Campus King | 18+

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maybe it was the alcohol, but I was really happy to see him. So happy I nearly forgot about Frat-bro. But I was so rudely reminded of his presence when he happily exclaimed, "Tristan Beckett! What's up, my man?"

But Tristan paid him no attention, his gaze locked on me with a look of clear disapproval.

Realizing I had stayed away for longer than I'd planned to, I covered up my guilt with a wide smile. "There you are. What took you so long?"

"Wha—"

Tristan started to respond, but the other guy's irritating voice cut him off, his gaze bouncing between the two of us with a flash of realization. "No way! You're screwing Tris—"

Tristan gave him a warning look. "Careful. You don't want my fist to be the last thing you see tonight."

"Huh?" Frat-bro blinked, clearly shocked by the threat.

Sighing at his confusion, Tristan asked, "Obviously you know who I am, yeah?"

Frat-bro grinned and puffed out his chest. "Sure do, man. We met at a party last year, but I don't think you remember — you were too busy getting it on with Elizabeth Buchanan on her parent's back porch."

Wait. Did that mean he was watching them? My face scrunched up in disgust and Tristan's expression shifted from warning to murderous. "So if you know who I am, do you really want to get on my bad side?"

The guy gaped like a fish. An ugly one. The blobby one. "On your bad side? Did I do something wrong?"

"Yeah. You're busy insulting and harassing my woman." Tristan stepped closer to me, forcing the guy to take a step back. My head snapped back, and I stared at Tristan, just as shocked as the other guy.

"M-my bad, dude. When I approached her, I didn't know she was yours. She never said anything about you."

I turned back to gape at the jerk, about to say something scathing in return — but Tristan spoke before I could.

"She is. Now," He plucked my Mojito out of the man's hand and flicked his chin at him, "Fuck off. And if I catch you pulling any of this shit on anyone else, I'm gonna shove your head up your own ass and make you wear yourself as a hat. Jackson's your prez, right? You want me to have a word with him?"

Frat-bro raised his palms, frowning. "Woah man. I meant no harm. I was just tryna—"

"Scram. Now."

"Jeez. Fine... fucking asshole," Frat-bro spat out, glaring at both of us before slinking back into the crowd, and taking his sweaty armpits with him.

I watched him leave, using it as a flimsy excuse to avoid looking at Tristan. I didn't want him to see the surprise on my face at the fact after he came to my defense like that. While I was perfectly capable of handling the situation myself, there was something undeniably endearing about the way he stood up for me. Especially his "my woman" comments, even though I'm sure he didn't actually mean them. Goddammit, I was losing my feminist card by the second.