Page 79 of Corrupt Me

Brody bristled at my side. I had to intervene before shit went sideways, and the only way I could see to prevent testosterone from winning over common sense was to remove one of them from the situation.

Cursing Tristan under my breath, I grabbed the prick’s hand. His fingers locked securely around mine in a clearly possessive message.

What the actual fuck?

I didn’t understand what was happening. This was so very unlike Tristan’s behavior. He shot me a warning glare that told me to rethink making a scene.

Capturing Brody’s eyes, I stepped away from him and closer to Tristan. “I’m seriously fine, but I need to deal with him.”

I could tell Brody had more to say, but he kept his calm composure impressively. I couldn’t retain such a demeanor, not with Tristan. It was obvious Brody would never talk to me again, and I had the overbearing jerk to thank.

Like a smug lion, Tristan pulled me down the path leaving Brody looking unsettled as he stared after us.

Once we went around the corner of the bookstore, I yanked my hand out from his and shoved the jerk in the chest, appalled by his behavior. Tristan barely budged, which infuriated me more. My hand raised, palm in line with his cheek.

Tristan captured my wrist in the air. “There are other ways to get your hands on me, Shortcake.”

“You are fucking maddening. What do you want, Tristan?”

He retained his grasp on my wrist but brought our arms down so it looked like we could be holding hands except he was actually hauling me around campus. “I don’t like him.”

I slid him a sideways, confused glower. “Brody?”

“The coffee shop guy,” he snarled, his long legs eating up the sidewalk.

I had to double my efforts to keep up with him or risk getting dragged. “You don’t even know him.”

Two girls whispered as they walked past, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of Tristan or because he hadn’t let go of my hand yet. “I know enough.”

Giving them a dirty look, I dug my heels in and halted. Tristan kept going, which nearly yanked my arm out of its socket. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

He finally got a clue and stopped, facing me. “It means nothing, Shortcake. Why did we stop?”

I ignored his question and went back to what he tried to skate over. Brody. “Why do I get that nothing is actually something?”

Tristan shoved a hand into his hair, the tension in his shoulder slipping. “No one is that clean.”

I fumbled with my broken phone while trying to decipher just what the fuck that meant. Did he know something about Brody I didn’t? Did it matter if he did? “Just leave him alone. He doesn’t need you fucking up his life.”

“He likes you.”

“It’s not a crime to like me,” I returned, walking again. We weren’t far from Thorn Hall. Just a few buildings.

“A little soon to be dating, don’t you think?”

“I slept with you the same night,” I snappily reminded him.

An odd expression twisted over his features. “Have you heard from my brother?”

I nodded, an uneasy knot tangling into my stomach. “He’s left me a range of interesting and often colorful messages. You?” That had been toning it down. The text and voicemails over the last few days were mostly Preston furious and ugly, calling me every filthy name he could conjure. The usual shaming. Slut. Whore. Cunt. Bitch. All unoriginal. And the next message would be him crying, begging for my forgiveness. It couldn’t be clearer from the messages that Preston was falling apart. I don’t think a single one had been left sober. He was the definition of unhinged, and I was starting to think there might be something to be concerned about.

“I bailed him out last night,” Tristan stated flatly.

I blinked, processing. Preston? In jail? I couldn’t fathom it. Tristan, on the other hand, looked like he spent his weekends in the joint but not his brother. “Bailed him out,” I repeated. “Like from jail?” I glanced at him, taking note of the exhaustion under his eyes I hadn’t noticed before.

“One and the same, Shortcake. What did your messages say?” he asked.

I went through my memories to recall if Preston had called or texted last night. Then I remembered I’d turned my phone off because I’d needed a decent night of sleep without the damn thing going off at all hours. “I would let you read them, but my phone is kind of inoperative at the moment.”

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