Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1)

Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) Page 8

I told myself it was totally necessary as I reached out and touched his bare shoulder. I nudged him, and if I enjoyed the feel of his muscular flesh, what was the harm?

“Tristan,” I said quietly, nudging him again. My hand stayed there, and I tried to shake him a little, but he was too big for that…

He started, pulling the pillow off his eyes and blinked up at me. “Fuck, Danika, it’s early.”

“He said a bad word, boo!” Mat called out, clearly affronted.

“Fuck, sorry,” Tristan said, then winced.

I couldn’t hold back a grin. “You can use my bed to sleep it off. This living room is about to turn into a war zone, and I need to make some blueberry pancakes.”

“Is that what you want for breakfast?” he asked, sitting up.

I backed away like he was on fire. Which he kind of was…

“Huh?” I asked him, totally distracted by the sight of that perfect body, practically naked, and moving around. I went to the gym often, and I stayed in good shape myself, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen a body so perfect in my life.

He stood up, and I took another step back. He started to move around the couch, and something he was doing finally snapped me out of my trance.

“Why are you still holding a pillow over your lap?” I asked.

He sent me a wry smile, bending down to pick up his duffle bag, which he’d set behind the couch. “Can’t you guess? I’ll give you a hint; the first word is morning, and the second rhymes with hood.”

I blushed, feeling stupid. “Oh…well, you can use my bathroom, and you can stash your bag in there, so it’s not in the way.”

“Okay. Thank you. Just give my five minutes, and I’ll cook breakfast for everybody.”

I waved him off. “Go back to bed. I’ve got it. I know you must be feeling rough.”

He sent me a rather stern look. “Give me five minutes. I said I’d cook for you. I’m cooking. And you have to be feeling just as rough.”

“I’m fine. I’ve got this.”

He pointed at me. “Don’t go near the kitchen until I get back.” He strode away, and I made a face at his retreating back, though I was secretly pleased, and still shamelessly checking him out. I’d seen what he could do with cookies. I wanted more.

Normally I just had a Greek yogurt for breakfast, but hungover and hungry, I was already planning to indulge.

I sat down on the couch when I heard the shower in my bathroom turn on. There was plenty that I needed to do, but I just sat there for a solid five minutes, my mind on Tristan in the shower.

He was back out quickly, wearing a fresh white T-shirt and jeans, his short hair still wet from his shower.

“Come keep me company while I cook,” he said, tugging me up from the couch.

“So bossy,” I muttered.

He completely ignored that statement, pulling me into the kitchen. He cupped my hips, lifting me onto the counter exactly where I’d sat to watch him bake cookies.

He moved away before I could do more than gape at him.

“So Mat wants pancakes for breakfast. What do you want?”

I opened my mouth to tell him I’d just take that, but he spoke again. “I know you don’t want pancakes. We need something salty and greasy. Let me whip us up some hangover food.”

I had to make a conscious effort to close my mouth. “You read my mind,” I said.

He had the sheer gall to wink at me. “No. I’ve just been hungover enough to know just what to do. So tell me why Mat called you boo? Is that a nickname?”

“Yes.” I didn’t elaborate.

“That’s adorable,” he said opening the refrigerator and studying its contents. “Where did it come from?”

“I don’t remember when it turned into an actual nickname, but we used to play peekaboo a lot. He named himself peeka and me boo, and it stuck. Two years and counting.”

“Well, boo, how does bacon sound?”

“Bacon sounds great, but you can’t call me boo.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not a rapper, and I’m not your shorty.”

He laughed, a low, deep rumble that made muscles in my stomach tighten. “You’re just making me like the nickname more. Here’s the plan, buttery biscuits, scrambled eggs, bacon, and some hash browns. Oh, and some blueberry pancakes for the kids. Any objections?”

“That sounds amazing,” I said, meaning it. “But it’ll take forever.”

He shrugged. “It’ll take how long it takes. What’s the rush? You got a date?”

I sighed. He was stubborn, to be sure. “Can I help?”

“You can entertain me while I work.”

“If you have this handled, I should probably go work on some chores.”

“If you want bacon, you’ll keep your ass right where it is while I cook you breakfast.”

I did want bacon. “I can’t believe we stayed out that late,” I said, thinking back to the night before. I’d never stayed out that late dancing, and I’d never had a night fly by so fast.

“We going again tonight?”

“Are you joking?” I asked.

“No. Didn’t you have fun? Let’s do it again.”

“You’re batshit bonkers.”

“Sure am. And I want to take you dancing again. What do you say?”

“We barely got three hours of sleep last night.”

“So we’ll take turns getting naps in later, if the kids need watching. What do you say?”

He was giving me his most irresistible smile, his dimples making me want to slap and/or kiss him senseless. I held out for maybe five seconds before I was smiling back at him.

“No funny business,” I told him.

“No funny business,” he agreed. “I took care of that in the shower. Should tide me over for a solid two hours.”

I blushed. I hadn’t even known I had any blushes left in me. “What happens after two hours?”

He stopped what he was doing, setting an egg down to give me his full attention.

He gave me a once-over that was borderline indecent, then went back to cracking eggs. “I might need to take another shower.”

That shut me up for a while. I watched him work, studying the myriad of tattoos on his arms, and the ones that showed through his white T-shirt. As he mixed the pancake batter, the stark muscles in his arms working, I thought that I’d found my new favorite hobby—watching Tristan cook anything at all.

“Bev has this really great frilly pink apron,” I told him. “What would I have to do to get you to wear it while you cook for me?”

“You don’t even want to know, boo,” he said.

That effectively shut me up again.

Within ten minutes, he had the kitchen smelling divine. I moaned as the aroma of sizzling bacon reached me.

His gaze flicked to me, then quickly away. “Tease,” he muttered.

He had the pancakes done first, prepping a heaping plate for Mat.

“You realize that he’s six, right?” I asked, eyeing up the huge plate.

“Does he like bacon?” he asked, ignoring my comment.

“Yes!” Mat shouted from the living room.

Tristan handed off the plate, and I brought it to Mat in the living room. Bev didn’t care if they ate on their little couches. The dogs always picked up any scraps they happened to leave behind.

By the time I got back into the kitchen, Tristan had a biscuit breakfast sandwich waiting for me. He handed it to me with a paper towel, then took a huge bite out of his own.

The smell of the eggs and bacon had me salivating, and I tore into the sandwich. I had to close my eyes with the first bite, chewing very slowly to savor every second of it.

“What do you do to food to make it taste this good?” I moaned.

I opened my eyes when he didn’t answer me. He was staring at me with a look in his eyes that made my toes start to curl.

He set down the uneaten half of his sandwich, striding out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” I called to him.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” he called back.

I wasn’t sure if I was pleased or appalled when I heard my shower turning on.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TRISTAN

I turned the shower on, giving myself a good berating while I stripped down and got inside. I’d never been the guy that had to have a girl just because she was a challenge. I hated that guy, in fact. I usually thought that guy was a douche bag with little to no redeeming qualities.

I liked to keep sex in a separate category from all other parts of my life. Things just worked better that way, for all parties involved. I didn’t do the girlfriend thing, and the fuck-buddy thing was full of land mines.

So why couldn’t I stop thinking about being inside of Danika? She’d been crystal clear about the fact that she didn’t do the casual thing, and now that we were officially friends, that was off the table, anyway. But God, the body on her. And that face. She was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, and she didn’t even wear makeup half the time. And she walked around in a skin-tight tank top and tiny shorts most days, confident about her body in a way that drove me wild. I even thought her personality was sexy. She didn’t put on airs. She never tried to play it cool. She let me know what was on her mind before I had to wonder. I’d spent years dealing with chicks who thought it was cool to keep a guy guessing. I was fed up with that shit. Danika was like a breath of fresh air. A breath of fresh air that I didn’t get to fuck.

If I’d been smart, I would have found a quick hook-up the night before, at the club. Then I wouldn’t be stuck jacking myself off in the shower every time Danika looked at me funny.

Yes, I definitely should have found a quick hook-up last night, I thought, yet again. That was what I normally did at clubs…I’d never spent five hours dancing with a girl that I knew for a fact I wouldn’t get to sleep with.

I stroked my rock hard cock, thinking about her rosebud mouth, and her striking gray eyes. And her shapely little body. Her waist was so tiny I could have spanned it with my hands, but she had the sexiest curves…and the way she walked. I could have guessed she was a dancer just by the way she swung her hips as she moved. Even her voice made me hard. She had a soft, steady voice, her tone even, as she gave me shit about whatever she pleased.

I fisted my cock hard, stroking, once, twice, three times, before coming hard into the air.

It would have been embarrassing how fast I got myself off, if there’d been anyone else there to witness it.

I thought I’d gotten it out of my system until I walked back out into the living room and saw her bending over in those damned tiny shorts. Fuck me, was I in some trouble…

We didn’t end up having to take turns taking naps, since Bev took the boys out for the afternoon. We both crashed for three hours, me on the couch, and Danika on her bed.

I ended up cooking everyone enchiladas for dinner, just to watch the look on Danika’s face as she tasted them.

When I’d realized that I couldn’t move into my new apartment for a few weeks, even though the lease on my old apartment was already up, I hadn’t known things would turn out like this. Still, I wasn’t complaining. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d had more fun.