Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(17)

“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 f*ck-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 f*ck.

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…