Bad Things

Page 3

“Magic hands is the only answer you’ll ever get out of me. So, can you still say you’ve seen that trick before?”
I just shook my head, trying hard to figure out what all he had to have done to pull that off.
“Those are some…fun dog names.” He startled me out of my thoughts.
I shrugged. “The boys named all of them except for Mango. I thought they did a pretty good job. They’re funny kids.”
I turned my head as Bev called my name, approaching the kitchen with a smile. She turned that smile on Tristan as she got close. She was a tall, slender woman, with cornflower blue eyes and reddish blonde hair. She was forty-eight, but I didn’t think she looked it, her pale skin showing just the faintest signs of aging. Her features were attractive, her figure trim, and she was always dressed impeccably.
“I’m so sorry, Danika,” she told me. “I didn’t realize this was a friend of yours. I feel so rude, storming off without introducing myself. I thought, well, I thought he was another of Jerry’s…projects.” She swept her hand in the air, as though to wave the idea away.
I didn’t think I’d felt so shitty about myself in years as I did staring at the apologetic curve of her lips.
“But anyway,” she turned to Tristan, holding out her hand. “I’m Bev.”
Tristan didn’t hesitate to smile back, taking her hand. “Tristan.”
Bev looked at me. “Jerry tells me you met him last semester. Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” she asked, smiling. Bev’s smile was all open charm. No one in the world would have guessed she was a lawyer by that smile.
I shrugged, feeling defensive and guilty as hell. “Nothing to tell. He’s just a buddy. He’ll only be staying for a week, I swear.”
She waved that off. “Don’t worry about it. Stay as long as you like, Tristan. Any friend of Danika’s is a friend of mine. So where and how exactly did you guys meet?”
“We had a class together,” I answered, shooting Tristan a glance.
“What class?” she asked, as persistent as you’d expect from an attorney.
“Psychology,” I threw out.
“English,” Tristan said at the same time.
I shot him a very unfriendly look for contradicting me.
He grinned at Bev, totally unfazed. “Both. We had two classes together, actually. Danika was nice enough to share her notes with me.”
Bev shot me a fond look. “She is meticulous.”
I smiled back at her, vowing to myself that I would never lie to her again, no matter the reason. Damn Jerry.
“I was just trying to get Danika to go out to a club with me tonight,” Tristan told Bev.
I blinked at him, wondering what the hell he was doing.
“She seems to think that walking the dogs is what a twenty-one year old should be doing for fun. I think she needs to get out more. Will you help me convince her?”
Bev looked at me, her brow furrowing. “You know, Danika, I can’t remember the last time you went out. Tristan has a point. You’re twenty-one. You should be having more fun.”
If looks could kill, Tristan would have dropped dead on the spot. He’d managed to get my Bev on his side in under a minute. I couldn’t quite believe it.
He just smiled back at me, unfazed by my look of death. “It’s settled then. We’ll go out tonight. There’s this new club at the Cavendish casino. It’s great. You’ll love it.”
I glared at him for a solid minute before I spoke. “You just want me to drive your sorry ass. You probably don’t even have a car.”
I felt a little silly as both Tristan and Bev began to laugh.
“You two seem to know each other well,” Bev gasped. “How have I never heard a word about Tristan before this, Danika?”
I shook my head, but Tristan spoke before I could. He put his hand over his heart, giving me a heart-stopping smile. “That hurts my feelings, Danika. Don’t you ever talk about me?”
He was enjoying this little charade, but I sure wasn’t. “Nope,” I said curtly.
“Oh, Danika, you have to go out. I insist. Go have a good time. I don’t need any help with the boys tonight.”
I grimaced. “I have things to do.”
“Like what?” Tristan asked.
“Well, for one, I need to walk the dogs.”
“Okay. Let’s go do that now. I’ll come with.”
I rolled my eyes, fully realizing that I was acting like a ten-year old. “Fine, but you have to walk Coffeecup.”
He shrugged. “Sounds great.”
“And I have to clean the pool,” I told him.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Bev said.
“I’ll help,” Tristan said, being strangely persistent.
“And I have to finish the laundry.”
Tristan shrugged. “We’ll get started after the cookies are done.”
“You don’t have to do that today, Danika,” Bev tried again. “I can get to the laundry myself tonight, and the pool can wait. You could use a night off.”
“We’ll knock those chores off in an hour, and she’ll still have plenty of time to get ready,” Tristan said.
The oven timer started to beep, and he went to check on his cookies. Bev and I just watched him, not saying a word, as he put on oven mitts and slid the cookie sheet out of the oven. It was a strange and riveting sight; a ripped man at home in the kitchen. Baking fucking cookies. This man was so much Trouble…
He studied the delicious smelling cookies for a long moment, then gave me a sidelong smile. “A perfect batch. You two have to try these.”
I curled my lip at him. “I’m watching my figure.”
His eyes flicked shamelessly over my body. “And you’re doing a damn fine job of it, but you can eat a cookie.”
“Who could turn that down?” Bev asked.
Who indeed? I thought resentfully.
He was too bossy for my taste, or at least, I told myself that.
“So what chore do we need to tackle first?” Tristan asked, while he slid a few still hot cookies from the sheet and onto a plate.
“Dogs,” I said absently, still distracted by his ease in the kitchen.
He nodded, bringing the plate over to us. “The cookies will be cool enough to eat in a minute. You’re eating one, and then we’ll walk the dogs.”
I reached for a cookie, completely enticed by the smell. I was usually really good about dieting since I had to maintain my figure for dancing, but even I couldn’t resist the lure of his divine smelling cookies.
He swatted my hand away. “I said one minute, Danika.”
I glared at him for at least a solid minute.
He only smiled. He offered the plate to Bev first. She took one, thanking him.
I folded my arms over my chest, and just looked at him. I was trying hard to talk myself into refusing to eat a cookie, just to spite him, the bossy son of a bitch.
He flashed a dimple at me, his golden eyes filled with mirth, and had the utter nerve to grab one with his own hand and hold it up to my lips.
I took a bite, the smell and his charm irresistible to me. I closed my eyes, groaning as I chewed.
I heard Bev making a similar noise. The man was not all talk. His cookies were as good as he claimed. It was just the perfect flavor combination of salty and sweet, and the texture was perfect, not too gooey, but melt in your mouth soft. I barely had to chew.
Finally, after taking my time with the first bite, I opened my eyes to look at him. He was still smiling at me, his hand still holding the cookie to my mouth for another bite, but there was heat in his eyes now.
I grabbed the cookie out of his hand, taking another bite. He nabbed one for himself, taking a huge bite. I watched him chew, transfixed by the hard line of his jaw as it worked. Finally, I made myself look away, finishing my cookie with slow, savoring bites.
The boys rushed the kitchen right as I was finishing, and Tristan handed them cookies and paper towels, introducing himself.
He was at ease with the kids, and they seemed to take to him instantly, just like everyone else had. The man was like a charm grenade.
I gathered the dogs’ leashes from the laundry room, slipping into flip-flops and heading to the front door.
Dot saw the leashes first, and rushed to the door, tail wagging. Bev had a huge backyard, but the dogs still loved their walks.
I got them all ready, intending to leave whether Tristan joined me or not. I didn’t need help, and I didn’t quite understand his need to keep me company for my chores.
He caught up to me as I was slipping out the door, holding it open for me. He held a hand out to me as we got outside, and I handed him Coffeecup and Pupcake’s leashes.
We were just moving onto the sidewalk when he asked, “So tell me about your issues with Coffeecup.”
I sighed. “Why?”
“Why?”
“Why on earth do you care about my dog issues?”
“Because I’m curious, and I think it’s adorable that you have ‘dog issues’.”
That drew a small smile, and an answer, out of me. “He’s rambunctious. He’s made it his mission in life to try to rush out the front door every time I have to open it for any reason. He’s gotten loose in the neighborhood three times this week.”
He shrugged. “It’s a quiet neighborhood. It’s not like there are cars speeding around here. It’s gated. What’s the big deal?”
I grimaced. “It’s a big deal because of the chicken lady.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “The chicken lady?”
I laughed too, knowing how ridiculous it sounded—how ridiculous it was. “Yes. The crazy chicken lady.”
He had to stop walking, he was laughing so hard. “Okay. You have to tell me this story. What exactly is a crazy chicken lady?”
I shook my head, but I told him. “Well, there’s a community stable in the center of the neighborhood. Residents can rent out stalls. Most of the stalls are used for horses, but this one lady uses them for her prize chickens.”
He arched a brow. He had a way about him that was so hard for me to resist, especially the way he gave me every ounce of his attention with single-minded focus. I drank up that attention as though I’d been starving for it.
I really needed to get out more.
“Prize chickens?” he asked.
“Yes. She has prize chickens. She lives right by the stables, and as far as I can tell, spends most of the damn day there. She lets them roam the stables while she’s there, so they’re loose a lot of the time….completely unprotected.”
He started laughing again. “Oh no,” he said, seeing where the story was headed.
I nodded. “Oh, yes. I’ve timed it. Coffeecup can get to the stables in under two minutes, and nab a chicken just seconds after that. He’s taken out three of her chickens just this week alone.”
“Taken out?”
I nodded. “He eats them. He has their necks snapped before I can catch up to him, and I’m a fast runner.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Yes, I know. This is why Coffeecup and I have issues. Crazy chicken lady goes ballistic on me when she loses a chicken. Bev has to pay her fifty dollars every time it happens, but that’s no consolation to crazy chicken lady, since the damn chickens are her life.”