Bad Things(40)

I swallowed hard, unnerved. “I’m, uh, Danika. And let me just say that I’m sorry. I was dancing on that table, and I probably shouldn’t—“

“Now, now, Danika, I shudder to think that you’d be discouraged from dancing on tables after that. Don’t let it be said that Decadence isn’t the best spot in town to dance on a table.”

I laughed nervously, not certain if he was joking or not.

The stunning man turned to address Tristan, who was glowering at him. James Cavendish didn’t seem to notice, holding his hand out to shake.

“I’m James Cavendish, the club’s owner.”

They shook hands, Tristan looking confused.

“May I just say,” James continued. “On behalf of my security, thank you for reacting so quickly. Please, let me know if we can do anything for you two, anything at all. Your drinks will be free for the evening, and I’ll be sure to have the manager give you a voucher for a future visit. I’d hate to think that this unfortunate incident might discourage you from visiting the club again.”

The charming, intimidating man continued on, graciously offering us comps, and making sure that we were well-settled, before moving on.

Tristan and I stared at each other with wide eyes after he’d gone. I was the first to start laughing, but Tristan joined in soon after.

I ordered shots, and Tristan gave me a searching glance.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough? You don’t usually dance on tables…”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “At least I didn’t choke anybody. I can’t believe you didn’t get in trouble for that…”

“I can’t believe it, either.”

“Were you trying to get arrested?” I asked him in my best drunk/lecturing tone.

He shrugged, which was infuriating. “I wasn’t trying to get arrested, but I was willing to. No one gets to treat you like that.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to shake him, or hug him, the sweet bastard.

He reached over, snagging my hand. He linked our fingers, watching my face. “Are you okay? Was that…upsetting?”

That threw me. “I’m fine. I was mostly upset when I thought that you were going to get arrested, you crazy man.”

He smiled. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, even if they did arrest me. You remember that, boo. I’ve got your back. Always.”

I squeezed his hand, blinking back uncharacteristic tears, touched by his words.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN





I was in rough shape the next morning, to say the least.

I barely made it to the bathroom in time to throw my guts up into the toilet.

I felt my hair being messed with, but I couldn’t summon up the will to turn and see what was going on.

“What the hell are you doing?” I bit out, before another wave of nausea hit me.

“Braiding your hair, boo,” Tristan said, his big hand stroking my back comfortingly.

Even sick as a dog, I thought that was sweet. “I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m disgusting.” I punctuated that statement by further emptying out the contents of my stomach.

“Don’t worry about me. You just let me know what I can do for you. You poor thing.”

“Why don’t you ever get sick?” I whined at him between bouts of throwing up.

“I weigh two twenty-five buck naked, sweetheart. I can handle a lot of alcohol.”

Even nauseous and feeling disgusting, I took a moment to linger on an image of him naked. I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t at least curious.

“That’s not fair,” I moaned.

“It’s not. Can I get you anything?”

I shook my head. I thought my stomach might finally be empty, but I was afraid to hope for it.

“Why don’t you try to sleep it off for a bit? I’ve got the boys and breakfast covered. Just go lie down.”

I did. I was in no shape to refuse.

When I woke up again, I felt human, if only barely. I showered, and pulled on the first clean clothes I found.

The house was almost eerily quiet when I left my room. The only sign of life in the whole place was coming from the kitchen.

My stomach rumbled in a good way when I smelled what Tristan was cooking.

“I need one of those today,” I told him, pointing at the hangover sandwich in his hand as I took my usual seat on the counter.