We were at Decadence. It had become our favorite club, because Cory worked there, and Frankie worked in the building. We’d been hanging out with her and Jared a lot, nearly every night.
I was chatting with Jared and Frankie. We were ganging up on him, trying to talk him into making the band play more gigs. Yes, I’d started using the word gig. When in Rome…
Tristan had made a trip to the restroom. I saw him heading back to us. The pink haired rocker chick that had opened for them at their performance stopped him with a hand on his arm.
We kept running into her. Her name was Rosette, and she hit the clubs at least as much as we did, and I was almost positive they’d slept together just by the way she looked at him.
I glanced at Frankie, who always told it like it was. “Have they slept together? I mean before he and I…”
I could tell before she opened her mouth that she knew that they had.
“That’s a question for Tristan. I really can’t say for sure, but he got around a lot…before.”
I thought about how before was only a couple of weeks ago as Rosette clung to his arm, even to the point of following him as he made his way over to the rest of us.
He was smiling at something she said, though it did look like he’d tried to tug his arm away.
She wasn’t budging, and my drunk mind took that very personal. At least, I tried to tell myself it was the alcohol that made me so crazy.
I didn’t go crazy right off the bat. It wasn’t quite so bad as all that. Her hand on his arm was not enough to do it on its own.
It was her second hand, reaching up to grip his bicep, measuring it. She bit her lip and gave him what I thought was a very slutty smile. “You have the best arms, Tryst. So big. In fact—“ she leaned into him, her chest against that arm, stood on tiptoe, and started whispering into his ear.
“You know he has a girlfriend, right?” I called out to her, feeling mad enough to spit.
She turned her head slowly to look at me, her eyes telling me clearly that she knew I’d been there all along. “I heard about that.”
“So you just get a kick out of hanging all over someone else’s man?”
“You’ve been dating for like two weeks, right? That has to be a record for Tryst. How far past breaking his own record do you think he’ll get before he falls off the wagon again?”
Tristan shook her off, looking annoyed. “If you can’t be civil to my girlfriend, you can fucking walk away.” He pointed, as though to show her which way she could walk.
I loved it.
She didn’t.
She turned a scathing glare on him. “Dean told me you were pussy whipped, and I didn’t believe him. I see I was wrong.” She made a whipping motion in the air with one hand, accompanied by the universal sound effect for ‘pussy whipped’.
“Fuck Dean, and fuck you,” Tristan shot back, going from annoyed to pissed.
“We already did that, honey.” Rosette’s voice was all sweet venom. “Lots of times, in fact. Does your girlfriend know about that? Does she know that we fucked right before I went on stage at our last performance?”
That had been the night we’d reconciled. So only hours before that he’d been with this skank…
One look at Tristan’s wince, which told me she wasn’t making it up, and I almost had another ‘dish throwing’ moment.
The only thing that stopped me was a well-meaning Jared.
He must have seen the murder in my eyes, because he grabbed me from behind in a gentle, but very firm hold.
“She’s not worth it, sis,” Jared said near my ear.
He’d taken to calling me that lately, and I secretly loved it.
As soon as Tristan and I had officially become a couple, the brothers’ tension had seemed to ease where I was concerned, as though putting a name to it gave them such clear rules on how to act that it became a non-issue.
I adored Jared. He was the sweetest guy, and we’d spend hours talking on the phone some days. We could talk about nothing and everything, just how I could with Tristan, but the vibe with Jared had turned very brotherly, which I loved. He was one of those people that I couldn’t sing enough praises about.
And yet, he worried me. It was a persistent but elusive sort of worry. Frankie and I discussed it often, how he was just a little too careless with life. He didn’t take anything seriously, nothing at all. For instance, he was a horrible mess of a driver, and there was no drug he hadn’t tried. I didn’t see it first-hand, but Frankie had described his days long binges, where he’d reappear glassy-eyed and a little less himself.
He seemed to be completely himself tonight, and he always made good company like this, though I could have wished he wasn’t quite so quick to hold me back from slapping a bitch.
I fought his hold like a maniac, especially when Rosette just smirked at me, her arms folded across her chest.
I’d never done it before, never even thought about, but my go-to move was to reach for a heel, throwing it at her stupid face.
Unfortunately, I missed.
“Come on, sis, we’re taking a walk,” Jared said, having to lift my feet off the ground to get me to move.
He had me out of the club and in the casino before I’d calmed enough to be set down.
“You can let go of me. I’ve got it under control now.” I told him, when he just kept an arm around my shoulder.
I had to pull off my other shoe to walk, carrying it in my hand.
He patted my shoulder. “Let’s walk. Talk about it.”