Page 83 of Corrupt Me

The dry look I gave him spoke volumes of his sanity. “Tristan, this isn’t funny. I’m half expecting you to tell me this is a sick twisted prank or you’re blackmailing me again.”

He turned the key into the off position, the Mustang’s purring engine going silent. “Sorry to disappoint you, Shortcake.”

“Look, I can spring for the hotel if you need money,” I extended, knowing his father often used Tristan’s inheritance as leverage to get his son in line. It rarely worked, but it didn’t stop Blaine from trying.

Leaving the key in the ignition, Tristan slanted slightly toward me, his arm draping on the back of my seat. He toyed with his lip ring, jaw tightening at my offer. “I don’t need your money,” he retorted gruffly.

The kiss in the elevator seemed like weeks ago, not mere hours. “You might not need it, but I do. Can’t we at least stay at the Holiday Inn? Anywhere but here?” I snuck another unpleasant glance at the two-story motel, and I shuddered.

“I’ll check us in, and then you can order takeout.” A speck of humor glimmered in his eyes as if my misery amused him.

Sadistic prick.

I put out my bottom lip in a pout, not caring how immature I was acting. “I need to get a new phone.” I grasped any excuse to get me the hell out of here.

His hand moved to the door. “Not tonight. The stores are closed. We’ll get you one in the morning.”

A swirl of anxiety whirled in me. “I have a class at ten,” I blurted before he could leave.

“Then we’ll go after class,” he reasoned, agitation edging into his features.

“Fine.” My arms crossed, sinking dramatically against my chest. “Your call, but if I get kidnapped in the middle of the night, it’s on you.”

“Not going to happen with me sleeping next to you.”

I swallowed. Why did he have to put that image into my head? I had to say it was better than the one of me getting hacked up with an axe by a serial killer. “We’re sharing a room?”

He flashed me a smile, the hoop winking at the corner of his mouth. “I told you I wasn’t leaving your side.”

Wasn’t he taking this protection detail a little too far? But as I stared at his face, seriousness consumed any specks of lighter emotions. He was all grim and doom now.

Resigned to spending at least a single night with Tristan, I just had to convince myself I had enough self-control to keep to my side of the bed. What I did when I was sleeping wasn’t on me. “Can I use your phone? I need to let Sam know I won’t be home.”

“Don’t tell her where you are,” he said, fishing his cell from his back pocket.

My nose wrinkled. “What about who I’m with, or is that off-limits too?”

He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother.”

“Because under all that iron armor, there’s actually a heart somewhere in your chest. No matter how small,” I answered his rhetorical thought.

“Stay out of my photos.” He held out his phone.

“That only makes me want to look more,” I mumbled, taking the device that had been the source of my misery the last few months.

A humph breezed through my lips as Tristan left the car. I sank deeper into the Mustang’s leather seat. This was insane. What was I doing here? Sharing a bedroom with the person I needed to avoid most? My gut was telling me this was a bad idea.

I had three choices.

I could go along with Tristan’s shenanigans, drawing on all my self-discipline to keep my hands off him. I could call Sam and have her come pick me up. Or I could get out of the car and startwalking. I had Tristan’s phone. He’d be pissed. He’d most likely come after me. And it would be dark before I got halfway back to campus.

Chewing on my lower lip, I stared at the phone and punched in Tristan’s passcode after a minute. The difficult part now was remembering Sam’s number. Surely Tristan had it saved into his phone, but a quick scroll through his contacts came up with nothing that resembled her name. Knowing Tristan, he stored her as something absurd like Voldemort or Wicked Witch.

As tempting as it was to go through his phone, I avoided his text messages. There was crossing lines and then there was bulldozing through those lines. I had no reason to snoop. To delete the photos he snapped of me? Yeah, but they no longer seemed important. He already imploded my life.

I punched in what I hoped was Sam’s number and waited to see if my memory hadn’t failed me. She didn’t answer. Her cheeky voicemail greeting picked up. “You can leave a message, but I probably won’t check it.”

Snorting, I did something I rarely did. I left her a message. It would have to do until we could talk tomorrow.

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