CHAPTER TWELVE
DANIKA
I’d bought a house the year prior, less than two months after I’d moved back to Las Vegas.
It was an odd move, because I’d never even considered buying a place before.
I’d been a pretty happy renter.
But I made good money, and I’d just started looking at houses, with a mind to planting some roots. Very quickly, I’d found a cute little place in Seven Hills.
The commute wasn’t bad into work. The traffic was a dream, compared to what I’d gotten used to in Los Angeles, and my location gave me a few route options, if I hit it at the wrong times.
It was a quiet area, and for the most part, my neighbors kept to themselves.
The lady next door had what seemed like thirty cats, but that didn’t bother me. I didn’t have pets, but I loved pets, so I found myself buying cat food, and putting it on my back porch, shamelessly feeding the felines so they’d like me.
I traveled too much to have my own pets, so I just borrowed a few sometimes.
There was an orange tabby and a blue point Himalayan I was particularly fond of, and those ones even got to come into my house.
I had a promising future as a lonely cat lady.
I’d been back in town for two days and still hadn’t had any contact with Tristan.
I’d gotten right back into work, and I knew Tristan’d had his show the last two nights.
Some days I enjoyed the peaceful solitude of my little house in Seven Hills. Some days there was nothing I loved more than coming home from work, putting on a pair of sweats, collecting my furry friends, and curling up with a good book, shutting out the world, getting lost in fantasyland.
Nothing beat an absorbing book in terms of distraction.
I wasn’t feeling that need for solitude so much that night. I wasn’t in the mood for reading or borrowing cats.
In fact, I felt so lonely that I found myself doing something I almost never did.
Logging onto Facebook.
It was my personal account, so there wasn’t much going on. I had two friend requests, but only one of them had my heart racing. I clicked confirm on both before I could talk myself out of it.
Less than two minutes later, a little red number one appeared above my message box, and breathless, I clicked on it.
Tristan had left me a short message.
Tristan Vega: Thanks for accepting
my friend request. I promise to try my
hardest to refrain from sending you
too many dick pics.
That surprised a laugh out of me, and then a smile that just wouldn’t go away.
Danika Markova: How sweet. What
a gentleman you are.
Tristan Vega: By too many, I mean
more than a dozen, just so you can’t
say I didn’t give you fair warning.
Danika Markova: Don’t make me
find the unfriend button.
I sent it as a joke, but his response back was effusive and apologetic.
Tristan Vega: I’m very sorry. I was
totally joking.
Danika Markova: I was only joking,
too.
Tristan Vega: You have any exciting
plans this weekend?
I sighed, not knowing what to tell him, not knowing what to do. What I wanted to do and how I needed to handle things were two polar opposites at the moment, actively working against each other.
Danika Markova: I do have plans.
How was the show tonight?
Tristan Vega: Good. Want to have
lunch tomorrow, at the casino? I’ll be
in early, and I know you’re working.
I shut my eyes, knowing that I should find an excuse to say no. I needed to slow this thing down, and if we started seeing each other on a daily basis, that wasn’t going to happen.
He was easing his way into being a big part of my life again, and I knew that it was nothing that I should encourage. He took a mile for every inch I gave. He always had.
Still, I told myself it was only lunch.
And if he was already going to be there, it seemed over the top rude to turn him down.
Danika Markova:
Sounds good.
Just let me know when you want to
go. My lunch hour is flexible.
Tristan Vega: Perfect. I’ll text you
around noon, when I get close.
I logged off quickly after that, making a note not to go on Facebook again. That had backfired on me in a hurry. But even as I had the thought, I was smiling.
I dressed with care the next day, wanting to look my best for the most obvious reasons.
I loved clothes, loved fashion.
I
always had, and my fashion sense had been constantly evolving through the years. I had a great job, and little in the way of expenses, so I indulged myself in this.
I’d been very into pleats and collars last season, bringing a bit of prep into my business attire. I liked this look because it was cute and feminine, but still classy. My hemline was usually at my knee or lower, my neckline high, and though everything was usually fitted to complement my figure, it was all very modest. My color palette was usually neutral, with lots of creams, beiges, grays. Colors, when I’d worn them, had been muted.
I found myself shopping more than usual the last few weeks, though (specifically since the wedding), and it seemed that my style preferences had changed seemingly overnight.
Now what caught my eye were plunging necklines and raised hems. A bit more skin. A flash of vibrant color.
Still classy, still professional, but I’d definitely found my sexy side again.
I didn’t have to think hard to know why this had changed for me.
Needless to say, I’d been shopping a lot, updating my wardrobe, turning it up a notch. Lucky for me, I worked in a building with some of the best shopping in town. And Vegas was a town with some killer shopping.
Today I wore a fitted black tuxedo jacket, and a white pleated skirt that hit me mid-thigh. I kept the jacket buttoned, because underneath I wore nothing but a violet bralette. It was modest enough, as long as I kept the jacket buttoned, just a glaring flash of lace showing at the neckline.
I wore bright white patent leather loafers with it. They were flats. That couldn’t be helped.
I parted my hair down the middle and curled it into thick ringlets, then tousled it a bit. My makeup got as much care, with a dark eye and glossy pale lips.
My extra time paid off when I walked into work feeling sexy. Pride was a perverse thing.
The morning dragged and right before noon, I went to the bathroom, refreshing all of my makeup. It was foolish, but even if we were just being friends, I wanted to look my best in front of Tristan. And by my best, I mean sexy as hell.
It was Frankie who came strolling into the gallery at about eleven forty-five.
“I hate to be the one to break it to you,” I called out to her, smiling, “but I’m ninety-five percent sure that some wild animal ate the bottom half of your tank top.”
She smiled ruefully. “You’re just jealous because your job has a dress code that doesn’t include belly shirts. I can recall you rockin’ your own under boob a time or two, or have you forgotten?”
I hadn’t forgotten. I still had a few of the trashy shirts, for the random rainy day indoors.
“Tristan is going to meet us at the restaurant,” she continued. “I invited myself to lunch with you guys. Hope you don’t mind.”
I shook my head, eyes wide. “Not at all. Sounds like a great idea.” She laughed. “Well, your reaction was better than Tristan’s, at least.
He
actually threatened to start getting his tats elsewhere. Can you imagine?” I blushed, pleased at the notion that he’d wanted to have lunch alone with me. But again, I knew I was being foolish. Stupid, even.
To say I was conflicted where Tristan was concerned was the understatement of a lifetime.
“Where we headed for lunch?” I asked her, going to grab my bag.
I waved at Sandra before we started to walk. Frankie naturally slowed down for me. She was used to my slow walking.
“The Mexican place. What else? I love to get the enchiladas when I’m with Tristan so he can rant about how much better he makes them, and then I rope him into cooking for me. Works one hundred percent of the time. Try it. See if I’m wrong.”
I just shook my head at her and smiled.
Sounded like Trouble to me. It didn’t help that just thinking about his cooking had me salivating.
We were seated and chatting when Tristan showed up promptly at noon.
We were in a booth, so he had to sit next to one of us.
He squeezed in next to me, throwing an arm over the back of my seat.
I flushed when he said quietly into my ear, “Jesus. You look beautiful.” I tried to order a salad, but that about gave Tristan a conniption.
“Don’t tell me about your f*cking diet again,” Frankie chimed in, taking his side.
I made a face and shrugged. “Must be nice not to have to diet and keep a great figure, you two, but that isn’t how it works for me.”
Tristan ignored that completely, and then ordered tamale combos for all of us. “It’s their best dish. Trust me on this.”
“I was craving some enchiladas,” Frankie complained.
“Well then come have dinner at my house tonight, before my show. I’ll cook.”
“Done,” she stated before he’d even finished talking.
“Both of you,” he added.
I was looking down at the menu, but I felt his eyes on me.
“Oh, well, thanks for the offer, but I have plans tonight.” It was lame, but it was the best I could do on short notice.
“Oh yeah? What are your plans?” Tristan asked, and if he was trying to disguise the tense new note in his voice, he was doing it poorly.
I looked at him, and his attitude seemed to rein itself in before my eyes.
“A rain check then,” he told me.
I shrugged, refusing to commit to anything.
It was a strange meal, though I couldn’t deny that it was enjoyable.
He was big and the bench wasn’t, so we sat hip to hip and ate and joked with Frankie for a good hour.
It was like being transported back in time. I didn’t begin to know what to feel about that.
Frankie headed straight to her shop after we finished, but Tristan walked me back to work, strolling slowly beside me, hands in the pockets of his slacks.
He was well turned out, in an all-black suit with no tie. The effects were devastating, though I tried not to dwell on them.
“You’re all dressed up today. What’s the occasion?” I asked him, my tone idle, my eyes hungry.
“Don’t you like it? I know you aren’t a fan of my T-shirt and jeans uniform.” My mouth twisted as I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye. “I do like it, but why on earth would you say that? I have never in my life complained about the way you dress.”
He shrugged, fidgeting with his collar.
“I haven’t failed to notice that you only date professionals. The kind that wear suits, not jeans.”
I stopped to give him my full attention.
“Don’t tell me you dressed like this for me.”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
He shrugged again.
“I wear suits
sometimes. Not a big deal.”
We started walking again. My eyes were glued to the carpet on the casino floor. It was elaborately patterned in blue and gold, very nice, but somehow managed to look like the floor of every other casino I’d ever been in. What was with that? Why did they all look the same? Was it all of the slot machines, the sounds, the sights?
I realized I was trying to distract myself and snapped out of it.
“ I am a fan of T-shirts and jeans, Tristan.”
Especially when they were wrapped around his spectacular body, but I sure as hell wasn’t telling him that.
He stopped abruptly, looking at me like I was supposed to be reacting to something.
I didn’t care for the look. Something in it scared me. Threatened me, or at least, my well-being.
I glanced around. We were near some slot machines and to our left was a women’s restroom.
My eyes widened, then narrowed.
I started walking again.
In my mind, I’d systematically gotten used to moving past that spot, just as I had the sports book that we would pass next.
There were memories in this place, memories that I’d had to push far back in my mind, to keep sane.
“Do you remember—”
“Don’t. We’re not doing that. We’re not taking a walk down memory lane.
We just aren’t. Is that clear?” He sighed, but agreed.
But I did remember. Oh Lord, did I remember.
I remembered so well that it had me seeing into the very near future, that very night in fact, when I would go home by myself, go to bed by myself, and fantasize, obsessively, about getting f*cked in the stall of that bathroom over six years ago.
We walked the rest of the way in silence, but he didn’t leave me at the entrance, following me all the way to my office.
I went and stood at my tall project desk, looking down at it, knowing I had things to do, but unable to focus on anything to do with work.
Forgetting, for a moment, what my work even was.
“What are you doing?” I asked Tristan, who was in my office, leaning against the wall, just looking at me.
“I want to cook for you. When can you come to my house for dinner?”
I should have turned him down flat, but something he’d said and something I’d heard made me too curious to pass up the chance to ask about it.
“Your house?” I questioned. “I heard the strangest rumor that you live in the casino.”
His mouth quirked up just enough to flash a dimple. “It’s required in my contract that they keep a room available for my own personal use for the duration of the show. It’s a suite, my own personal suite, for nights that run late, but it is not where I live. I do have a house, out near Seven Hills.”
My eyes widened, but I didn’t tell him that I lived in that direction, as well.
Then he’d ask questions, and possibly find out exactly where, and I did not need that on top of everything else.
“How about tomorrow?” he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.
I shook my head, admiring the lines of his suit. It was amazing how well it fit him, sexy, giant biceps and all. “No.
No. That sounds like a date. We are not dating. Friends don’t date.”
“Frankie is coming to my house tonight, by herself, and I’m cooking her dinner.
Same damn thing that I’m proposing for tomorrow. You going to tell me I’m dating Frankie now?”
As far as arguments went, he got the award for best angle on a shitty one.
I had a thought. “I bet Estella is coming too, so that makes it completely different.”
“She’s not. Estella is busy. Tonight is just me and Frankie, since you refuse to come.”
“I said I have plans.”
“Okay, fine. So come tomorrow. A friendly dinner. You can see my house.
Aren’t you curious about my house?” I sure was. He knew me so well. I was utterly fascinated to see what kind of place he’d ended up in, where he called home now.
“Tomorrow isn’t a good night for me, anyway,” I hedged.
“The next night then. That’s better, actually. I’m off that night. Friends have dinner with each other. This is how friends work. Now work with me.” I shut my eyes, caving. “Okay, fine.
Day after tomorrow, we will have a platonic dinner, and I get to check out your house.”
“Thank you,” he said, closer now.
I opened my eyes to look up at him.
His hands went to the lapels of my blazer, smoothing them absently.
“You going to see that guy tonight?”
“I’m not talking about him with you.
That’s out of line.”
“Does he know about me? Did you tell him that you and I—”
“Stop. Stop this instant or I’m done.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I can’t do that.” He opened them again and focused on my jacket, or specifically, the buttons of my jacket.
Quick as a flash, and nervy as all hell, he unbuttoned it, sucking in a gasp at the tiny scrap of cloth I had on under it.
I took two quick steps back, buttoning it up again in a hurry.
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide. “F*ck. You wear shit like that to work often?”
I shrugged in a noncommittal way.
“F*ck. Wel l , that messes with my head. What can I do to convince you to let me see that again?” He smiled. “I barely got a glance. If I’m going to be fantasizing about that tonight, it would be nice to have a very clear picture.” I pointed my finger at the door, trying to hide my smile. “You need to go, before you talk yourself out of cooking me dinner in a few days.”
He cursed, sent me a comically longing glance that had me trying not to laugh, and left.