“My man picker is off,” I’d told her forlornly.
She’d patted my shoulder comfortingly. “Aw, sweetheart, it really isn’t. I saw what you were dealing with. There isn’t a girl alive that could turn down a guy like Tristan, with the way he was laying on the charm. Just take a lesson from it, and it won’t be a waste.”
I knew it was good advice, and I promised myself that I would tuck it away for future use.
Fuck Anonymous with Frankie was a riot. She monopolized the entire thing, going on and on about several of her latest disastrous relationships, and some of her unorthodox sexual preferences.
She told every story with so much humor that all of us were laughing for most of the session, and I was particularly grateful, because she’d deflected any attention off me for another week.
When she went into detail about her lifestyle as a dominatrix, I think she shocked most of the women, but I was fascinated, especially with all of Tristan’s talk of restraints.
“So you’re always dominant?” Candy asked, clearly tantalized by the idea. She’d been flirting with Frankie all night.
Frankie nodded. “Some people switch, but that doesn’t work for me. I have a very specific fetish. There are very different ways to practice BDSM, but my way is full speed ahead hardcore, which isn’t for many, even in the scene. I can only think of one other person, who shall remain anonymous, who takes it as far as I do.”
Sandra looked more shocked than anyone else about Frankie’s lifestyle, just staring at her, open-mouthed, as she went into detail about strap-ons and spreader bars. I got the feeling Frankie could have talked about strap-ons alone for hours.
“I work in the Cavendish Casino,” Sandra told Frankie, her eyes still a little wide in shock. “I work over in the art gallery, which isn’t far from your tattoo shop. Sometimes I see the camera crew when I go out for lunch. It’s all very exciting.”
“You got any tats?” Frankie asked her with a smile, clearly convinced that she didn’t.
“Just a tramp stamp,” Sandra said, which startled a laugh out of several of us, including Frankie.
“A tramp stamp is no joke,” Frankie told her. “So you work on the property. You ever seen the big man on campus?”
Sandra needed no other excuse to start in about James ‘the dreamboat’ Cavendish.
“We think she should make a pass at him,” Candy piped in, after Sandra had been going on for a solid five minutes.
Frankie looked dubious. “My advice would be not to. He’s actually one of my closest friends, and if he’s interested, you’ll know it.”
Sandra looked crestfallen, as though she’d really been planning to make a pass at one of the richest, most beautiful men on the planet. I admired her confidence.
“I met him at a club kind of recently,” I added, when there was a brief pause in the dialogue. “Sandra has talked about him exhaustively for years, and I have to say, I wasn’t at all disappointed. Those eyes…”
Frankie nodded. “He’s to die for beautiful. He doesn’t do relationships, but you couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
“Why would he?” Harriet asked, sounding a bit bitter. “Filthy rich, male, and gorgeous, he can stay single forever. He’ll probably knock up some nineteen year old when he’s eighty, and call it a day. Men have it so easy.”
Frankie laughed. “Getting a bit ahead of things, aren’t you? I can’t say what James will be doing when he’s eighty, I’m just telling you that the best you could hope for nowadays is a casual fling with the guy, and if he’s interested in you, you will know it.”
“Well, fuck,” Sandra pouted, “that messes with all of my workplace fantasies about him seducing me in my office.”
My eyes widened. I honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but she didn’t crack a smile, so I was leaning towards thinking that she wasn’t.
I didn’t think it could be healthy to be that obsessed with your boss, but I held my tongue.
Lucy stayed late that night, lingering when everyone had left except for her and Frankie. I’d known she would. One sympathetic look from her and the tears finally came.
She gathered me up into her arms, and I told her every little detail about the last few weeks, leaving out nothing.
It was Frankie’s first time hearing it all, and she looked surprised at some of it, like his reaction to my declaration of love.
“That asshole,” Frankie said succinctly. “That’s got to be Twatalie baggage, for sure, but that doesn’t make it okay.”
Bev and Lucy were fascinated by this.
“What on earth is a Twatalie?” Bev asked.
That made me laugh, even through my ugly tears.
“Not what, but who," Frankie explained, her tone wry. "Twatalie is his gold-digging ex. It’s a long story, but she fucked around on him with some rich men, and he just didn’t see it coming. Been a man-whore ever since.”
That brought on a fresh bout of tears. That’s what I hated most about crying. Once I started, it went on for a long time.
“He—he’s already slept up with other girls. He went out and hooked up with someone the night we had a fight.”
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 in
to 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 fucking 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.
Nearly every piece of skin that she was strategically baring had ink.
“I forgot to tell you something,” she said, looking mischievously happy.
I smiled ruefully, knowing it was going to be something crazy, just from the gleeful look in her eyes. “What?”
She pointed behind me, toward the doors that led into the casino. I turned to see a camera crew converging on us, already obviously taping.
I rolled my eyes.
“I had to get this on camera. It’s good press for the band.”
I saw her point, but still glared at her for the ambush.
She was impervious, grabbing my hand and pulling me with her into the chaos.
I thought wryly that maybe I should have counted my blessings, that she hadn’t subjected me to any camera time before, considering all of the time we’d been spending together lately.
“Who is this new hottie, Frankie?” one of her production guys called out.
“She’s Danika!” Frankie called back, not slowing down.
“Is she your date tonight?”
Frankie just laughed, and I felt myself smiling ruefully. “She’s just a friend. Try to keep up, guys.”
It was the strangest thing, but I did find myself forgetting that the cameras were even there, especially as we made our way into Decadence.
The club was more crowded than I’d ever seen it, but I’d never been there on a live music night before. The enormous, once spacious dance floor had been converted into a writhing mass of humanity, and the guys hadn’t even taken the stage yet.
There was one useful thing about being followed around by a camera crew; people got out of your way.
We moved to a spot about five rows from the stage. The ideal spot to see without being right at the front.
I was surprised when Frankie started bossing the crew around like it was her job.
“One camera on us. You won’t want to miss Danika dancing. I know I don’t. The rest, get on the stage. Get a good spot right under the lead singer.”
The all male crew was quick to obey.
I sent her a sidelong glance. “I knew you had your own show, but I didn’t realize that reality stars directed the crew.”
“That’s not the norm,” the one camera guy still on us muttered.
Frankie just grinned and shrugged. “They did it, didn’t they? They’ll thank me later.” She looked at the camera guy. “Tell the truth, Rodney. Have I ever steered you wrong?”
“That you haven’t.”
“See. If you know what you’re doing, people listen to you, whether it’s your job to boss them or not. I’m just trying to get the best footage possible. They know it, so they listen to me.”
I laughed, because though I wouldn’t have thought of it, she had a point, because they hadn’t hesitated to follow her orders.
“I’ve found that often the quality you see in successful people is knowing when to take the initiative, and being quick about it. I’ve never sat around, waiting for someone to tell me to take charge. I just do it.”
I considered that, filing it away. I wanted badly to become successful in life, at something. I doubted there was anyone who’d grown up in my kind of chaos that didn’t.
The dim lights suddenly went dark, the camera’s light all that was visible for a long, pregnant pause. The crowd went quiet.
“Dim that light, Rodney!” Frankie said in a loud whisper. “We don’t want to take attention away from the show.”
Proving her words yet again, the camera’s light dimmed.
A spotlight shone onto the stage, illuminating a scantily clad girl with hot pink hair.
My nose wrinkled. “Is she in the band?” I asked Frankie.
“Nope. She must be the opener. The guys must be hooking her up, because I’ve never seen her before.”
More lights went on the stage, illuminating the rocker chick’s band. She started belting out a screaming rendition of some old metal song that I kind of recognized, though I couldn’t have named it. I liked metal, but this wasn’t good metal.
“Is this the kind of music they play?” I asked into Frankie’s ear. It wasn’t what I’d been expecting, at all.
She shook her head, swaying to the ear-splitting noise. “Not at all. She must be fucking one of them, because she is not a good opener for their brand of rock.”
That made me feel slightly ill.
She grimaced. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. It just slipped out.”
I shook my head that it was fine. She was probably right.
The hot pink haired chick sang three very similar songs before ending the set. I had the thought that I wasn’t enjoying myself. This had been a bad idea.
The lights dimmed again, and I felt sick to my stomach as we waited for the band to come on stage.
Tristan walked on last, though he wasn’t dramatic about it. He simply filed on after the others, taking his place at the front with utter confidence.
The spotlight hit him, and he grinned at the crowd. They cheered loudly, the women’s screams markedly louder. And that was before he even sang a note.
When a hard drumbeat started, the guitars bled in, and he actually began to sing, the crowd went wild.
Watching him like that on stage was like seeing the puzzle pieces all shifting into place. He was perfect up there, and it wasn’t any one thing that made him that way. It was everything about him; the proud posture of his broad shoulders, his confident smirk. He’d been my buddy, and then my lover, but watching him onstage made me see just how powerful he was, what a force of nature his very presence was. Part of me loved it, loved him like this, in his element, and part of me hated it. It was terrifying, because deep down I knew that you could never hold onto a man like this. He would become too big to live a normal life. It seemed inevitable.
His voice was deeply melodic, the song almost romantic, and the emotion in his voice matched the lyrics, which floored me. I’d never seen that side of him. The idea that he had that in him, but I’d never seen it, left a pretty deep wound in me, and it began to sink in that he really only saw me as a friend. He wanted me, yes, or at least he had before our falling out, but not like I needed him to, not like I wanted him. If I’d kidded myself for a moment that my feelings weren’t one sided, those hopes were dashed as he poured his soul into the song.
&nbs
p; I’d fallen for him, but he just hadn’t fallen for me. Seeing him up there, getting clued in to all of the pieces of his puzzle, it hit me like a truck. We hadn’t just had a fight. He hadn’t just left because he was angry.
He wasn’t in love with me.
Growing up as I had, especially in my teenage years, had always made me feel a little lost. And I felt that now. Just lost. Who was I? Who was somebody like me even supposed to be? Nobody loved me. It didn’t feel like anyone ever had. So where did that leave me? Going in circles, I thought. Looking for the wrong things in the wrong people. That’s where I was. I wondered if somebody ever fell for me, like really fell, the way I did, if I would even know it. I only seemed to have guys that couldn’t give a damn on my radar.
Still, I couldn’t help but be happy for him, that he had something like this, something so big and special to show the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’d gotten my strange wave of melancholy in hand by the second song in their set, which thankfully, wasn’t another love song.
“He’s like one huge pussy magnet up there,” Frankie almost shouted into my ear.
She was right, and I hated it.
“He’s one huge pussy magnet everywhere he goes,” I replied.
She laughed, and I smiled unhappily.
I told myself that it was good to get a healthy dose of reality. It was the first step to moving on, and I needed to get past this insanity.
The band was good. Really good. By the third song, I was dancing.
Frankie started it, shaking her hips at me, jumping around like a maniac. I had never been one to turn down any excuse to dance, and killer live music mixed with good company was the best excuse of all.
I knew that Rodney the camera guy was taping everything, and I found that I didn’t mind. In fact, I gave him a show, dancing playfully with Frankie to the heavy beat of the drum.
I loved a good rock song with some heavy drums. I closed my eyes and let the music take over, Tristan’s deep, sexy voice washing over me. How could you be so intimate with a person, and not know they could sing their heart out to a crowd of strangers?
Bad Things (Tristan & Danika #1) Page 21
