Corrupt Me

Chapter 18

eighteen

T ristan deposited me into the front seat of his Mustang, securing the seat belt across me as if it would keep me from escaping. It clicked as he locked it into place. “If you know what’s good for you, Shortcake, you’ll behave for once in your life.”

“What about your precious leather seats? You’re not worried I’ll ruin them?” I snapped.

Tristan went still. “I’m more worried about you.”

I swallowed and let my head fall back against the headrest, my eyes straight ahead. His answer threw me off. I hadn’t expected him to care. And truthfully, it confused me. Why did he care so much? Enough to come chasing after me?

My head jumbled with a circus of thoughts and feelings. It was so damn crowded in there I swore my head might pop.

Tristan strode in front of the car. My eyes tracked him, watching the rain hit him like he was in a damn music video looking all rough, dangerous, wet, and sexy. He didn’t even have to try. He just was those things and more.

The scowl arched on his perfect lips as he climbed into the driver’s seat, shaking his head and sending water spraying everywhere, including on me. Not that it mattered. I was a damn drowned cat. Not an inch of me wasn’t soaked.

“Was that necessary?” I said anyway, giving him a sidelong glare.

He combed his fingers through his hair, slicking it back, and then started the engine. The Mustang rumbled to life, and before it could settle into a purring idle, Tristan had his foot on the gas, sending the car propelling forward. He hadn’t bothered to park between the white lines but left his car in the middle of the lot like he owned the fucking thing.

We drove silently for a minute, listening to the hard patter of rain pinging off the car’s shell. Not even the radio crooned from the speakers. Tristan always drove with it on. My fingers went to the knob, needing something to fill the void stretching between us and distract me from my feelings.

“Leave it.” Tristan’s voice shot through the enclosed interior.

I shifted in my seat, angling toward him. “How am I supposed to get Sam’s car? Do you plan on driving me back tomorrow?” Neither of us wanted that. I didn’t even know how I would survive the three hours alone with him it would take to get back to school.

“We’re not going back tonight. Not in this storm,” he stated calmly, a complete contrast to the chaos swirling within me.

“Where are we going?” I demanded, letting my anger take the driver’s seat.

He took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced at me. “Somewhere safe and dry. Don’t worry, I won’t make you sleep in the car.”

“If that’s supposed to reassure me, it doesn’t.” A night alone with Tristan…just what I fucking needed. Normally, I would argue, but I was too damn tired. Too mentally exhausted. And my ankle throbbed like a bitch.

Tristan’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Just try and?—”

Pop!

It sounded like a bullet discharging from a gun, like it did on TV. I’d never been around guns to know for sure, but I jumped, my heart lurching in my chest. My fingers clung to the edge of my seat as the car suddenly started making a clunking noise, and the drive became rougher and jerkier. I was no car expert, but something definitely broke.

Tristan slammed on the brakes. “Fucking great,” he hissed, the lines of his body stiffening.

I held the edge of the seat, peering over the hood, but the rain and darkness made it impossible to see anything. “Did you just blow a tire?”

He sat up straighter in his seat. “I’m afraid so, Shortcake.”

I sank deeper into the leather at my back. “Can this night get worse?”

“Stay here,” he grumbled, opening his door and dashing into the rain again.

As if I was going to get out of the car in a storm like this. Now that I was somewhere dry, the idea of going back out in it made me shudder.

Tristan came back a few moments later after inspecting the front left tire. “I have a spare in the truck. Sit tight.”

“You’re going to change it right now?”

“Unless you prefer to walk a few miles. The choice is yours.”

I didn’t know why the thought of Tristan changing a tire on the side of the road during a rainstorm bothered me. He was more than capable of doing the job. Yet, I didn’t want him to go out there. “Can’t you call Triple A or someone?”

He hit a button that popped open his trunk. “I could, but it will be faster if I do it myself than waiting around for them to dispatch someone to us.”

My brows furrowed. “Do you even know how to change a tire?”

“Do you know how to apply lipstick?” he snapped.

I bristled at that. Tristan knew how much I hated to be compared to the stereotypical rich girl. I was more than just my daddy’s money. “Do you have any idea how sexist that statement is?”

“Touché, Shortcake,” he said, tossing a grin over his shoulder as he once again got out of the car and braced the torrential downpour that continued to plunge from the sky.

“Whatever,” I muttered to myself, crossing my arms. “Let him be a macho idiot.”

I stared out the foggy window, listening to Tristan work. The clang of tools. The grinding of the carjack. The twisting of bolts. The beating of rain dropped into the background, becoming white noise.

Without him sitting next to me and annoying me with his presence, my mind drifted, a dangerous endeavor. I fished out my phone from my waterlogged back pocket to distract myself, praying the thing still functioned. I’d left my purse in Sam’s car along with my wallet, ID, and debit card. Basically, my whole life. All I had with me was my phone, a tube of ChapStick, and Sam’s car keys.

A slight exhale slipped through my lips when the phone lit up, displaying a string of missed texts from my best friend. I’d told her I’d be back tonight. That was obviously not happening thanks to the lug outside.

I quickly sent her a text.

I’m not going to be home tonight. I got hijacked by the asshole.

Sam:

Tristan is there?

Of course, she would instantly know who I was referring to.

Me:

He showed up at Preston’s dorm.

Sam:

I told you I should have come with you.

I miss all the drama.

You good?

Me:

No. But I’m safe. I’ll be back in the morning.

Sam:

I think I’m more worried about you spending the night with Captain Dick. Be careful.

I didn’t tell her about finding the girl in Preston’s room or that she was pregnant. Not tonight. I lacked the energy to do so, and the last thing I wanted was to trigger more tears. I got the feeling talking about Preston cheating would do just that…make me cry.

It wasn’t the boyfriend I mourned. Truth be told, Preston had been a shitty boyfriend. But as one of my closest friends…that’s what I missed. Some of my favorite core memories had been when we were younger, our families getting together, Preston, Tristan, and I hanging out before those latter teen years when things like boobs and hormones got in the way. Before Preston showed any interest in me other than friendship.

If I could go back, I never would have kissed him.

What if it had been Tristan who kissed me first? Would things be different? Would I be different? My whole life could have been altered, and going down that what-if path was unhealthy, my thoughts immediately turning to Mom. Would she still be here if I hadn’t started a relationship with Preston?

It was a ridiculous notion, considering her depression had nothing to do with me. I knew that logically, but my insecurities sometimes got the best of me. It boiled down to a young woman missing her mom.

The car door opened, jarring me out of my head, and Tristan darted inside behind the steering wheel looking like he just jumped into the ocean with his clothes on. Every inch of his shirt and jeans was plastered to his body.

Fuck, why did he have to look so good wet?

I shouldn’t be having any thoughts about Tristan. Period. Not just because tonight ended things between his brother and me on a permanent scale, but because he was Tristan .

He started the car and shoved a slash of dark hair off his face before glancing at me. His eyes began to look away but then returned to me, narrowing. “Are you cold?”

“What?” I looked at him and blinked, my brain finally registering that I was shaking and my teeth were chattering. I hadn’t noticed. Lifting my eyes back to Tristan’s, I nodded.

He cursed, and with an even deeper scowl, if possible, he flipped on the heat, turning the dial high. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.” He leaned over the center console into the back seat, reaching for something. A moment later, a hoodie landed in my lap. “Put that on. Now,” Tristan instructed not so pleasantly, shifting the car into gear.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked, my voice quivering as my body continued to tremble uncontrollably.

His lips pressed tight together. “I’m not happy.”

I slipped my arms into the sleeves before tugging the soft material over my head. Warmth engulfed me, but it wasn’t enough to cease the shudders. It also didn’t help that I was now surrounded by Tristan’s scent.

By the time he stopped the car and turned off the engine, I had hoped the chills wracking every muscle in my body would have subsided. My hopes were giving me a big fuck you tonight.

I was better than before but only marginally.

He gave me no chance to open the door and get out. My reflexes were also slower than normal. “Let’s go, Shortcake.”

This time, I didn’t resist when he lifted me into his arms. I saw no point, not when all I wanted was to get somewhere dry, strip out of these clothes, and wrap up into a mountain of blankets.

Tristan could offer me those things a hell of a lot faster if he carried me.

The rain turned into a steady stream that showed no signs of letting up. With my arms secured around his neck, he dashed us across the parking lot and into the lobby of an exquisite condominium building.

“Whose place is this?” I asked, glancing around as we dripped water all over the gleaming floors.

He strutted to the elevator, hitting the call button. “My parents. They got it recently for when they visit Prest—” His voice cut off, tightness forming at the corners of his mouth.

“You can say his name. I won’t fall apart,” I assured, and because my body still trembled from the cold, the assurance came out weaker than I liked. Or perhaps I wanted it to be true. I wanted to be strong.

Tristan stepped into the elevator. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I’m not sure it’s a conversation we should have with me in your arms.”

“Now I’m not giving you a choice. What happened, Shortcake?” he demanded, his tone sharpening as the elevator started to ascend. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll only think the worse.”

“Do you really want to talk about your brother cheating on me? Or how I found him with a pregnant girl in his room?”

“She’s pregnant?” Either the elevator dropped, which didn’t make sense since we were going up, or Tristan wavered, something he rarely did.

My surprise turned to indignation. “Afraid so. You’re going to be an uncle next year. You didn’t know?”

His stare grew colder. “I’ve been a little preoccupied lately to keep tabs on the shit my brother is getting himself into.” The elevator doors parted.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about me? I’m not your problem, Tristan. I don’t need you to take care of me.”

He stopped at the end of the hall, readjusted his hold on me, and keyed in the code on the door. It clicked open. “It’s not weak to lean on someone else for a change,” he said, walking over the threshold and flipping a switch on the wall. Light flooded the spacious room, giving me my first look at the Malones’ condo. Penthouse was a better term, but I expected nothing less from Blaine and Anna.

The walls were a creamy white accented by the trim, cabinets, and built-in shelves in honey wood. It had a modern yet cozy aesthetic I found pleasing and comforting. Anna had furnished the place with beautiful light fabrics and rich leather.

In our current state, Tristan and I were going to wreak havoc on this place. I doubted Anna would appreciate us ruining the rugs, but she also wasn’t one to care about material things. She’d rather us be safe. It would be better if neither she nor Blaine knew we were here—fewer questions. I wasn’t ready to face them.

Hell, I wasn’t ready to deal with Tristan, yet here I was.

Alone.

Tristan set me on my feet. “Stay here,” he ordered as he was so fond of doing, leaving me dripping on the tiled entryway.

“You ever think about taking your own advice?” I yelled after him as he disappeared down the hall.

I stood shivering, keeping weight off my injured foot and cursing Tristan inside my head. I was dying to get out of my clothes. My soggy sneakers and socks would have to do for now. Bracing a hand on the door, I shimmied my shoes off one at a time. The socks came off next. I left them in a pile on the welcome mat.

I thought I heard running water, but it was difficult to tell over the rain hitting the windows.

Tristan returned in fresh clothes, a pair of gray sweatpants and a T-shirt, carrying two towels. He didn’t hand me one as expected but set them on the back of the couch. Wearing his perpetual frown, he moved to me, his fingers going to the hem of the borrowed hoodie. Our eyes met right before he lifted not just the sweatshirt but my shirt as well, tugging them over my head and leaving me in my bra.

With a plop, the clothes hit the floor. Tristan’s fingers went to the button on my jeans. “What are you doing?” My question was slowed by my shock.

“What does it look like? I’m getting you out of these wet clothes. I need to get you warm.”

He hadn’t said you need to get warm. But I need to get you warm as if my freezing to death was his problem.

“I can do it,” I insisted, but my protest landed on deaf ears.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” he commanded in a tone that expected no argument.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he had already flipped the button undone and begun working the material suction cupped to my curves, leaving me no choice but to hold on to him.

I wasn’t much help, but Tristan didn’t seem to need assistance removing my clothes, a thought I didn’t want to think too deeply into.

His fingers skimmed the inside of my thigh. “God, your skin is freezing.”

A deeper shiver went through me. I stared at him as he practically kneeled before me, inching my pants down my calves. He peered up, our eyes connecting. The man stole my breath with a single glance.

The darkness in his eyes morphed into a black flame. “Are you trying to make yourself sick?”

“Why are you mad?”

Snatching a towel off the couch, he wrapped it around me. “Because you frustrate me. You need to start thinking more of yourself than everyone else.”

“If you’re infuriating me on purpose to get my blood flowing, it’s working.”

“Good.” When I was wrapped up like a burrito, Tristan scooped me off my feet for what had to be a record. Three times in one night.

“Will you stop manhandling me?” I gritted out. “I’m not a child to be carried off for misbehaving.”

“Can I trust you to listen to me for five fucking minutes?” he asked once we were in the bathroom.

I stuck out my bottom lip.

“That’s what I thought,” he retorted smugly.

Before I could satisfyingly tell Tristan to screw off, the asshole dumped me into the bathtub brimming with bubbles and water so warm every inch of me felt like it was being stabbed with millions of needles.

I gasped at the pain, also internally sighing at the shocking heat tearing through my bones.

He leaned against the sink. “You’re not to get out of that tub until your damn skin is red.”

I wasn’t sure that was a healthy alternative to the pale blue it was.

Tristan gave me a hard, scolding look and then turned and left, leaving the bathroom door wide open.

The prickles took a few minutes to subside, but the bubble bath became enjoyable once they did. After being in the rain for so long, it surprised me how much I didn’t mind being in the water. It was a different kind of wet, one that thawed my bones instead of froze them.

Time seemed to stop as I soaked in the tub. Tristan might have only been gone a few minutes, or it could have been thirty. I’d lost track of time, but just as I slipped off my bra and underwear, tossing them over the side to dry out, he appeared holding a cup.

Sitting on the tub’s ledge, he offered me the steaming mug. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” I asked, taking the cup cautiously. The bubbles shielded most of my nakedness although they slowly started to pop and disintegrate.

“Just some tea my mom likes.” He looked so damn relaxed lounging on the tub as if he belonged in the bathroom with me, watching me warm up. Too comfortable. Unlike me.

My cheeks flushed under his gaze.

He reached out, swiping away at a bubble that managed to find its way onto my cheek. “Finally, you’re starting to not look like death.”

Batting his hand away should have been my move, but I didn’t want to disrupt the bubbles covering me. “I can’t say the same for you.”

He chuckled. “Then you won’t mind if I use the shower.”

Before I could tell him I indeed would mind, he stood, dropped his pants and had the shirt over his head, leaving me gaping at his backside as he stepped into the shower.

My eyes lingered on him even when all I could see was his shadow through the frosted glass. His body never failed to leave me breathless, gawking, and impressed.

That wouldn’t do. Not when my heart teetered on a cliff, vulnerable, conflicted, and broken.

Being in the bathroom with Tristan while he showered was nothing short of too damn intimate. I had to get out of here. My blood was plenty warm now.

And I didn’t trust myself not to do or say something stupid when he came out naked and dripping wet.

Before my thoughts could get any more imaginative, I held my breath and dunked my head under the water. On one hand, it was better to think of something other than Preston’s pregnant girlfriend. And yet, I shouldn’t be thinking of Tristan at all.

Shaking my head, I quickly drained the tub’s water while he showered, reaching for the towel he’d left for me. I didn’t stand but eased onto the tub’s edge to dry off. Don’t think about him. Don’t you dare think about him naked.

Easier said than done.

I toweled off, dressed in a pair of borrowed pajamas from Anna, and hobbled into the bedroom. The bed looked too inviting to resist; my muscles, my bones, and my brain, everything about me, was tired as fuck especially after soaking in a hot bath. I felt liquefied.

The soft cotton pants were too long for me and dragged over my feet as I went to the center of the room, making a beeline for the plush bed.

My eyes closed as I listened to the shower turn off. I snuggled deeper into bed for only a few minutes, on the verge of sleep, when I felt the mattress dip beside me. Gentle fingers brushed along the side of my face.

Peeling my eyes open with considerable effort, I gazed up at Tristan.

“Sleep,” he whispered, the frown carved on his lips still present but a bit less menacing. He appeared more troubled than angry.

That made two of us.

I wanted to sleep. I really did, but something in his expression held my heavy eyes open. Words started tumbling out of my mouth. “I thought I would feel something, but I just feel numb, empty, and broken.”

“You’re not broken.” He tucked the blankets closer in around me.

“Don’t look at me like I’m going to fall to pieces,” I whispered with a thickness clogging my throat.

As if he had to prove to himself and me that he didn’t have a gentle bone in his body, his features hardened. “I’m not. I know how strong you are, Ever. No one knows that more than me.”

He didn’t fool me. I nodded, uncertain how to handle the softer side of Tristan. It had been too long What he said was true. I’d never been more vulnerable with a person than I had with Tristan on the night I found my mother. He’d been there.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss on the tip of my nose, but he didn’t immediately pull away.

“Tristan?” I whispered.

He sighed, a confusing sound that made me question his feelings. “Goodnight, Ever,” he murmured.

My hand shot out before I could think about what I was doing or stop the question tumbling off my tongue. “Stay with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not tonight.”

But another night was acceptable? “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

Conflicted, he toyed with the hoop on the corner of his lip. His eyes said he knew he should leave, but some part of him wanted to stay.

What would I do if he left? If he refused to stay?

I’d fall apart.

He stood, and my heart fell out of my chest. My fingers released his arm, dropping onto the bed. He was leaving, and I swore I heard my heart crack for the second time tonight.

Sadness and loneliness hit me hard like a punch to the gut. I inhaled sharply. How could he be so cruel? I wasn’t asking for anything but his company. And it wasn’t like we hadn’t slept together before.

“Move over,” he murmured, tugging back a corner of the bedding.

Goosebumps rose on the back of my neck as he climbed into bed beside me. The mattress sagged under his weight, and my entire body sighed.

Perhaps he had been right. Perhaps tonight wasn’t a good idea for us to be this close, but it was too late, and I selfishly wanted him to stay.