Bad Things(55)

The bastard had pulled a Lucy on me. Is that really what I thought? As I considered the question, I realized that I did, at least as it pertained to me.

I was embarrassed by that realization, but it didn’t change my thinking. My issues were too deeply ingrained for that.

I shrugged, turning my head to look away from him. He didn’t let me, bringing his other hand to tip my chin up.

“Will you tell me what happened?” he asked, something in his tone making me think that he already knew.

“I will,” I allowed, “but not right now. Okay?”

He didn’t look happy about that, but he nodded, his hands dropping away.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





I didn’t know who was more out of sorts after that.

I had effectively spread my black mood to Tristan, and we steered clear of each other for hours.

I was slipping my feet into my tennis shoes, getting ready to take the dogs for a walk, when Tristan approached me with a cajoling smile.

That smile was nothing but Trouble.

“I just got a call to do a promoting job tonight. Come with me. It’ll be fun. You can go out with what’s-his-name some other night.”

I glared at him, snapping the dogs into their leashes.

He took Coffeecup and Pupcake’s leashes, unfazed by my hostility. I let him, not speaking until we’d nearly circled the block. “I’m not changing my plans tonight.”

“Well, how late are you planning to stay out? You could come by the club after you’re done.”

“Stop,” I said quietly, my expression hard. “Why are you pushing this?”

“Are you really going to be out that late? What exactly are your plans?”

“Just stop!” I nearly shouted, angry now, at him—at both of us. “You don’t get to go out and do whatever the hell you want, and then ask me about what I’m doing.”

He gripped my arm just above the elbow, stopping me. “Is that what this is? Are you mad at me about last night? Is this revenge?”

“Why would this be revenge? How would it be revenge? We’re just friends right? We’re still sticking to that little list, right?”

He nodded, studying me. He looked worried. “You are mad at me. Fuck, Danika, I’m sorry if I hurt—”

“Don’t,” I interrupted him. “I’m not hurt. I’m just fine, but we need to establish some boundaries here. You can go f*ck whoever you want whenever you damn well please, but you don’t get to keep tabs on me, just because I’m a girl. That’s not happening.”

His jaw clenched, and he let go of my arm.

He didn’t say another word about it, but if I’d thought he was in a foul mood earlier, it was nothing compared to the dark mood that conversation put him in.

He went out before I did that night. I was still getting ready when he left. He’d barely said a word to me—barely looked at me, since we’d walked the dogs.

He barely looked at me now, just hovered in the doorway of my bathroom while I put on makeup. “Be careful, boo, and call me if you need me.”

He left before I could respond.

I wore cuffed navy shorts, and a sleeveless, magenta, bib style silk shirt. A pair of flip-flops made it a casual look. I twisted my black hair into a smooth chignon at my nape. Smoky eyes and soft pink lips was the extent of my makeup. I wanted to look nice, but I certainly didn’t want to go overboard and give him the wrong impression.

Jared’s reaction when he saw me was enough to make me flush in pleasure. “You look amazing,” he said, swallowing. “You’re so beautiful.”

The brothers sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.

Jared looked pretty good himself, in just a black T-shirt and jeans. He had the skinny rocker hunk look down pat. Aside from his build, he reminded me so much of Tristan that it made my heart twist just to look at him.

Dinner was friendly enough. I bombarded him with questions about the band I was so curious about. Everything about Tristan fascinated me, and the fact that he was in a band, and I’d met most of its members, but still hadn’t heard them play, consumed an unhealthy amount of my thoughts. Tristan didn’t share much about the band, but his amiable brother was more than happy to.

“Dean is putting together some gigs for us soon.”

“Do you have to call them gigs? Isn’t there a less douchey alternative to calling it a gig?”