Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2) (12 page)

He was a good-looking guy, with light brown hair, and hazel eyes.
 
His build was very slender, and he was a few inches shy of six feet.
 
I’d developed a very marked taste for huge men that towered over me and had biceps like tree trunks.
 
Tristan had officially ruined me.
 

The group stayed and talked for hours.
 
I drank sparingly.
 
I hadn’t been much of a drinker since Jared’s death.
 
It had served as a wake-up call for me.
 
I was not immune to the pitfalls of vice.

Addiction was hereditary, and it was in my blood, so I knew that I had to be more careful than most to avoid its trappings.
 

We were at a college bar across the street from campus, and it had a dance floor.
 
There were eight of us, all dancers, and so of course we danced.
 

I had fun.
 
It was nice to go out with new people, with fresh faces and carefree smiles.
 

I found myself texting Frankie, telling her to come out and join us.
 

Frankie:
 
To a college bar?
 
Do you have any idea how old I am?

I thought about it.
 
No, I did not.
 

Danika:
 
No, I don’t.
 
How old are you?

Frankie: I am twenty-seven.

Danika:
 
That’s not even old.
 

Frankie:
 
It’s too fuckin old for a college bar.

Danika:
 
It’s fun.
 
Come on.
 

Frankie:
 
How long are you going to be there?

Danika:
 
I don’t know.
 
Depends on if you come hang out with us.

Frankie:
 
Fine.
 
I’ll be there in thirty, but if I spot any sorority girls, I’m outta there.

I was dancing with Preston when I caught sight of Frankie in the crowd near the bar.
 

I squealed, rushing to her.
 

She smiled when she saw me.
 
We hugged, but she kept looking over my shoulder.
 
At Preston, I thought.
 

She reaffirmed my suspicion in short order.
 
“Who is, uh,
that
guy?” she asked, pointing.
 

I knew whom she was referring to, since I’d just been dancing with him, but I followed her finger to look.
 

“That’s Preston.
 
He’s my ballroom dance partner at the studio.
 
Super nice guy.”
 

“And you’re, like, out with him?”
 

My eyes narrowed at her chastising tone.
 
“I’m out with seven other dancers.
 
There’s a whole group of us.”

“But you were dancing with
him
.”
 

“He’s my dance partner.
 
It seemed like a pretty normal thing to do.”
 
I found myself getting defensive.
 

“How do you think Tristan will feel about that?” she asked, her tone bland, the pointed arch to her eyebrow, not so much.
 

“Tristan is crazy when it comes to me and other guys.
 
Do you think I should cater to crazy?”
 

She gave me a look that should have been reserved for disapproving mothers.
 
“How would you feel if you found out that Tristan was going out to clubs with the band and dancing with other woman while he’s in L.A.?
 
That’d be fine with you?”
 

I mulled it over, and finally got her point.
 
I’d hate that.
 
Really hate it.
 
Yes, I was dating crazy, but I had apparently fallen from the same crazy tree.
 

“But he’s my dance partner.
 
We have to practice.
 
I can’t give up dancing for Tristan.
 
That wouldn’t be healthy.”
 

“Agreed, but how ‘bout you keep it to the studio?
 
That’s seems to me to be a far cry from dirty dancing in the club.”

“How do I know Tristan isn’t going out and dancing with other girls?
 
He could be doing that or worse every night.
 
I’d have no clue if he was or wasn’t.”
 

“You know because I’m telling you.
 
He’s a good boyfriend to you, and he wouldn’t do that.
 
He’s very, very careful not to step out of line.
 
Show him the same respect.”
   

She had a point, and I suddenly felt like shit.
 
“I wasn’t dirty dancing, and this isn’t a club,” I pointed out.

She gave me a head to toe once over, giving my exposed stomach a pointed look.
 
“Shaking your hips in that outfit is dirty dancing, period.”
 

I pointed to her half-shirt.
 
“Don’t you dare knock my outfit.
 
You’re baring more skin than you’re covering.”
 

“Well, I am single.
 
World of difference.”
 

“You’re a fun killer tonight, you know that?”
 

“Yeah, I know.
 
Now tell me I’m wrong.”
 

I curled my lip at her, looking around for some of the dancers.
 
There was one in particular that I thought she’d like to meet.
 

“Speaking of you being single…” I began.

“Oh hell no, girl.
 
You wouldn’t know how to set me up.”
 

“She’s a dancer.
 
She’s hot, and I heard her say she’s a lesbian.”
 

“You think that’s how things work?
 
She’s a lesbian, I’m a lesbian, so of course you should set us up?”
 

I rolled my eyes, then grinned because she was grinning.
 
She loved to mess with me.
 
“More like, you’re hot, she’s hot, you’re both lesbians.
 
That would be closer.”
 

“You’re forgetting one very important detail.
 
I don’t mess with vanilla girls.”
 

I’d forgotten that little fact.
 
“Well, who knows, maybe she’s not so vanilla.”
 

“Trust me, girl, I know every lesbian submissive in town.
 
If she wasn’t vanilla, we’d have crossed paths before.”
 

“Well, dammit.
 
She’s really cute.”
 

“So are you, and you and I are about as compatible as me and vanilla.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, effectively giving up.
 

I was a failure of a matchmaker.
 

Frankie met the girl we’d been talking about, Estella, less than ten minutes later.
 
The irony about the whole thing was that Estella was noticeably into Frankie, blatantly flirting with her right from the start.
   

Estella was a shapely little Brazilian, with long, thick, wavy brown hair.
 
She was maybe an inch shorter than Frankie and had an outgoing, fiery personality.
 
She also liked to wear very little in terms of clothing, which gave her yet another thing in common with Frankie.
 

Frankie wasn’t having it.
 
She was nice to the girl, but not at all flirtatious.
 

“It’s hard to explain a preference like mine,” Frankie explained when the girl had finally flitted off.
 
“I’m attracted to Estella.
 
She’s highly fuckable, but that is not the point.
 
I couldn’t be who I need to be with her, and I won’t settle for less.”

“How do you ever find anyone?
 
It’s hard enough finding decent people to date and then throwing something like that in the mix…”

“It’s not easy.
 
Not at all.
 
But I’ll tell you what, I won’t ever be finding that somebody at a college bar.
 
I’d rather be celibate for life than try vanilla again.
 
Does nothing for me.”

“So you
have
tried it?”
 

“Not with a lot of success, and not since I was too young to know better.
 
A preference like mine…it’s a dark thing, in a way, but when I get it right, God, there’s nothing like it.
 
Regular sex could never compare.
 
Has all the excitement of a board game to me.”
 

“How long has it been since you’ve, yanno, found someone?”
 

“I parted ways with my last sub over a year ago.
 
Like I said, it’s not easy for me to find someone that’s compatible.”

I felt like a jerk for asking so many questions, because suddenly, she sounded very sad.
 
“It’s none of my business.
 
I was being nosy.
 
I’m sorry.”
 

“Don’t be sorry.
 
You’re my friend.
 
I make it a point to be open with friends.
 
I want you to know who I am, and my sexuality is a huge part of that.
 
It’s unusual enough that it is part of what defines me.
 
I’ve made peace with that.
 
And dating sucks for everyone.
 
I’m far from alone there.”
 

“Very true.”
 

Estella came back, smiling at Frankie and holding two martinis.
 
I’d thought she’d gotten the hint, but I saw that I was wrong.
 

“I love tattoos,” she told Frankie, handing her one of the drinks.
 

“Oh yeah?” Frankie asked politely, taking a sip of the drink.
 
“I have a tattoo parlor.
 
If you’re ever thinking about getting ink, you should come to me.”
 

Estella blinked, looking fascinated. “I was just talking about the ink you have on you.
 
I didn’t realize you were an artist.
 
I’d love to come look at designs.
 
Where is your shop?
 
I’m new in town.
 
I don’t have, how do you say, connections?”
 

Frankie looked more drawn in with every word the other woman said.
 
Estella did have a sexy accent.
 
“You don’t need to have connections to get a tattoo.”

Estella giggled, and the way Frankie smiled at that gave me the tiniest sliver of hope.
 

“I meant directions, not connections.”
 
She giggled some more.
 
She really was adorable.
 

She leaned into Frankie, touching her arm.
 
She was interested, and not even trying to hide it.
 
“I’d love to be your canvas.
 
I think ink is art.”
 

If she’d known Frankie for years, the girl could not have had a better pick up line for her.
 

“That’s actually my motto.
 
It’s even on my cards.”
 
Frankie reached into her pocket, pulling one out.
 
“The address is on the card, but my joint is up in the mall at the Cavendish casino.
 
You can’t miss it.”
 

Estella bounced a bit in her excitement, and I saw Frankie’s eyes glue straight to her generous chest.
 
“The Cavendish Hotel?
 
How exciting to have a parlor there!
 
It is a beautiful casino.”
   

“Do you watch a lot of TV?” Frankie asked her.
 

“Television?
 
I used to watch a lot.
 
It helped me with my English, but I don’t have time to watch it anymore.”
 

Frankie looked relieved, and didn’t mention her own reality show.
 
I didn’t blame her.
 
It had to be hard not to attract the wrong people, being that high profile.
 

“What do I owe you for the drink?” she asked.
 

Estella waved her off, giving her a very friendly smile.
 
“It was my treat.
 
Unless, of course, you want to kiss me.
 
I never turn down a kiss from a beautiful woman.”
 

Frankie’s mouth twisted ruefully.
 
“I don’t give out kisses for drinks.”
 

“Then it is free.
 
Will you kiss me now?”
 

Frankie shook her head, looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen her.
 
“It doesn’t work like that with me.
 
Don’t get me wrong.
 
You’re beautiful, but I don’t do easy hookups.”
   

“Who says this is easy?
 
I want you.
 
I don’t see the point of hiding it, but that doesn’t make it easy.”
 

Frankie grabbed Estella’s wrist, pulling the other woman’s body against hers.
 
Being nearly the same height, they lined up perfectly.
 
They were a striking sight, two beautiful women embracing, looking like they were about to kiss.
 
I knew I wasn’t the only one in the bar staring at them.
 

Frankie didn’t kiss her though, instead putting her lips to Estella’s ear.