Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) (7 page)

Tristan was grinning as he made quick introductions.
 
“Danika, this is my little brother, Jared.
 
Jared, this is my friend, Danika.”

Jared smiled as he leaned in close to shake my hand.
 
The dimples ran in the family, and Jared used them almost as lethally as Tristan did.
 
His wrists were layered with black and silver bracelets, and I saw that his arms were inked with full sleeves that disappeared into the arms of his black T-shirt.
 
The brothers definitely shared a love for tattoos.
 

“Nice to meet you,” Jared said, and I saw the piercing in his lip as he spoke.
 

“You too,” I told him.
 

“How do you know my brother?” he asked, propping his arm on the back of my chair.
 

“He’s crashing at my boss’s place.
 
We met earlier today, actually.”
 
It felt weird to say that.
 
I felt like I’d known him for a lot longer than a day already.
 

“Wanna dance?” Jared asked.

“Hey now!” Tristan said, throwing an arm around his brother’s shoulder.
 
“I’ve been waiting all night to dance with her.
 
You don’t just get to walk up here and cut in!”
 

He was smiling as he said it, which let me know he wasn’t serious, but serious or not, Jared backed off instantly.
 

“Of course, bro!” Jared said.
 
“It just seemed like a waste to me, that she’d be sitting in here, instead of dancing in there.”

Tristan finished his drink and set the glass down hard on the bar.
 
He shrugged out his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair.
 
I tried not to stare at the sight of him in his tight black T-shirt, and the display of tattoos on his hard muscled arms, but it was distracting.

“By God, you’re right!” he declared.
 
“Let’s go, Danika!
 
We’ve wasted precious dance floor time drinking!”

CHAPTER FIVE

Tristan didn’t waste any time after that, pulling me straight into the chaos of the dance floor.
 
House music was playing, which wasn’t always my favorite, but I could work with it.
 
Whatever the DJ was doing had a good beat, which was all I needed.
   

I smiled as Tristan moved in front of me, facing me to dance.
 
It was a mischievous smile, because I knew, just absolutely knew, that I was about to blow his mind.

I didn’t do the Vegas bump and grind thing that people called dancing.
 
I was a trained dancer.
 
I’d trained in ballroom, salsa, hip-hop, and club dancing.
 
Hell, I’d even trained in belly dancing.
 
Although my obsession was hands-down ballroom, I had my club freestyle down to a science.
 

I started with one little hair toss just to get his attention.
 
I raised my hands above my head, and began my own scintillating version of a gyrate.
 

The floor was crowded, but I had just enough room to work.
 
I put one hand on his chest while I twisted my hips.
 
He was dancing, and the man had some moves, but his jaw went a little slack when he got a load of mine.
 
He recovered quickly, though, and swiftly made his best effort to keep up with me.
 

I went for it.
 
Shaking, popping, stepping, and twisting.
 
We danced until I felt sweat dripping down my spine, and then we danced some more.
 
Tristan was right there with me the whole time, and as I laughed and spun and just let loose, I tried hard to identify what I was feeling just then.
 
After a time, I realized that I was just having fun.
 
I couldn’t remember a time when I’d enjoyed myself more.
 
I danced often, to train, and to stay in shape, but I never did it for fun.
 
This
was fun.
 

Tristan was flirty, but he never crossed a line, never brushed up in ways that a man might try if he was making a move on a woman.
 
I felt a strong attraction to him, I think any woman would have, but I appreciated that he’d said friend, and he seemed to mean it.
 
I wasn’t sure even
I
could have resisted him if he’d been hell bent on seduction.
 

The house music melded from one beat into the next, heavy on the bass.
 
I couldn’t tell how many songs we danced for, but I was a sweaty, happy, hot mess by the time Tristan finally dragged me back into the lounge.
 

“I win.
 
You quit first,” I told him.
 

He sent me sidelong smile.
 
“Was it a competition?
 
I didn’t know.
 
Let’s just get a drink before we head back out.
 
I’m nowhere near quitting.”
 

The guys were just where we’d left them, and Cory slid us waters as we walked up.
 

“Shots,” Tristan said.
 

Cory grinned.
 
“More Diablo coming right up.”

“How long were we out there?” I asked Jared.
 

“A long time,” he said, checking the faceplate on his phone.
 
“Over two hours.”
 

I laughed, grabbing my water for a long drink.
 
I’d known we’d been out there for a long time, but I’d never have guessed two hours.
 

“My turn?” Jared asked, watching me with a very interested glint in his eye.
 

“Hell no,” Tristan answered for me.
 
“Danika and I have a competition going tonight.
 
We’re dancing ’til one of us drops.”

I had no problem with that.
 
I had a competitive nature, and I just
knew
that I’d be winning.
 

“You do realize that I can’t carry you home…”
 
All four men laughed, and I’d have been lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy the attention of four good-looking men.

Cory slapped five shots down on the bar, and we shot them.
 
I’d barely set my glass back down before Tristan was dragging me off again.
 

We were back at it the instant we stepped out on the floor.
 
I could tell right away that he was feeling more flirtatious this time, moving closer to me, his hand at the small of my back.

“You making a move on me?” I called out to him, but I wasn’t pushing him away.
 

I was relieved when he shook his head.
 
His smile was innocent enough, but I thought there was a hint of something else in his eyes.
 

“Just dancing, sweetheart.”

I dropped low, really low, and shook my way back up, my hands just brushing his thighs as I rose.
 

“You making a move on me?” he called out with a laugh.

I shook my head at him, giving him a wide-eyed, innocent look.
 
“Just dancing, sweetheart.”
 

It was on after that.
 
He’d caress my hip.
 
I’d counter that by a turn and an extra little arch of my back, just brushing up against him.
 
He’d curse loudly, but we kept dancing.
 

I was actually giggling when he finally pulled me back into the lounge.
 
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d giggled.

“I’m conceding, but only because I think you’d go until we both passed out, just to prove a point,” Tristan told me as we walked.

“All I heard just now was ‘blah, blah, blah Danika wins’.”

He stopped, shaking his head and laughing.
 
“I like you,” he told me.
 

I wrinkled my nose at him.
 
“I like you, too, platonic friend of mine.”
 

We were both grinning like fools as we rejoined the group.

Cory served us another round.
 
Kenny and Jared immediately started making cracks when they saw that Tristan was drinking a margarita.
 

“He drinks those to feel pretty,” Cory made sure to add.
 
“True story.”
 

“Real men don’t drink margaritas,” Jared told me, waving his bottle of beer.
 

I pointed at the bottle.
 
“That will give you a beer gut.”

Jared grinned, lifting up his shirt to show me some very nice abs.
 
“Hasn’t been a problem so far.”

I was a little too tipsy not to give him a very big smile for the very nice show.

Tristan slapped a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, leaning in to say something in his ear.
 
Whatever it was wiped the smile from Jared’s face.
 
He let his shirt drop.

“Give us a minute,” Tristan said, moving a few feet away.
 

They had a short, hushed conversation before returning to us.
 
Tristan’s face was very blank, but Jared’s looked slightly flushed, perhaps with temper.
 

“So are you in this band that Tristan claims to be in?” I asked Kenny.

Kenny beamed at me.
 
“Yes, I am.
 
All four of us are, plus one of our buddies who isn’t here tonight.”

“What kind of music do you play?” I asked.
 

“Rock.”

I wasn’t surprised in the least.
 
“So who plays what?”
 

“I’m bass, Jared is lead guitar, Cory is drums, Tristan is lead vocals, and our friend Dean is rhythm guitar.”

I shot Tristan a look.
 
“Gee, the lead singer of a rock band.
 
I’m shocked.
 
I never would have guessed.”
 
Sarcasm dripped from every word.

He seemed to find that funny, which was good.
 
I’d much rather have him think I was funny, than be offended by my sense of humor.
 

“So when and where do I get to see you play?” I asked, turning back to Kenny.
 

Kenny’s brow furrowed.
 
“I’m not sure.
 
Dean is setting up some gigs for us.
 
Of course you’re invited, whenever that happens.”

“So what are your day jobs?” I asked, figuring they all had to have one.

“As you’ve seen, Cory is a bartender, and I’m a valet parker on the weekends here.
 
Our friend Dean is a blackjack dealer.
 
And Tristan and Jared are both in the club promoting business.”

“They get paid to party,” Cory added.
 

I couldn’t seem to keep my two cents in.
 
“All I think when I hear club promoter is drug dealer, or unemployed.”
 

Jared grimaced.

Tristan just laughed.
 
“You’re coming to the next club party I host,” he said, pointing at me.

I shrugged, giving him a sassy look.
 
“Don’t threaten me with a good time…”
 

All four of them seemed to find that hilarious.
 
I flushed with pleasure.
 
I could get used to this kind of attention, especially since it was coming from four hot guys.
 

“Danika works for Jerry,” Tristan told them.

“We love Jerry!” Kenny said.

“She’s the
nanny
,” Tristan added.

“Holy shit,” Jared muttered.

“Did not see that coming,” Cory called out, his back to us as he mixed a drink.
 

“Not what I was expecting,” Kenny mused.

“Why is that so surprising to everyone?” I asked, baffled that all four of them had had the same reaction to my being a nanny.
 

“I had you pegged for a model,” Jared said.
 

“Tristan
loves
to date models,” Cory called out.
 

“Fuck off,” Tristan told him.
 

“We’re not dating,” I stated firmly.
 

“I would have guessed dancer,” Tristan told me, as though he hadn’t just told Cory to fuck off.
 
Typical guys…

I pointed at Tristan.
 
“This round goes to Tristan.
 
I’m a full-time student, and a nanny, but I
am
an aspiring dancer, not that I ever have the time.”
 
I returned his smile, utterly charmed by it.
 
“And the model thing is very flattering, guys, but I’m a little short for that.”

“Not for Vegas modeling,” Jared pointed out.
 

“You’re what, five-eight?” Kenny guessed.
 
“That’s tall enough.”
 

“I’d guess she’s five-seven,” Tristan mused, “and she
is
tall enough, but I’m betting she’s never even tried modeling, especially of the Vegas variety.
 
Not your scene, right?”

I curled my lip at him.
 
“You don’t know me that well.
 
Quit pretending you’re an expert.”

“Am I wrong?” His brows shot up with the question.

“You’re not,” I grudgingly admitted.
 

I blamed the alcohol when he gave me a smug smile, and my reaction was to stick my tongue out at him.

He grabbed my hand, pulling me back out of my chair.
 
“Just for that, we’re going for another round on the floor.”

“You’re a glutton for punishment,” I told him, but I followed easily enough.

The music had changed to Top Forty remixes, and something slow and sultry with a heavy beat had overtaken the room.