Page 44 of Corrupt Me

This had become a newly adopted ritual the last few days without any success, and it had me curious if Tristan ever went to class. Hell, if he ever stayed in his room. Or left his room.

I couldn’t figure him out.

Twenty minutes into my paper, I’d written a solid but measly paragraph. My brain couldn’t focus on getting the words onto my laptop, not when it continued to wander somewhere else. I was about to give up early and call it a day when my phone buzzed.

It was a text from my dad doing his obligatory check-in with a quick note asking how school was. I hadn’t seen the man in weeks and couldn’t help but feel he would like to forget he had a daughter. He got the obligatory daughter response.Fine. And I left it at that.

He texted me back, and as I read through his message, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced up, catching a glimpse of someone who looked eerily like Tristan, but he sped past so fast, I couldn’t be sure.

I scrambled off the couch and darted to the sitting room entrance, peeking around the corner. I might have eyes on his back, but I would recognize Tristan’s form in a sea of a million people. It was the tattoos that gave him away, especially since he strutted shirtless through the lobby.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My eyes tracked him as he headed for the stairwell. Basketball shorts. Sneakers. A white tee slung over his sweaty shoulder. This was not an appropriate time to drool or get hung up on the ripple of muscles lining his back. But damn. I’d have to be dead not to take a second of appreciation.

The door clicked closed behind him, and I was finally able to stop gawking. I bolted back to the couch, grabbing my stuff before rushing to the elevator. I spammed the call button.

Come on. Come on. Come on.

Only Tristan would climb three flights of stairs instead of using an elevator after sweating in the gym. He was a rare breed, or I was just that lazy.

I fumbled one-handed with my phone, using this small window to text Sam as I waited.

Me:

It’s go time.

Sam:

Seriously?

Me:

Yes, move your ass. I’m on my way up.

The elevator dinged, announcing it had arrived on the ground floor.About damn time.

Sam:

This man has the worst timing. I’m not home.

Me:

Are you kidding?

My fingers flew over the keys as the metal door glided open, and I rushed inside, hitting my floor.

Sam:

I’ll be there in twenty.

Me:

That’s too long. It’s fine. I can handle this.

Sam:

Don’t do anything stupid. Wait for me. Or we can try another day.

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