Page 3 of Corrupt Me

“Like hell,” Sam hissed, but Tristan was already moving, dragging me with him through the crowd grinding to the music. The smart ones parted or moved aside to let the ominous, tattooed badass through. Tristan drew eyes everywhere he went but usually in a parents-hide-your-daughters way.

“I said it’s time to go,” he growled in my ear. And before I could contemplate what he was doing, thanks to my foggy alcohol brain, Tristan bent down and picked me off the ground, tossing me over his shoulder.

“Shit,” I mumbled, watching the floor spin.

“If you puke on me, I’ll toss your ass in the ocean,” he warned as his long legs ate up the ground toward the front of the house.

He should have thought about that before he decided to haul me around like a bag of trash.

two

Irubbed my cheek on the smooth leather of his car. The top was down on Tristan’s antique Mustang, and the engine rumbled through the night as it glided along the coast. Traces of sea, salt, and moonlit sands hung in the air. It smelled like home.

The wind whipped over my face, slowly clearing the haziness of my alcohol-clogged brain. “Tristan,” I moaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.” I laid my head over my hand on the window’s ledge and closed my eyes.

“Not in my car you’re not,” he grumbled.

Never in his precious car.The only thing Tristan loved more than himself.

Prick.

And still, I was glad he was taking me home.

It had been six months since I’d seen Preston’s older brother—a night I’d never forgotten—the screams, the fists, the blood, the look in Tristan’s eyes. I blocked the images and sounds from my mind, letting the sickness overwhelm me. It was far better than reliving that dreadful night.

I shuddered.

I’d like to say I was coping, but clearly, I wasn’t. It was easier for me to pretend than it was to be real…to be honest…especially to myself, but Tristan always had a way of seeing through my bullshit.

And sometimes…most of the time…I hated him for it.

“Are you cold?” he asked, flipping on the heat without waiting for me to answer as if he knew what I needed before I did.

I wasn’t cold. If anything, I was so freaking hot.

I stared at the ink covering his entire arm before it disappeared under the black T-shirt only to reappear at the collar and wind up his neck. His body was a tapestry of art from the black raven on his arm to the tree that covered his back. I itched to kiss the constellation of stars curling around his neck.

And that was how I knew I was drunk.

There would be no doing anything with my mouth and Tristan Malone’s body. None!

These twisted fantasies had to stop. Tristan wasn’t even nice to me. If anything, this might have been the kindest gesture he’d ever shown me, which was sad.

He was only three years older than me, but sometimes he seemed so mature, far older than twenty-one.

He drove like he was born for fast cars and dangerous curves. “Where’s the bike?” I asked, thinking about the few times he’d taken me home from school at his mother’s orders. I loved the freedom of riding on his motorcycle, the danger, and the closeness. It was the only time I could wrap my arms around him without feeling guilty or my cheeks staining with embarrassment.

His fingers clutched the steering wheel, the quote tattooed on his fingers curving with his movements. “I didn’t want you falling off the back.”

Valid point. In my current state, I wasn’t sure I would’ve been able to handle hanging on or the speed and sharp turns. Tristan didn’t do anything safe. “Why were you there?”

He toyed with the hoop at the corner of his lip, the silver glinting in the moonlight. Damn, I hated when he did that and hated more what it did to me. Drove me fucking crazy. Why couldn’t he be ugly instead of sinfully hot? “It doesn’t matter,” Tristan muttered.

But it did to me.

“It’s been a long time. How you are doing, Ever?” he asked, glancing sideways at me. A slice of moonlight hit his left cheekbone. The edginess of his voice softened enough for me to notice. He was irritated for some reason, and whether it was at me or something else, I didn’t know and probably didn’t want to know.

I knew what he was asking me, whateveryonecontinually asked since that night six months ago. I didn’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it even with Tristan. “Better,” I murmured, keeping my eyes hooded as I sucked in a breath of air.

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