Page 2 of Corrupt Me

“Oh, shit, Tristan’s here,” Sam said, grabbing my arm.

“What?” I yelled back, stumbling over my own feet. No way in hell did I hear what I thought she said. The music continued to pound, but I stopped moving.

Some guy bumped into me, his hands going to my hips. “Hey, beautiful. You need a drink.”

“What? No,” I said, shaking my head and lifting my cup. “I got one.” I tried to shimmy him off me, but his hands wouldn’t budge from my hips. I sipped my punch, debating whether I should be dancing with this guy.

Sam leaned in closer, weaseling her way around the guy who seemed reluctant to let go of me. Her eyes went over my shoulder. “I said Tristan Fucking Malone is here.”

I spit out my fruity drink, spraying it all over my best friend’s face. No way Tristan Malone would ever come to one of Lang’s parties. He wouldn’t be seen dead with a bunch of pussy frat boys. His words, not mine.

“What the hell, Ever!” Sam shrieked, staring at her black lace top splattered in spiked punch.

“Now you definitely need a drink,” the guy who I’d forgotten said. He was the least of my concerns, and I thought he wandered off but didn’t care one way or the other.

It couldn’t be true. Tristan couldn’t be back. Preston would have told me. If his older brother had come home, he would have mentioned it to me.

I blinked, shoving a hand into my messy locks. “Sorry, Sam, but I swear you said Tristan is here.”

“I did. Look.” She put her hands on my shoulders and spun me around.

“You must be drunk, Sam. Even if he was back, Tristan would never—” My gaze locked on to a pair of piercing blue eyes, a lump suddenly forming in my throat. Butterflies danced in my belly. I squinted, wondering if I was supposed to be seeing two of him, but then they merged into one glorious body.Oh, my god. It’s Tristan.

And he was headed straight this way.

My pulse quickened as I watched him stride across the room with a carefree swagger no other guy could mimic. The music faded into the background, and I stood dumbfounded in a sea ofpeople. It had been six months since I’d last seen him. He hadn’t changed much, perhaps a bit more toned and an additional tattoo or two, but he was still the guy who looked as if he was born to wear only black, who had a wicked dimpled grin, and smelled like midnight on the beach. Dark. Sensual. And alluring.

He reached me, slipping a hand under my elbow with a glower on his face. He always glowered. “Ever, it’s time to go.” Those were his first words to me in over six months.

“But you just got here,” I replied, slurring the statement as I pressed a hand to his chest, smiling.

“And now you’re leaving,” he insisted, nothing warm or welcoming in his tone.

I swayed on my feet, slipping my arms around his neck. “Dance with me, Tristan.” I always loved the way his name rolled off my lips. “Tristan,” I said again and giggled.

The nice guy who had gone to get me a drink was back, scowling at Tristan who only scowled back. He handed me a cup, which I gladly took. “Get lost,” Tristan rumbled at the confused jock. I couldn’t remember his name or even if he had told me his name. It didn’t matter.

The poor guy held up his hands and backed up. “I’m not looking for any trouble.”

I giggled again, finding his reply funny. Tristan oozed trouble. “Thanks for the drink,” I said, my voice a little too high and bubbly.

Tristan shook his head, his arms reaching out to steady me. My drink sloshed over the rim and down the front of his shirt, but damn, if it didn’t still look good on him. “Sorry,” I replied, peeking up at him with a smile.

“How many of those have you had?” he demanded, ripping the cup from my fingers as his lips pulled into a tight harsh line. I’d dreamed about kissing those full lips too many times to recall but only dreamed, for it was wrong to fantasize about yourboyfriend’s brother, but they were just that. A fantasy I’d never act upon. He sniffed the half-empty cup, those sapphire eyes darkening.

Sam was at my side. “What are you, her dad? Chill out.”

“Fuck off,Samantha,” he said with a crooked grin full of cockiness, drawing out her name in a way that drove her batshit crazy.

Returning a smile equally as menacing, Sam gave Tristan a vulgar gesture. “Why don’t you go back to whatever back alley you crawled out of? We’re having fun, and you’re killing our buzz.”

Tristan tossed the glass to the floor, the bright-green liquid spilling over the carpet. He forked a hand through his windblown, dark hair, staring down at me with that intense glare, the one that made most men shrink. “Fun’s over.”

“I don’t know why the hell you insist on hanging out with this family,” Sam said to me, ignoring Tristan.

I was still staring, unable to believe he was here—at a house party, nonetheless.

“Find your own way home, Samantha. She’s coming with me.” Tristan glowered.

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