“I tried to talk him out of the joint. But he insisted. There’s also a marijuana leaf on his hip, though that wasn’t me. I explained to him that people almost always regret drug tattoos. When he’s older, with kids of his own, he’ll never be able to tell them to say no to drugs without looking like a hypocrite.”

“I wouldn’t tell them to say no. I’ll be a cool ass dad.”

“See now, everyone says that, until they have children,” Frankie explained. “Your priorities will change, I guarantee it.”

I glanced up at Jared when he had no response to her statement.

He was looking towards the house, an expression of frozen panic on his face.

I knew who it was before I turned to look. My hands fell from Jared’s stomach, where they’d been innocently tracing a tattoo.

“Fuuuck, he’s going to kill me,” Jared said softly.

Tristan had arrived, and he was striding towards us with a look on his face I’d never seen before.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tristan didn’t even spare me a glance, his cold eyes all for his brother. The color gold had never looked so icy.

He barely paused when he reached us.

“A word, Jared,” he said tersely, striding right past us.

Jared ran a hand over his damp, inky black hair, his expression tight. “Wish me luck, ladies,” he uttered softly, before following his brother.

“This is an unfortunate development,” Frankie said, watching the brothers stride away.

“He wasn’t supposed to be here,” I defended.

“You’re right. I wonder how he found out about you guys being here together.”

“You think he came here because someone told him?”

“He had a club promoting job tonight, right? Something compelling brought him here, and you and Jared showing up together is the only thing that comes to mind.”

“But I don’t even know anyone here. Who would have told him?”

“It looks like me and Dean are the only possibilities, and I didn’t rat you out. I’ll be getting hell for that later, by the way.”

“Fucking Dean,” I said darkly.

“Fucking Dean,” Frankie agreed. “They’ve all been friends since they were kids, but I can’t stand Dean. He’s always rubbed me the wrong way. He’s just too slick. You’ll notice he disappeared right before the shit hit the fan.”

It was several minutes before Tristan approached us again, and this time it was without Jared.

“Where’d your brother go?” I asked him, searching the crowd. I saw no sign of Jared.

Tristan crouched down near the edge of the pool, looking meaner than I’d ever seen him.

“He went home. Can we talk, Danika?”

It was the tone he used, as much as the words that made a shiver of dread go through me. I’d never seen him like this.

I moved to the side of the pool, and began to climb out.

“Hey Tristan,” Frankie called out, her voice friendly. “I didn’t expect to see you at this thing.”

“Hey, Frankie. It’s pretty apparent that nobody did.” As he spoke he helped me out of the pool.

“Do you have a towel?” he asked, his tone still as hostile as I’d ever heard it.

I shook my head, feeling a little numb.

“Are you cold?” he asked, solicitous even in a rage.

I shook my head again. It was hot as a hairdryer outside, and even the pool hadn’t been enough to cool me off.

I didn’t realize that we were leaving the party until Tristan called out, “Talk to you later, Frankie,” as we walked away.

He snagged me a white towel off a huge pile of folded ones near the house. I wrapped myself in it, following him silently. I was torn between feeling guilty about going out with Jared, and being pissed about the way he was acting. He had no right, but I had as good as lied to him by not telling him who I was going out with.

I followed Tristan through the house and out the front door. He was opening the passenger door of a black Camaro before I spoke again.

“I can’t take the towel,” I argued, glancing back at the mansion. It seemed like such a trashy thing to do—to take advantage of the mysterious homeowner’s hospitality.

His jaw clenched, and he just stood there, staring at me and holding the door open.

I got in, stealing the stupid towel.

He closed the door softly behind me.

He drove for a solid five minutes before either of us spoke.

“Is this your car?” I asked.

He gave one short nod as an answer.

The next stretch of silence was very nearly unbearable. I felt my heart pounding in my chest while I waited to see what he had to say. My thoughts were a little manic; going from wanting to chew him out, followed by the strong urge to apologize. The last thing in the world that I wanted to do was come between brothers, but on the other hand, I could argue that I wasn’t coming between them, since Tristan and I were supposed to be platonic.

I was at war with myself, at war with my own innate logic, and my out of control emotions. Tristan had that affect on me.

“I just have two questions, and then I’ll drop it.” His rough voice in the darkness made me jump.

“O-Okay.” I hated the weak thread of my voice.

“Was all of this because you were upset about last night?”

I cringed. That was just the question I hadn’t wanted, because finding the answer required me to be brutally honest with myself.

“In part it was,” I finally answered. “I wanted a distraction from you.”

“Okay. I wish you had just told me that. Second question, are you really interested in my brother?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. That one I could answer honestly and easily. “Jared is great but I already told him I couldn’t date him. I don’t have those kinds of feelings for him.”

Tristan exhaled noisily, then fell silent.

We didn’t speak again until we were back at the house, and then only to say a brief goodnight.

Tristan slept on the couch, and I felt vaguely like I was being punished.

I tossed and turned all night.

He was gone by the time I was up the next morning. I stewed about his absence all day, especially since he didn’t call or text me once.

I fell asleep quickly that night, exhausted from the bad night of sleep the evening before.

I was so relieved I wanted to cry when I found him sleeping on the couch the next morning.

Ivan and Mat had slept over at a friend’s house down the street, and so the house was quiet as a tomb. I tiptoed away silently, letting him sleep. There weren’t many mornings in the house where it was peaceful enough to sleep in, and it was a pity to spoil one of them.

I decided to go swimming. I shunned my black one-piece again, donning my bronze bikini. It was a silly thing to wear to swim laps, but my pride won out for that one.

I had lost track of the number of laps I’d done when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.

I swam to the side of the pool, clinging to it as Tristan approached. He was already wearing black swim trunks. The look on his face could only be described as repentant.

He dove into the pool in a mouthwatering display, swimming straight to me. He crowded me against the side. “I was a complete ass the other day,” he said quietly, earnestly. He kept moving close until we were nearly hugging. “Forgive me?”

I didn’t even hesitate, just nodding as I watched him steadily.

He bent down, wrapping his arms around me.

I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him back.

His arms tightened until we were pressed close. He held me like that for a long time, no funny business, just good old-fashioned holding.

“Did you and Jared make up, too?” I asked into his ear.

He pulled back, and I was sorry I’d broken the spell. “We did. He was pissed at me, but we’re good now. It didn’t hurt that you’d already shot him down.”

“He told you that?”

“He did. Is that true?”

“Yes. I already told you that.”

He grinned his most troublesome grin—a mixture of joy, mischief, and the best dimples in the world. It was the smile that got me every time.

He swooped me up in a cradle hold, moving to the pool stairs. I should have seen it coming, but a shriek of surprise escaped my lips as he threw me back in the water with a happy laugh.

I came up sputtering. “You made me do a side flop. That hurt.”

“You could always pay me back and throw me in.”

It was stupid, but I tried. I only ended up pushing him in, and following closely behind.

He threw me over his shoulders. I shrieked and started slapping at him when he carried me to the diving board and started bouncing.

“You weigh too much to be doing that,” I yelled at him. “We’re going to break this thing!”

He threw me in, and I surfaced in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“You’re out of control,” I scolded him, backstroking away from him.

He followed with a wicked smile.

“What’s gotten into you?” I asked him as he crowded me into corner of the pool.

He kissed me, and the world disappeared.

It was a hair pulling, legs wrapping, mouth bruising, earth and soul shattering kind of kiss.

I’d wanted him from the moment I’d laid eyes on him, but something integral inside of me changed with that kiss. I needed him, needed something that our relationship did for me, and I decided with that kiss to stop being such a pussy about it.

He curved his mouth over mine again and again, deep, sweet, drugging pulls that only made me crave more.

My arms were around his neck, my legs around his waist, before I even realized I had moved. I shifted until his thick erection was nestled in just the perfect spot.

His chest moved with an unsteady breath, a soft, rough, dark sound escaping from his throat and into my mouth.

I responded with a soft whimper, circling my hips against him. He felt so big, probably bigger than I’d have wanted to handle if I was in my right mind, but my right mind had gone on vacation for this.

One of his big hands moved to my ass, holding me in place as he grinded against me. The other moved up my side, and over my ribs, hovering just below my quivering breast.

With an impatient little moan, I reached down and pulled it up over my breast. He cupped my flesh, then kneaded softly.

He pulled back, but before I could protest, he was perching me on the edge of the pool, his head buried between my breasts. He peeled the material of my bikini aside with his teeth, sucking my nipple into his mouth.

I gripped his head, trying to get a good handful, but it was too short. “You need longer hair,” I gasped.

He grunted, turning his head, kissing his way to the other side. His mouth was hot on me, and I writhed at the contact.

We were both panting when he pulled back. The second his head left my hands, I leaned back on my arms, trying to remember how to make my brain work again.

He gave me very steady eye contact. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice low and rich.

I nodded at him to go on, far past the ability to think myself.

His hands moved to my stomach, and he started rubbing and then kneading my sides and my waist. I trembled as he kneaded deep into the muscle tissue just below my navel.