Bad Things(28)

“Danika?” Tristan called.

I closed my eyes, letting that deep voice wash over me.

“Yes?” I answered breathlessly.

“You coming?”

“Yes,” I nearly moaned.

“What’s taking so long?” he questioned.

“Almost there,” I gasped.

There was a long pause from the other side of the door. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice rougher now.

I didn’t answer, something about that rough tone setting me off. I grabbed a corner of my blanket, biting it to stifle my moans as I climaxed.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

I heard him try the door.

“I need a minute,” I told him, just lying there, my heart still racing.

“Okay,” he said, almost too quiet for me to hear.

I was decent but flustered when I finally opened my door.

Tristan was just standing there, hands on his hips, eyes on the floor. He looked up, then craned his neck to look into my room.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, mostly meaning it. I did feel more relaxed than I had.

“We working out?”

“Sure. Let me just tie my hair back, and grab my shoes. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

He startled me by tipping my chin up with his finger.

I blinked at him.

“You look different.”

“What do you mean?”

He hummed low in his throat, and I about lost it. It was the sexiest noise I’d ever heard. “Fuck, Danika, I know that look. Were you taking your own version of a ‘shower’ in there?”

It took me a while to catch his meaning. My cheeks flushed red, but I was too stubborn not to meet his gaze squarely. I firmed my jaw, leaning away from his hand. “And what if I was? You think you’re the only one that needs a ‘shower’ every once in a while?”

He seemed taken aback by that. “No. I didn’t—I don’t think that. I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard. That’s…way too f*cking hot. Excuse me.” He turned around and started walking back down the hall.

“We still on for a workout?” I called to his back.

“Hell yes,” he called back.

I grinned.

I was jogging on the treadmill for a good forty-five minutes before he said another word.

He dropped down from doing a long round of pull-ups that I pretended I wasn’t counting.

He approached the front of my machine, studying my face.

“So, um,” he finally spoke, clearing his throat, “how often do you need to, uh, take a ‘shower’?”

I sent him an arch look, but my heart was pounding harder at his question. “Is this a friendly conversation?” I asked, breathing hard, from the workout, and the question.

He smiled his most troublesome smile. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Of course it’s friendly.”

“No funny business?”

“None at all. Just pretend I’m one of the girls.”

Unbidden, my gaze ran down his body. By sheer force of will, I returned my eyes to his face. One of the girls, my ass…

“I don’t need to do it often,” I admitted. “Nothing like what you need to do. I go weeks without needing to. Hell, sometimes I go months.”

He grimaced. “That can’t be healthy.”

I hitched my shoulder up in a shrug, keeping up my steady pace.

“Anything in particular that made you need a ‘shower’ today?” he asked, watching me closely.

I glared. “That is not a friendly question.”

He sighed heavily, turning away. “My bad,” he muttered, heading to the free weights.

We hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, and I found myself laying down for a nap by early afternoon, since Jerry and the kids were still out and about.

I was just burrowing into the covers when there was a soft knock at my door.

“Yeah?” I called.

Tristan poked his head in. “Hey. I was going to take a short nap, too, before I go out. Mind if I stay in here with you, since the living room will be overrun by the kids pretty soon…”

I watched him. “No funny business?”

“No funny business,” he agreed. “I’ll stay on my side of the bed.”

I snuggled into my pillow, almost at peace with the fact that I could never seem to tell him no. “Okay. Night, Tristan.”