeling, but that seemed to be the best I could choke out.

Something in my words, or maybe my tone, finally reached her.

She let out a long, resigned sigh. “We should talk. I’ll start. You were right. About everything. We should have stuck to that stupid list. Friends was always our only option. I just lost my mind for a bit.”

It felt like I’d been punched in the gut, only worse, because I’d been punched plenty of times, and it never felt like this, like some raw wound that I’d helped to cause, and that I might not recover from.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

TRISTAN

I don’t know how long I just sat there in a sort of stunned silence. I was not good with this shit.

I started the car, pulling slowly onto the ramp that led up to the top.

“Um, where are you going? This isn’t even the way to the exit, Tristan.”

“So f**king bossy,” I growled, steering my car up onto the top floor, which wasn’t covered.

Rain pelted the car, drowning out some of the tense silence that was driving me crazy.

I’d barely glanced at her since we’d walked out of the after party.

Where she’d torn my heart out of my chest.

By being my biggest supporter, when she had every right to hate my guts.

Finally, I turned to look at her.

She stared back steadily, her jaw firm, her arms folded across her chest. “So that’s it then,” she said, sass in every word.

“What’s it?”