Page 4 of Corrupt Me

Liar!

“Liar.” He grinned in that wicked way of his, seeing through me.

My head whirled toward him, a definite mistake. “What does it matter? No one wants to hear the truth,” I snapped, turning that familiar agony into scorching anger. The rage was easy, less painful.

His gaze met mine for a second before returning to the road. “I do.” The depth behind those words hit me in the chest. Tristan was many things, but a liar, unlike me, wasn’t one of them. He didn’t pretend to be anything but who he was. He embraced that dark side of him in ways I only wished I dared to do…had the courage to do. I envied that about him.

My head dropped onto the leather seat as I stared into the stars, watching them swirl together. Not a cloud was in sight. I was too goddamn drunk to have this conversation. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tristan,” I pleaded, the fury fizzing out from my voice, leaving me feeling deflated.

“What were you thinking, going to one of Lang’s parties? Where the hell is Preston? Why wasn’t he with you? He damn well knows better,” Tristan snarled, switching the conversation.

Removing the rubber band I always kept at my wrist, I tossed my hair into a messy bun, the wind having already wreaked havoc on it. “We had a fight,” I stated.

Those full lips pursed, his lip ring glinting under a ribbon of moonlight. “Of course, you did. So, you decided to punish him by going to this childish summer bash and getting shitfaced?”

“What do you care? I’m a grown-ass adult now if you haven’t noticed. I can come and go as I please. If it was so childish, what were you doing there?” I pressed again, realizing he’d never given me a straight answer before.

His jaw did that tightening thing I loved. “I had business to attend to.”

He wasn’t giving me a straight answer. Why? What was he really doing at Lang’s?

Lang Taylor had a reputation around 30A. Bad. Bad. Bad. But his parties were legendary and usually ended with the cops breaking them up and multiple people going to jail, only to have their parents’ money get them a slap on the wrist in court. Then they did it again—an endless cycle of parties, drugs, booze, and God knew what else went on. I’d never been to one before tonight. “What kind of business?” I asked.

“The kind where you should mind your own business,” he bit out.

Asshole. Tristan Malone was an asshole. It would serve him right if I puked my guts out in his precious car. The thought made my lips twitch.

And then my stomach rolled. My hand flew to my mouth.Oh god. Why did I think about throwing up?It was as if I’d opened the floodgates to my churning stomach. “Tristan,” I barely managed to mumble, feeling my face go green.

“Shit,” he swore, jerking the car off to the side of the road and slamming on the brakes. Dust and rocks spit up under the tires.

I fumbled with the door handle, but he was suddenly there, ripping it open and hauling me out of the car. “Get out,” he growled.

In my finest moment ever, I stumbled out of the car and dropped to my knees, not caring about the dirt or grass. I hurled what felt like gallons of vomit into the bushes.

“You done?” Tristan asked softly, his fingers brushing the back of my neck.

I wiped my hand over my mouth, color deepening my flushed cheeks, and looked up. “Not if you keep glaring at me like that.”

“Get in,” he ordered. “Let’s hope your drunk ass can wait until we get home before hurling again.”

Home.My body relaxed. He meant his home, not mine. Since my father was overseas on business for a few months, I’d been staying with the Malones until college classes started. My father was afraid to leave me alone since that night I didn’t want to talk about. Hell, think about.

I was the queen of avoidance.

I banished those drifting thoughts and the deep wound that was still too fresh, especially in my emotionally drunk state. The floodgates were waiting to be opened, and it wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge.

I managed to stumble back into the car, no longer caring why Tristan was at Lang’s, only how fast I could get to bed. The reliefof purging my stomach was short-lived as Tristan steered the car back onto the road. I always assumed the next time I saw Tristan I’d be looking my best, put together, mature, without makeup running down my face or puke snot clogging my nose.

My eyes drifted shut as I curled up into the front seat.

Of all nights Tristan would have to return, he chose this one, when I was feeling lost and wallowing in such self-pity I had resorted to drowning my messed-up existence in alcohol. Portraying myself as normal these last months had taken a toll, not only on my relationship with Preston…but on me. The once confident, driven, and social girl of 30A had turned into someone I didn’t recognize. I was used to having my shit together, and with college coming up, I should be organizing, shopping, and making detailed lists. It was my career on the line, and yet, I didn’t know what to do with myself.

And after tonight, I was officially swearing off all future Lang parties. I’d go as far as to say all parties in general, but I knew Sam. She wasn’t about to miss out on all those college bashes, and I, the dutiful friend, would be dragged along.

Faking life sucked.

An obnoxious streamof sunlight beamed across my face. The roaring in my head was an intolerable lion, and I found it hard to decipher between the waves crashing outside and the drumming in my head.

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