Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2) (17 page)

The shower ran for less than five minutes, and he strode out, dressed again, just minutes after that.
 

I squinted into the bright light behind him that wouldn’t let me see his face.
 

“I’m going back out to the party.
 
I’m too pissed off to sleep right now.”

He shocked me when he just left.
 

I couldn’t sleep either.
 

I didn’t last ten minutes, throwing on my clothes, and following him.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DANIKA

I found him talking to Frankie and Estella and a small crowd of strangers.
 

I was a little confused about Frankie and Estella, since Frankie swore up and down that they weren’t technically dating, even though they were spending plenty of time together.
 
Estella stood very close to Frankie, her body language revealing her crush at a glance.
 

Frankie, on the other hand, stood very aloof, arms crossed over her chest, barely seeming to notice that the other woman was practically fawning over her.
 

I moved into the small circle of people, slipping under Tristan’s stiff arm without a word.
 

He didn’t so much as twitch, not sparing me even a glance.
 
His arm was held stiff, barely touching my shoulders, in fact making an effort to avoid as much contact as possible.
 

He was pissed.
 

I leaned into his side, my hand going to his abs, rubbing at the hard ridges prominent under his thin T-shirt as Frankie explained her filming schedule with the small crowd of L.A. hipster people that I didn’t know.
 

I watched in rapt fascination as Tristan’s other hand moved to mine, and pulled it carefully away from his body, keeping me from touching him.
 

He was
so
pissed.
 

Men were strange creatures, I thought.
 
Crazy aliens, really.
 

I waited a few minutes after he released my hand, then took up rubbing his stomach again, kneading at the firm flesh, working up his ribs to rub at one swollen peck.
 
I was getting myself worked up by the time he grabbed my hand and slowly pulled it away.
 
Again.
 

I patiently waited him out, pretending to listen to the group conversation with interest, slowly bringing my hand up to rub his abs again.
 
I knew for a fact that even a pissed off Tristan couldn’t turn me down for long.
 
The last time I’d put him in a pissy mood, all I’d had to do was go braless for a morning to get him to completely forget about it.
 
He tugged me away again.
 
I waited him out.
 
Again.
 

The next time I slipped my hand under his shirt, rubbing directly against his skin, pressing my breasts into his side.
 
It was taking him longer each time to pull my hand off, and this time it took him the longest of all, and I heard his breath hitch when he did it.
 

I waited patiently, then began to rub him again, over his shirt.
 
He just let me, and I knew I’d won.
 
We’d had plenty of stupid fights, but I was determined that this was not going to be one of them.
 

I continued to touch him, not looking at him, just pressing hard against him, my hand softly rubbing.
 

I loved the feel of him like nothing else, his firm flesh flexing under my fingers.
 
I dragged my hand up every hard ridge in his abdomen, then back down, over and over, working myself into a state, becoming needy for more.
 
More skin, more privacy, just more.
 
I used the heel of my hand to rub harder.
 

Finally, my body wound tight, I turned my head the slightest fraction, and quickly, furtively, I bit softly into his chest, loving the feel of him under my teeth.
 

I wasn’t quick or furtive enough.
 

“Don’t mind us.
 
Go right ahead and maul each other,” Frankie called out casually.
 

I ignored her.
 

She laughed.
 

“Excuse me,” Tristan said in a hard, quiet voice.
 
He extricated himself from me, turned on his heel, and strode away.
 
I stared after him, a little dumbstruck.
 
What the hell was his problem?
 

Frankie moved closer, and spoke more quietly.
 
“What’s up with him?”

I shrugged, giving Estella a small wave where she’d remained standing, chatting with hipster number whomever.
 

“How’s it going with Estella?” I asked her, changing the subject.

Frankie’s expression became very neutral.
 
“Who knows?
 
We’re just hanging out.
 
She’s hard to read, but I think she’s just curious about me.
 
I
am
a curiosity.”
 

“I don’t think that’s it.
 
I think she’s into you.
 
Like, really into you.
 
What’s hard to read is if you’re into
her
.”

Frankie didn’t look at all convinced.
 
“I’m not investing myself either way.
 
Like I said, we’re just hanging out.
 
She’s fun to spend time with.”
 

I studied her, not believing it.
 
I’d have bet she was more cautious than disinterested, but that obviously wasn’t the way she wanted to present it.

“Does she like…that stuff you like?” I asked.
 

She laughed.
 
“No, I don’t think so.
 
At least, she’s never done any of it, which is about the same thing.
 
Like I said, we’re just hanging out.”
 

“So you don’t do anything?
 
Like whatever you were doing in the back of my car type of stuff?”

She made a dismissive motion with her hand.
 
“We do some of that stuff, just messing around, though.
 
Friendly type of stuff.”
 

I felt my mouth curving wryly.
 
“That sounds familiar.
 
Here’s some advice:
 
If your friendly stuff ends in any orgasms, you are kidding yourself that you are just hanging out.”
 

She nodded at me, her smile mocking.
 
“Well, I guess you would know.
 
What’s going on with you and stud muffin, anyway?
 
He’s in an odd mood.”
 

And here we’d come, full circle.
 
Frankie was too tenacious to accept a subject change for long.
 

“He’s mad at me over something stupid.”
 

“How stupid?”

“Really stupid.”
 

“Alright, spill it.
 
What stupid thing did you do?
 
Let me guess!
 
Since this is Tristan, and he is mad at you, and not punching somebody else, it’s gotta be something where you, like, hurt his feelings?
 
Am I getting warm?”
 

I curled my lip at her.
 
“I won’t be telling you, since you’re in a snarky mood.”
 

“I was kidding!
 
Now tell me!”
 

“Let me go find him and make up first.
 
It’s no fun to tell you about it while it’s still going on.
 
Maybe after we make up.”
 

“Puh-lease!
 
If you find that man, I won’t see you again tonight.
 
You’ll be too busy ‘making up’ again.”
 

I could only hope she was right.
 

I didn’t find him for a long time, searching every room in the house.
 
I paused outside of an ajar door as I heard familiar voices speaking on the other side.
 
One of them was Dean, and just from his tone, I could tell he was up to no good.
 
Dean stirring up trouble was something I would recognize from a mile away.
 

“I’m telling you,” he was saying emphatically, “Tristan didn’t used to be like this.
 
There is just one thing that has turned him into a pain in our ass.”
 

“One
person
,” another deep male voice corrected.
 
This voice I recognized as well, since I’d just been introduced to the man.
 
It was the band’s record producer.
 
He was a white man in his forties that wore his baseball cap sideways, overused words like swagger, and tried to freestyle rap.
 
He called himself The Dutchman, and in my head, I’d already started thinking of him as The Doucheman.
 

I hadn’t been impressed with him, and where I saw this conversation leading just reaffirmed my opinion.
 

“Single Tristan wouldn’t be going back to Vegas every chance he got,” Dean continued.
 
“Single Tristan wouldn’t be refusing to go on a debut tour with the band because he couldn’t leave his girl for that long of a stretch.
 
There’d be no more fights, no more hissy fits.
 
I’m telling you, we’d have a brand new lead singer on our hands, if that bitch was out of the picture.”

“Getting rid of girlfriends is not part of my job description.”
 

“It’s not that complicated.
 
She’s a jealous mess.
 
The right combination of circumstances and one visit from our girl Nat would do it.”
 

I was glued to the wall, openly eavesdropping.
 

“Nat?
 
That blonde with the big fake titties?
 
The chick I banged last week?”
 

“Yeah.
 
That one.
 
She’ll help, I guarantee it, and there’s no one that could make Danika more jealous than Nat.”

“Oh yeah?
 
Why?
 
That Nat chick is busted.”
 

“Hell yeah.
 
You know Tristan used to be engaged to Nat, right?”
 

“Why the hell would he get engaged to Nat?
 
That chick’s a whore.”
 

I felt myself nodding agreement, even though I was by myself.
 

“She didn’t used to be like that.
 
It’s a long story.
 
The Nat you got and the Nat Tristan got are in two different leagues, but that’s beside the point.
 
What I’m saying is, no one can make Danika more jealous than Nat, since Nat used to have Tristan’s ring on her finger.
 
And Nat is cooperative. She’d do anything to break those two up.
 
All we have to do is set it up.
 
Get Danika to catch those two naked together, however we make that happen, and no more Danika.
 
Just that easy, we’d have our lead singer back, full-time.”
 

“That’s fine, man.
 
Set it up.
 
You guys need to go on tour, so do what you need to do to get Tristan on board.”
 

I moved quietly away, more disgusted than worried.
 
I’d known Dean was a dirtball, but this was too low, even for him.

My first instinct was to tell Tristan about what I’d heard the second I saw him, but the longer I looked with no luck, and thought about Dean’s plan, the more I was inclined to keep it to myself.
 

Their entire sordid scheme was based on my reaction, and now, with me expecting it, and hearing first hand just what lengths they were willing to go to, I knew they’d be that easy to predict.
 
I had it all settled in my mind before I found Tristan.
 
I’d watch, and wait, and expect a setup.
 
There was no way in hell I’d give them what they wanted.
 
Now if I thought of Nat with Tristan, my gut didn’t twist up with anxious jealousy.
 
Now I was just disgusted.
 
And prepared.
   

I continued to search through the house, and the backyard, even combing some of the beach that attached to the property from one long wooden walkway.
 

Finally, I tracked Tristan down back in our room.
 
He was laying on the bed, still fully clothed, one arm thrown across his eyes, the room dark.
 

I sighed and shut the door behind me.
 
“Where’d you go?” I asked.
 
I’d checked in here twice during my search.

“I took a walk on the beach.
 
More of a run, actually.”
 

“You still mad?”
 

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough, if his toneless voice hadn’t been enough of a clue.
 

I switched on the lamp by the bed, then sat at his hip, my hand going to his stomach.
 
“Do you want to talk?”
 

“No.
 
Talking is exactly what I don’t want to do.”

“Then what can I do?
 
You’re obviously upset, and I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“I know.
 
I think that’s almost worse.”
 
He stood up, and began to pace.
 
“Here’s what I want; I want you to quit treating this,
us
, like less than it is.
 
Quit analyzing us to death, and for the love of God, stop thinking that our sex life is not enough for me.
 
I have a lot of fucking problems, and to say that isn’t one of them is the understatement of a lifetime.”