Bad Things (Tristan & Danika, #1)(4)

“How old are you?” I asked him, still smarting from the too young comment.

“Twenty-six.”

“That’s not that old,” I told him.

“I know. Just too old to be dating eighteen-year olds, or even twenty-one year olds. Frankly, though, I’m bad with women my own age, too, when it comes to relationships, which is why I don’t do them.”

I couldn’t help it. I had to ask. “So what do you do?”

“Hookups. Brief, casual hookups. How about you?”

I shook my head, pursing my lips at him. I couldn’t quite believe that we had jumped to this already. He was a man to be careful of, to be sure. “I do relationships. No exceptions. Never had a casual hookup in my life.”

He sighed, measuring some flour into the mixing bowl. “Well, I guess that makes things less complicated. We’ll be friends, then.” He shot me a sidelong smile that was downright irresistible. I thought that this was one of the strangest conversations I’d ever had, being that we had just met. Only, it didn’t feel like we’d just met. He spoke to me like he’d known me forever, and it was hard to refuse anything he said in that low voice of his.

I nodded, giving him my own, rather begrudging smile. “Okay, friends, since we’ll be living under the same roof for the next week.”

“Okay, then. My first job as your friend will be to show you how to make the best chocolate chip cookies in the world.”





CHAPTER TWO





Tristan walked me through every step of the cookie making process, and I pretended to pay attention, but that attention kept wandering to his spectacular arms while he worked. I barely kept my composure when he used the mixer, and I watched his ripped arms vibrate with the movement of it.

“Did you catch that, Danika?” he asked me with a smile.

I shook myself out of it, looking at his face. “Huh?”

He shook his head at me, his smile widening. I found my eyes focusing on the shadow of a beard lining his jaw. I’d never found the unshaven look so attractive before.

“You’re a little troublemaker,” he told me matter-of-factly, going back to his cookie dough.

“Me?” I asked, and I wasn’t sad when he didn’t respond. We didn’t need to get into a conversation about Trouble.

He spooned little balls of his dough onto the cookie sheet very precisely. He slid the pan into the oven, setting the timer.

“Do you like to go out?” he asked me as he washed his hands.

I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off his hands. “Go out?”

He dried his hands and approached me, stopping just short of my legs. “Yeah. Go out. Like to bars and clubs and parties. What do you like to do for fun?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but my mind was pretty blank. Fun? What did I do for fun? I kept busy, that was for sure, but was any of it strictly for fun?

“I swim with the boys a lot. And I walk the dogs.”

He blinked at me, and I wanted to smack my own forehead. I sounded like a weirdo, even to myself. “You swim with the boys and walk the dogs? When was the last time you went out?”

I mulled that over, quickly coming to the conclusion that I would not admit how long it had been since I’d ‘gone out’.

I was saved from having to even attempt to answer by the swarm of dogs that invaded the kitchen. They had all followed Bev into her room, but had apparently finished saying their hellos.

Dot moved between Tristan and me, letting out a little warning growl, and taking his place to guard me.

Tristan studied the dogs, his hands moving to his hips as he took them in. “Are you going to introduce me?” he asked.

I couldn’t help it, my lip curled at him in a smirk. “You want me to introduce you to the dogs?”

He shrugged, that easy smile of his in place. “If you don’t mind.”

I pointed to Mango first. “That’s Mango. She’ll slobber on you, and get on top of you when you’re sleeping, but she’s the sweetest dog in the world.”

He nodded, moving to stroke his hands over the big dog. She was putty in his hands.

I pointed to the next dog, a little, black and white lhasa-apso. “That little one is Pupcake. She’s the easy-going one, and the boys’ favorite.” He had her rolling onto her back in seconds.

I pointed to the spotted brown coon hound. “That one is Coffeecup. He’s the youngest, and he and I are working through some issues.”

He laughed at the name, stroking the dog. Coffeecup licked his face, and he didn’t bat an eye. Son of a bitch. “Dare I ask about the issues, or is it a touchy subject?”

“It’s touchy,” I told him. The wild dog was driving me up the wall bonkers lately, and I didn’t want to explain all of the reasons why.

I pointed at Dot, who was nuzzling into my dangling leg. “This is Dot. He’s the guard dog of the bunch.”

Tristan nodded, bending down to pet the dog, his hand not an inch away from my leg. Shockingly, Dot let him, his tail wagging, no snarl in sight, close proximity to me and all. What the f*ck?

“How did you do that? Dot never takes to strangers.”

He wiggled his fingers at me. “Haven’t I told you? I have magic hands.”

I rolled my eyes.