Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(30)

My empty fist clenched, but I could tell that he wasn’t trying to offend, and I took a long drag off my smoke as I tried hard not to let my temper broil. “So tell me, what has everyone been telling you?”

He grimaced. “Well, let’s see. Cory told me that you nearly beat a man to death for basically touching her arm.”

That made me laugh. The truth was crazy enough. No one needed to be making anything up, but it was amusing. I knew that Cory was just exaggerating to make his point.

“He told me not to flirt with her, or curse in front of her.” I did not have a problem with either of those pieces of advice, so I just nodded at him to go on. “And then Kenny told me that you nearly castrated a guy for standing too close to her. Said you stage dived into him, stopped a whole performance for it.”

I was clutching my stomach, laughing too hard to hold it in.

“And Kenny also told me not to talk about how hot she is, or make any comments about any part of her body, even after I see her dance, and if I do see her dance, definitely never mention it to you.”

That was very sound advice, I thought.

“What about Dean? What was his advice?” I was only asking because Cory and Kenny’s advice had lightened my mood. They were good friends.

“Nothing useful and nothing I care to repeat. I know that Dean is full of shit, so I usually do the opposite of whatever he says is a good idea. He’d watch me get my ass kicked just for a good laugh. No offense, man, but basically, I plan to stay as far away from her as possible. Hell, I plan to avoid looking at her. Speak when spoken to, also seems to be a good idea.”

I clapped him on the shoulder, more cheerful than I’d been in ages. If only every man in the world could take a page from Adair’s book. “On the contrary, my man, that’s just what I prefer.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

DANIKA

I mingled. It wasn’t my favorite thing, but this was the kind of party that called for it. The only people I knew at the function were in high demand, my boyfriend and Frankie, a famous TV personality, included.

I was in L.A. for the weekend, coming to Tristan instead of him coming to me, for a change. It took me less than five minutes at one L.A. party to know that this was not the place for me. I’d thought Vegas was bad, but L.A .was the pretentious version of it.

We were at some stranger’s house again, but this house was being rented out, and had actual art on the walls, and so the people thought that it had substance.

I wound up talking to a freckled, red-headed model that had a great set of legs and a wicked sense of humor. We hit it off right away when she made some wisecrack about the house’s owner needing to hide all of the mirrors on account of all the cokeheads in L.A.

“Do you know the band?” I asked her finally, making small talk. I didn’t figure many of the people at the party would actually know them, since they hadn’t finished recording their first album.

“Oh yeah. Love them. The lead singer is smokin’.”

I smiled ruefully, totally used to that. “He is that.”

“He’s great in bed, too. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, with that one. Can go all night.”

That had me controlling my breath, and steadying my voice, with effort. “When did you sleep with him?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, ages ago. Years. Met him in a club in Vegas. We holed up for like two weeks, hardly even left the room, f**ked each other’s brains out. Wouldn’t mind a repeat performance, but I hear he has a girlfriend now. Maybe I’ll screw their new lead guitar. He’s f**king hot.”

“I haven’t met that one.” My tone was casual, crisis averted, though I knew it wasn’t a good sign that I still had doubts about the man that I loved.

“Hmm, he is yummy, but it’s like a downgrade. Tryst was killer in bed.”

Oh Lord, I thought, I don’t want to hear this.

“We did everything there is to do to each other. The man is dirty.”

I wanted to plug my ears, or hell, stab out my eardrums. Instead, I made polite noises, and tried to block her out.

“First guy I ever let f**k me in the ass. We couldn’t get enough of each other. He wanted to do everything to me. And it hurt, because he’s got a big f**king dick, but I still let him do it. It’s hard to say no to a man that gives you that many orgasms.”

I wanted to throw up, or even just find the will to walk away from this woman’s unwanted verbal diarrhea. She continued on, oblivious, “I even grabbed a friend one night to join us. I swear to God, he wore us both out.”

“Excuse me,” I finally said, just walking away when she started to wax poetic about his tongue.

I didn’t find the woman’s candid charm so charming anymore.

I basically hid out after that, avoiding mingling, avoiding all human contact, just sitting out back on one of the free lounges, trying to enjoy the perfect weather, the gorgeous view, and the light ocean breeze.

I failed.

Instead, I stewed about what some random chick had told me about things that had happened before I’d even met Tristan. I knew it was pathetic, and I made a promise to myself that I was not going to turn it into a thing. Not a fight thing. Not a drama thing. Not a thing at all, because I’d known about his past before I’d ever touched the man.

And still, I stewed. For some reason, my mind had fixated on the act he’d done with some random chick that he’d never even mentioned wanting to do to me.