She was with him.  I knew this, because I kept tabs on her.  Always had.  But she didn’t look to be that into him.  She didn’t shoot him even one of those adoring glances that used to slay me on a regular basis.

Thank God for that one small favor.

But even so, he touched her with privilege, and I hated his guts with a deep and enduring passion.  I hadn’t been in a fight in what seemed like forever, but I had a sudden and persistent urge to start one with him.  It would just be so easy to crush him.  He was half my size and asking to be put in his place.

She approached our group, not avoiding me, her limp more pronounced than I’d realized.

Every jerky step made my chest ache.

She wore a dress the color of her eyes.  It caressed her curves distractingly.  She was as fit as she’d ever been, limp or no.

“Hello, Danika,” I finally spoke, my voice coming out softer, less confident, than I meant for it to.

The punk she was with hung back, talking to the last group of people they’d been mingling with.

I was immeasurably relieved by this.  I hoped to never have to deal with him directly.  Nothing good could come of it.

She nodded in my direction, her gaze staying firmly fixed somewhere else, in the distance, anywhere but at me.  “Hello, Tristan.”  Her tone was firm and impersonal.

It was hardly unexpected, but still, it stung.

Like a new cut on an old wound.  One that had never scarred over, because it had never quite healed.

“It’s great to see you,” I told her.  I couldn’t seem to keep the words in.  “You look exquisite, as always.”

She smiled tightly.  “Sure,” she said.

That punk extricated himself from the couple he’d been talking to and approached her from behind.  He wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling at her like he was besotted.  Of course he was.

The punk didn’t deserve to kiss her fucking feet.

He was several inches shorter than me and at least fifty pounds lighter.  I was guessing I could have choked the life out of him with one hand.  I really wanted to test out that theory.

Danika touched his shoulder familiarly.  “Everyone, this is Andrew.”

“Her boyfriend,” the punk added.

She gave Bianca another tight smile, then introduced them.

I kept my eyes fixed on Danika’s face, trying to block out that punk’s hand on her.  She didn’t seem to be particularly happy with him, and I knew I was a bastard for being happy about that.

Danika left the group quickly and politely, only shooting me one direct glance at the very end, which only seemed to give her stare more weight when she swung it my way.

I broke out into a cold sweat, but other than that, I thought I held up rather well.

She swept by me on her way past.

Oh God, I could smell her.  Just the faintest hint of her perfume mixed with the scent of her.

I made myself blink slowly, count in my head, kept from doing anything crazy, but it was pure, teeth-gritting effort.

I turned to watch them walk away, that punk’s hand still on her.

I needed to get out of there before I followed them and did something supremely stupid.  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go punch something now, so that I don’t give in to the urge to punch someone.”  I strode away.

I took it out on a punching bag in my home gym, because that’s what grown men did when they had the urge to kill someone with their bare hands, or so my therapist told me.


DANIKA

Putting together Bianca’s showing was a rare treat for me.  I got an absolute kick out of every little detail.  She’d given me the freedom to make most of the choices without even consulting with her.

I was not a creative soul myself.  I was pure right brain, analytical to my core, though I was a great admirer of artists, so a showing like this was the closest I got to a creative outlet, and I relished it.

The exhibition was broken up into rooms, as there were over a hundred paintings in her collection, which was practically unheard of.  I organized them by colors, as this was her signature, trying to make each room a true complement of her brilliant eye.

She was thrilled with the results, which made me want to kiss her.  The boss’ girlfriend, and somehow she was the easiest artist I’d ever worked with.

I barely slept the last two days before the big event, working tirelessly to make sure that every detail was perfect.  I met a jittery Bianca at the door with utter confidence that there was nothing on my end that wouldn’t run like clockwork.

I’d thought of everything, and though I was anxious, as any big event made me, I wasn’t a wreck.  That is until Frankie and her girlfriend walked through the door, each on one of Tristan’s arms.

I felt blind-sided, and for one brief crazy moment, I thought I’d lose it.  What it was I wasn’t sure.

My temper, my composure, my mind, take your pick.

Luckily, the moment passed quickly, and I got by mostly ignoring him, though he tried constantly to catch my eye.

I determined that I wouldn’t let a night I’d been looking forward to be ruined by him.

The paintings started selling within minutes of the opening of the doors.  It was thrilling.

I rushed up to Bianca after every sale, making sure she knew that the night was an unequivocal success.  She seemed more than a little in shock by it all.

I had my eye on one particular piece.  It was a small watercolor of desert roses.  It was so crisp, the colors so vibrant it almost came across like a photo at first glance.

I coveted it, and the first few interested buyers had to make a bid.  I was hoping to outbid them myself, but within a few hours, I knew it was lost to me.  It was just too far out of my price range.

It was around that time that I made a hasty trip to the restroom to touch up my makeup.

I vaguely made out a set of slender ankles that I recognized under one of the stalls when the door opened behind me.  My eyes widened in outraged shock when I realized that Tristan had followed me into the women’s restroom.  I’d made short work of his two attempts to talk to me throughout the evening, but this, this was out of line.

“Now you’re following me?” I asked him, willing my voice not to quaver.

It didn’t help matters that he looked amazing in a crisp tux that had to be custom made to fit those arms of his.

“If that’s the only way you’ll talk to me, then yes,” he told me, just as though he had the right.

“We have nothing to talk abo—“ I began.

“I still think about you every single day,” he ground out harshly.  “Let’s talk about that.”

That had me shaking, head to toe, in pure affront, pure outrage.  The nerve of him, to move on from me, to move so beyond me and then torment me with this.  I knew what this was, it was guilt on his part, and I was livid as I realized this.  “Oh, please.  Take your guilt and get the fuck away from me, Tristan.  I want nothing to do with it.”

“The guilt isn’t what I was talking about,” he said, his lying voice so convincing that I almost believed it.  “It’s you I think about.  Always you.”

I snorted.  “Please!  You stopped trying to call me years ago.  I haven’t heard a word from you since right after rehab when you went on your repentance tour.”

He looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly enough, spouting more nonsense.  “I didn’t trust myself, Danika.  I needed my sobriety.  I’m nothing without it, and you were a lovely trigger for me.  That look in your eyes, after all that I’d done…The way you looked at me like I was scum and knowing that I deserved all of your antipathy.  I knew that if you looked at me like that again, I’d hit rock bottom, and this time I wouldn’t come back from it.”

“I’m with someone, Tristan,” I told him, my tone hard with resolve.

“And if you weren’t?  Would you be willing to talk to me—to spend time with me, if you weren’t with someone?”

I snapped.  “No!  Bad things happen when we get together, Tristan.  You and I are nothing but trouble.  Time hasn’t changed that.  Please, just stay away from me.”

He moved to me, quick as a flash, his hands cupping my shoulders.  “Danika, I’m so sorry.  I’ll never stop missing you.  You were my best friend.  Can you ever forgive me for what I did?”

My trembling hands reached up and pulled his from me.  “I forgave you a long time ago, Tristan,” I asserted, even as I took a step back, out of touching distance.  “But I will never forget.  Please keep your distance.”  I practically ran out the door.

I made a point of seeking out Bianca soon after, since I knew she’d overheard our confrontation in the bathroom.  I cared what she thought, and I didn’t want to come across like a royal bitch, so I felt I owed her an explanation.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that little exchange in the bathroom,” I told her solemnly.

She looked uncomfortable but her eyes were sympathetic.  “I am so sorry about that.”

I waved that off.  “It was hardly your fault.  You were just using the restroom.  But I saw your shoes under the stall, and I wanted to explain myself.  I probably sounded like a cold bitch.”

She held her hand up.  “You didn’t.  I understand completely.  Sometimes protecting your heart is the only way to keep your sanity.”

She’d hit that one on the head.  I nodded.  “Yes, exactly.  I won’t get mixed up with him again, and I refuse to lead him on.  When I was younger and stupid, I thought that he was the most wonderful and exciting thing in the world.  I fell crazy, stupid, jump off a cliff in love with him.  It was like being in love with a tornado.  It took me years to pick up all of the pieces he’d left me in, but I did it, and I won’t go back.  These days I want stability in my life.  I need it.”

She nodded.  I patted her on the shoulder, and walked away, satisfied that she understood.

I was literally forced to deal with Tristan again at the end of the evening, as he purchased two of Bianca’s paintings.  Unbelievably, and infuriatingly, one of them was the small still-life I’d become obsessed with.

“You have great taste,” I told him as I entered his data into the system.  I had other people to do this, but I always handled the really big ticket items myself.  It made me nervous to let anyone else do it.  My control issues were in full swing.

“I always have.”

I made sure he saw me roll my eyes.  He grinned at me as though I’d just given him a present, which hadn’t been my intent.

“Listen, I’m sorry I came on too strong earlier, but I really think it’s time we start to talk again.”

“I told you, I’m with someone.”

“Yes, I know.  I’m not talking about him.  I’m talking about us hanging out again.  Just as friends.  You live in Vegas again; we work in the same building.  It would be ridiculous if we didn’t go out for coffee every once in a while.  Catch up a bit.  That’s all.”

I had to work to keep from losing my temper.  “You want to catch up?  You want to hear how many hours I spent in physical therapy after our breakup?”  He visibly winced, but I kept going.  “What else would you like to catch up on, exactly?  What about Milton having a girlfriend, that you had to know about, but who you didn’t bother to mention when you gave me that crazy warning to stay away from him?”

“Hey now, I had no idea he had a girlfriend—“

“It doesn’t matter.”  Though I did feel a tiny stab of relief that he hadn’t known either, and I couldn’t even have said why.  “What matters is that the only things we have to catch up on are things I have no desire in the world to talk about.  Not ever again.  And certainly not with you.  Your paintings will arrive at your house within the next few days, following the verification of your credit card, etcetera.  Have a good night, Tristan.”  I strode away before I said anything else I’d regret later.

When it came to Tristan and I, there were never any winners to be had.


TRISTAN

I went to bed that night angry and upset.  So agitated that, even at rest, my heart was pounding hard.

I tossed and turned for hours before I fell into a restless sleep.

I was having my morning coffee when I felt something strange move in my chest.

It felt good, but foreign, and it took me a long time to place it.