Lovely Trigger (9 page)

“Please, I know what you get paid just for the magician gig.
 
All your bills were covered before you got the band back together.
 
And I have no idea what conditioner I used.
 
It all just magically appears in the dispenser in my shower.
 
And if you try to smell my hair, I’ll assume you’re coming onto me.”

Bianca laughed, and James and I shared a smile.
 
This was the real deal for him, and I thought it couldn’t have happened to a better guy, weirdo that he was.
   

Bianca never seemed bored with the banter, even when she was quiet.
 
On the contrary, she had a look on her face that made me think she was connecting new pieces of a puzzle.
 
James had to be a strange guy to date.
 
I was one of his closest friends, and even I didn’t know much about his past.
 

James was complaining about how much I was planning to gouge him with my upcoming contract renewal when I glanced at his watch on my wrist.
 
“Are you about done harassing me, pretty boy?”

James cursed, holding out his hand.
 
“Give me my watch back,” he demanded.

I waved it at him.
 
“It’s almost my birthday.
 
Can’t we just call it even?”
 

He grinned and shook his head.
 
“I don’t like you that much.”
 

I shrugged and handed it back to him.
 

My entire body became rigid as I saw an achingly familiar figure moving through the crowd.

I thought I had braced myself.

I knew she was going to be there.
 
No one could say I wasn’t warned.
 
Still, it was a straight up brutal punch to the gut when I saw her.
 

She wasn’t alone.
 

I was taking harsh, ragged breaths, using all of my efforts just to drag much needed air into my lungs.
 

I’d known it was going to be hard, but nothing could have prepared me for
this
.

I spotted her before she approached us, caught her momentary wince as she caught sight of me before she turned slightly away, her shoulders squaring, what’s his name putting his arm around her for a moment before she shrugged him off.
 
Good.
 

She was with him.
 
I knew this, because I kept tabs on her.
 
Always had.
 
But she didn’t look to be that
into
him.
 
She didn’t shoot him even one of those adoring glances that used to slay me on a regular basis.
 

Thank God for that one small favor.

But even so, he touched her with privilege, and I hated his guts with a deep and enduring passion.
 
I hadn’t been in a fight in what seemed like forever, but I had a sudden and persistent urge to start one with
him
.
 
It would just be so easy to crush him.
 
He was half my size and asking to be put in his place.
 

She approached our group, not avoiding me, her limp more pronounced than I’d realized.
 

Every jerky step made my chest ache.
 

She wore a dress the color of her eyes.
 
It caressed her curves distractingly.
 
She was as fit as she’d ever been, limp or no.
 

“Hello, Danika,” I finally spoke, my voice coming out softer, less confident, than I meant for it to.
 

The punk she was with hung back, talking to the last group of people they’d been mingling with.
 

I was immeasurably relieved by this.
 
I hoped to never have to deal with him directly.
 
Nothing good could come of it.
 

She nodded in my direction, her gaze staying firmly fixed somewhere else, in the distance, anywhere but at me.
 
“Hello, Tristan.”
 
Her tone was firm and impersonal.
 

It was hardly unexpected, but still, it stung.

Like a new cut on an old wound.
 
One that had never scarred over, because it had never quite healed.
 

“It’s great to see you,” I told her.
 
I couldn’t seem to keep the words in.
 
“You look exquisite, as always.”
 

She smiled tightly.
 
“Sure,” she said.
 

That punk extricated himself from the couple he’d been talking to and approached her from behind.
 
He wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling at her like he was besotted.
 
Of course he was.
 

The punk didn’t deserve to kiss her fucking feet.
 

He was several inches shorter than me and at least fifty pounds lighter.
 
I was guessing I could have choked the life out of him with one hand.
 
I really wanted to test out that theory.
 

Danika touched his shoulder familiarly.
 
“Everyone, this is Andrew.”
 

“Her boyfriend,” the punk added.
 

She gave Bianca another tight smile, then introduced them.
 

I kept my eyes fixed on Danika’s face, trying to block out that punk’s hand on her.
 
She didn’t seem to be particularly happy with him, and I knew I was a bastard for being happy about that.
 

Danika left the group quickly and politely, only shooting me one direct glance at the very end, which only seemed to give her stare more weight when she swung it my way.
 

I broke out into a cold sweat, but other than that, I thought I held up rather well.

She swept by me on her way past.

Oh God, I could smell her.
 
Just the faintest hint of her perfume mixed with the scent of her.
 

I made myself blink slowly, count in my head, kept from doing anything crazy, but it was pure, teeth-gritting effort.
 

I turned to watch them walk away, that punk’s hand still on her.
 

I needed to get out of there before I followed them and did something supremely stupid.
 
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go punch something now, so that I don’t give in to the urge to punch some
one
.”
 
I strode away.

I took it out on a punching bag in my home gym, because that’s what grown men did when they had the urge to kill someone with their bare hands, or so my therapist told me.
 

DANIKA

Putting together Bianca’s showing was a rare treat for me.
 
I got an absolute kick out of every little detail.
 
She’d given me the freedom to make most of the choices without even consulting with her.
 

I was not a creative soul myself.
 
I was pure right brain, analytical to my core, though I was a great admirer of artists, so a showing like this was the closest I got to a creative outlet, and I relished it.
 

The exhibition was broken up into rooms, as there were over a hundred paintings in her collection, which was practically unheard of.
 
I organized them by colors, as this was her signature, trying to make each room a true complement of her brilliant eye.
 

She was thrilled with the results, which made me want to kiss her.
 
The boss’ girlfriend, and somehow she was the easiest artist I’d ever worked with.
 

I barely slept the last two days before the big event, working tirelessly to make sure that every detail was perfect.
 
I met a jittery Bianca at the door with utter confidence that there was nothing on my end that wouldn’t run like clockwork.
 

I’d thought of everything, and though I was anxious, as any big event made me, I wasn’t a wreck.
 
That is until Frankie and her girlfriend walked through the door, each on one of Tristan’s arms.
 

I felt blind-sided, and for one brief crazy moment, I thought I’d lose it.
 
What
it
was I wasn’t sure.
 

My temper, my composure, my mind, take your pick.
 

Luckily, the moment passed quickly, and I got by mostly ignoring him, though he tried constantly to catch my eye.
 

I determined that I wouldn’t let a night I’d been looking forward to be ruined by
him
.
 

The paintings started selling within minutes of the opening of the doors.
 
It was thrilling.
 

I rushed up to Bianca after every sale, making sure she knew that the night was an unequivocal success.
 
She seemed more than a little in shock by it all.
 

I had my eye on one particular piece.
 
It was a small watercolor of desert roses.
 
It was so crisp, the colors so vibrant it almost came across like a photo at first glance.
 

I coveted it, and the first few interested buyers had to make a bid.
 
I was hoping to outbid them myself, but within a few hours, I knew it was lost to me.
 
It was just too far out of my price range.
 

It was around that time that I made a hasty trip to the restroom to touch up my makeup.
 

I vaguely made out a set of slender ankles that I recognized under one of the stalls when the door opened behind me.
 
My eyes widened in outraged shock when I realized that Tristan had followed me into the
women’s
restroom.
 
I’d made short work of his two attempts to talk to me throughout the evening, but this, this was out of line.
 

“Now you’re following me?” I asked him, willing my voice not to quaver.
 

It didn’t help matters that he looked amazing in a crisp tux that had to be custom made to fit those arms of his.

“If that’s the only way you’ll talk to me, then yes,” he told me, just as though he had the right.
 

“We have nothing to talk abo—“ I began.

“I still think about you
every single day,
” he ground out harshly.
 
“Let’s talk about
that
.”
 

That had me shaking, head to toe, in pure affront, pure
outrage
.
 
The nerve of him, to move on from me, to move so beyond me and then torment me with this.
 
I knew what this was, it was guilt on his part, and I was livid as I realized this.
 
“Oh, please.
 
Take your guilt and get the fuck away from me, Tristan.
 
I want
nothing
to do with it.”

“The guilt isn’t what I was talking about,” he said, his lying voice so convincing that I almost believed it.
 
“It’s you I think about.
 
Always
you.”

I snorted.
 
“Please!
 
You stopped trying to call me years ago.
 
I haven’t heard a word from you since right after rehab when you went on your repentance tour.”
 

He looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly enough, spouting more nonsense.
 
“I didn’t trust myself, Danika.
 
I needed my sobriety.
 
I’m nothing without it, and you were a lovely trigger for me.
 
That look in your eyes, after all that I’d done…The way you looked at me like I was scum and knowing that I deserved all of your antipathy.
 
I knew that if you looked at me like that again, I’d hit rock bottom, and this time I wouldn’t come back from it.”
 

“I’m with someone, Tristan,” I told him, my tone hard with resolve.

“And if you weren’t?
 
Would you be willing to talk to me—to spend time with me, if you
weren’t
with someone?”
 

I snapped.
 
“
No
!
 
Bad things happen when we get together, Tristan.
 
You and I are nothing but trouble.
 
Time hasn’t changed that.
 
Please, just stay away from me.”
 

He moved to me, quick as a flash, his hands cupping my shoulders.
 
“Danika, I’m so sorry.
 
I’ll never stop missing you.
 
You were my best friend.
 
Can you ever forgive me for what I did?”
 

My trembling hands reached up and pulled his from me.
 
“I forgave you a long time ago, Tristan,” I asserted, even as I took a step back, out of touching distance.
 
“But I will
never
forget.
 
Please keep your distance.”
 
I practically ran out the door.

I made a point of seeking out Bianca soon after, since I knew she’d overheard our confrontation in the bathroom.
 
I cared what she thought, and I didn’t want to come across like a royal bitch, so I felt I owed her an explanation.
 

“I’m sorry you had to hear that little exchange in the bathroom,” I told her solemnly.
 

She looked uncomfortable but her eyes were sympathetic.
 
“I am
so
sorry about that.”

I waved that off.
 
“It was hardly your fault.
 
You were just using the restroom.
 
But I saw your shoes under the stall, and I wanted to explain myself.
 
I probably sounded like a cold bitch.”