Page 12 of Corrupt Me

Anna heard my intake of air. “Surprise. Tristan’s home. Isn’t that great?” She was smiling at her eldest son who continued to stare at me.

Surprise indeed.My face deadpan, but I quickly tried to cover it up with a forced smile, regardless that I felt my throat swell. “Hey.” It was all I could manage to say to the blackmailer.

Anna’s gaze volleyed between us, noticing the lack of enthusiasm on my face. I was a sucky actress. Lying wasn’t part of my genetic makeup. “Shoot. You already knew, didn’t you? I swear no one can keep a secret around here.”

Blaine shook his head, returning to his paper, and a chill settled into the room.

Anna tried to make a big deal out of Tristan being home as she usually did, but some things took more than enthusiasm and fancy dinners to mend, like the relationship between Tristan and his father. They didn’t have much in common other than their dark features. Perhaps in some ways, they were too much alike. Too pigheaded.

Tristan ignored his less-than-stellar greeting from his father and answered his mother, but his eyes were on me as he came to stand at my side, our arms brushing. I fought not to jerk away. “I ran into Ever Friday night.” His dimpled grin hit me straight between the legs.

What the hell is wrong with me?Tristan was now enemy number one. My body needed to catch up and get on board with the I-despise-Tristan-to-the-depths-of-my-soul campaign. Maybe I should make signs and protest outside of his house, chanting and cursing his name—the antichrist.

The idea made my lips twitch, and I forgot myself for a moment.

“What’s so amusing, Ever?” Tristan whispered for my ears only, his breath hot on the side of my neck.

I shoved my elbow to the side, sinking it into his gut. “Sorry,” I said sweetly. “I slipped.”

He coughed, covering a laugh.

What was this thing between us? Why the fuck was he being...nice to me? It felt like old times. He was making my head spin, and I wanted to get off this dizzying ride called Tristan Malone.

Was it possible he regretted the other night? Was it too much to hope for? Did he want things to go back to how they were before Friday night when he morphed into the asshole of the year? Perhaps he’d deleted the photos, wiped them out of existence, and we could go back to how things used to be.Medating his brother andhimteasing me.

I wanted to go back to normal.

Desperately.

This unknown with Tristan drove me insane, and I had enough crap going on in my head without him adding to it.

“We were hoping to have one last dinner with all of us together. Think you can stand us for one more night before going off and conquering college?” Anna asked with a playful smile as she took a bite of toast.

My mind went blank.What do I say?“Um,” I mumbled, racking my brain for a good enough excuse to back out of dinner. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped into spending time in a room where Tristan was present unless he had changed his mind. I peeked over at him, confusion brimming in my eyes as I waited for him to give me a sign.

“We could take a couple of pictures. You. Me. Preston. What do you say, Ever?” He winked.

Oh, he gave me one. He practically smacked me in the face with it. I felt like I’d been hit in the gut.Dickwad.

All I could do was gape at him, unable to believe what I heard. There was no mistaking the innuendo. He hadn’t forgotten about yesterday morning, and he wasn’t going to forget the threat.

Fucksicles.

“Honey, are you okay?” Anna asked, worry lines creasing her forehead. “You look a little pale. Let me make you some toast.”

My lips wobbled. I didn’t want any toast. I wanted to take this entire year back and start over. I wanted to know what I’d done to make Tristan hate me so much.

I read the gleam in Tristan’s eyes. After dinner. He expected me to break up with his brother after dinner.

“Dinner would be great,” I replied, my voice flat.

six

Dinner was the longest meal of my life and uneventful, at least by the latest standards of my life. The conversation was lively, swirling around me like a cyclone, but the problem lay in that I was distracted, only picking up bits and pieces, nodding when necessary.

I lost track of the number of times Mr. Malone took jabs at Tristan. Not surprising. And not that I cared. I was starting to think perhaps his family was right about him after all, yet Tristan didn’t seem fazed by his father.

It was all normal for the Malones.

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