Bad Things(83)

Frankie grimaced. “I’m sorry. I should have kept that to myself. I didn’t realize the extent of what had gone on with you guys.”

“I’d rather know. It hurts, but I needed to hear it. I have to get over this. I’m so stupid.”

The three women rushed to reassure me that I wasn’t stupid, but it was hard not to feel that way, when I knew that I was still in love with Tristan, and he was probably sleeping with some random woman that very night.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





It was almost two weeks after the big falling out when I got an excited call from Frankie. She was bursting at the seams hyper, I could hear it in her voice.

“They’re going to perform at Decadence! Can you believe it? Their first gig in months, and they get to rock at the Cavendish property on a Saturday night!”

I knew, of course I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I asked anyway. “Who?”

“Tristan and the guys! Can you believe that? Jerry is a miracle worker. We’re going.”

I felt sick to my stomach. “I don’t know. I doubt I’m invited. And I’m not sure I want to see Tristan, like, ever again.”

“And what about Jared? He told me that you promised him you’d come to his next performance.”

“It was more the other way around. I made him promise to tell me when there was one, and he didn’t. You did. I really don’t think Tristan will want me to be there.”

“Well, you’re really wrong. Just come with me. We can watch from the back, then slip out right after they finish. No one will even know we’re there.”

“I know you. You don’t want to slip out right after they finish. You’d want to stay for the party, and I don’t want to be the downer that makes you leave early. And I certainly don’t want to go by myself.”

“Just stop it! You’re coming. I’m driving you. Be decked out in the hottest thing you own by eight p.m. Or else.”

“Or else what?” I asked, honestly curious, now that I knew about her dominatrix alter ego.

“Don’t question the or else! Just be ready in your best, ‘I’m hot and Tristan can eat his heart out’ dress.”

In the end, I barely even considered backing out. I wanted to see them play, and I knew that Decadence would be crowded enough to keep things from getting awkward.

I wore a tiny white dress that didn’t cover up a thing in back, barely covered up a thing in front, and showed off most of my legs. It was risqué, so risqué that I’d only worn it once before, to go out with Tristan. He’d told me it was the sexiest dress he’d ever seen, and so I didn’t even consider anything else. It was a clear choice for ‘eat your heart out, Tristan’ attire. My sexy red heels were another no-brainer, as I was well aware that they drove him crazy, since he’d told me that on more than one occasion.

Bev helped me curl my hair into thick ringlets, and even sat and watched me put on makeup, throwing out suggestions all the while. That was the best thing about Bev; she was unconditionally supportive. I knew she didn’t think I should be going out to see Tristan, but if I was, by God, she’d help me look my best for it.

I went heavy with the makeup; smoky eyes and blood red lips, the combination bringing out the paleness of my skin and eyes.

It was pouring rain outside. It had been all day. But in the midst of a Vegas summer, it was still steaming hot. Still, I didn’t want to get wet just going from the house to Frankie’s car, so I found the biggest umbrella in the house, and made a mad dash for it.

I managed to slide into her car still mostly dry.

She grinned when she saw what I was wearing. “That’s a f*cking perfect dress for making someone eat their heart out. Good job, girl. Gonna give him a heart attack.”

“I just hope he’s not mad that I’m there. He’ll probably think I’m a stage five clinger for showing up.”

“No. Stop worrying about that. He knows that you’re coming, and he’s not mad at all. All of the guys will want you there.”

I didn’t get a load of what Frankie was wearing until we were getting out of the car at the valet station. My eyes widened.

I’d known that she was fond of half-shirts. She worked them like nobody’s business, so much so that I’d found myself trying the style, just hoping I could pull it off half as well.

She’d taken the half-shirt to a new extreme, with a ripped up black shirt that showed a hint of under-boob, black leather shorts that showed more than a hint of butt cheek, and some kick ass black combat boots.