Page 61 of Corrupt Me

Iwalked down the road, loose gravel shifting under my heels and the glow of the moon at my back, casting a light on the road that looked like magic. I was fucking alone. Despite how damn perfect of a night it was, I cursed Preston with each step I took. What kind of guy lets his girlfriend walk home by themselves in the middle of the night, not completely sober, I might add?

Preston Jackass Malone, that’s who.

We had another one of our famous fights.

All we did lately it seemed was argue over every stupid thing.

He knew how much I disliked going to parties yet, it was all he wanted to do lately. Drink. Get high. Bullshit with his golfing buddies. And act like a rich douche who wouldn’t take responsibility for anything.

He’d been lying to his parents more, trying to maintain the perfect son image, but when he started to involve me in his lies and ask me to cover for him, Preston didn’t like my response. It was the thing we fought the most over next to the partying. They went hand in hand really.

I should have called someone to pick me up, but I’d dumbly believed Preston would come after me once I left. Five minutes down the road, my boyfriend was nowhere in sight. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t coming.

I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself.

It wasn’t that far of a walk but so not the point.

Fucker.

I was having one of those moments that seemed to be coming more frequently where I hated Preston. The question of why the hell was I with him sat in the back of my mind. It never seemed to go away, but then he would do something sweet, and that voice would get quiet, shoved aside by our history.

This one-sided argument I was having in my head was rudely interrupted by my heel getting caught in a hole and my ankle buckling to the side, causing me to lose my balance. I went to the ground, my knees digging into sharp, jagged pebbles. Pain sliced over my legs, and without looking, I knew I was bleeding.

“Shit.” My voice cracked as I stiffened my lip. I refused to cry. “Shit.”

Sitting on the side of the road, I took off my shoes and inspected the damage. It wasn’t bad. But it also didn’t feel good. Scraped kneecaps and shins. A rolled ankle, but after testing it out, I determined I could probably walk on it, but I had to ditch the shoes. Mostly, I was just annoyed. With myself. With Preston. With this entire night.

Easing to my feet, I left the heels on the side of the road, not having the energy to give a shit about them. I had too many shoes as it was.

It took me a minute of hobbling in the dark to realize my stubbornness in this situation was stupid. I pulled out my phone and chewed on my lip, contemplating if my first callshould be Sam or Mom. My mom made more sense since I wasn’t far from the house.

She didn’t answer.

Odd. But I didn’t think anything of it.

I went to try Sam as a beam of headlights crested over the hill, hitting my back. Instinct had me glancing over my shoulder, assuming and hoping the car would pass me by. As I continued to walk, the car slowed, gradually pulling off slightly in front of me. I had a moment of panic race through my blood, kicking my heart over, until I recognized the car. The Mustang was distinguishable not just because it belonged to my neighbor but to fucking Tristan Malone, Preston’s older brother—the one I’d been crushing on for years.

Yes, I was aware I needed therapy, but the knowledge didn’t stop me from appreciating or coveting what couldn’t be mine.

The window rolled down as I approached. “What are you doing?” he demanded in that gruff voice of his that was somehow both sexy and threatening, but I’d never been afraid of Tristan not even when I probably should have been.

“What does it look like? I’m walking home,” I replied, ensuring my usual sarcasm reserved for Tristan was evident.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes were mostly concealed in shadows, but I had a feeling they swam in disapproval. “Why? Where’s Preston?”

I leaned against the window, glancing inside. “Probably on his sixth beer at the poker table indebted to one of his friends.”

His lip curled in irritation. “You were at a party? And Preston let you leave?”

“Why does that surprise you? He’s your brother,” I pointed out. Who should know Preston better than Tristan?

Tristan draped an arm over the back of the passenger seat. “Honestly, it doesn’t. What surprises me is that you allow him to treat you like that.”

I flinched, a humorless laugh escaping me. “I’m not in the mood to fight with you. Not tonight.”

“Where are your shoes?”

I rolled my eyes, a bit surprised he’d noticed. “Don’t ask.”

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